In the commentary following Kate Collins’ piece on Fondly Recollected Toys and Pastimes, it is suggested that, in exuberant contrast to her assemblage of interpersonal childhood diversions, modern videogames beget solitary activity. Having a certain familiarity with the industry from a consumer standpoint in the late ’90s, this assessment of categorical misanthropy did not sit well with me. I remembered too many afternoons playing sports or street-fighting games with my friends to welcome the stereotype. So I looked to sales figures for evidence (see first link for data).

Here are the top-selling franchises across all video media:

1. Mario (193 million units sold)
2. Pokémon (155)
3. The Sims (90)
4. Final Fantasy (75)
5. Tetris (60)
6. Madden NFL (60)

Note the difference in narrative experience. Respectively, one explores a monster-filled world as an acrobatic plumber; collects, trains, and compares fauna as a zoologist; organizes house and home as a suburban designer; quests to liberate an occupied state as a righteous knight; maneuvers and compacts flying blocks as a geometric virtuoso; and directs a corps of football players as a professional coach. Collectively, they capture the range of the video world. Yet in its principle form, only the football franchise begs multiple real-life players. Indeed, of the top 25 bestselling games only three others routinely employ more than one gamer (#17 James Bond, #21 Street Fighter, and #22 Mortal Kombat—gruesome, kill-your-opponent-type games).

Evidence of a solitary universe accrues. Most systems were sold with single-player games bundled alongside the console—Mario and Tetris versions, for instance. Of non-bundled console games, the top 20 are all single-player. Nine of those 20 belong to handheld devices, geared directly toward solo pastime.

However, redundancies gnaw at the dominant nature of these lonesome numbers. For one, certain immensely popular franchises tend to clutter the charts with multiple versions: with one exception, the top 16 console games belong to four franchises (Pokémon, Mario, Grand Theft Auto, and Gran Turismo). Moreover, despite a growing market, games nowadays rarely sell with the prolific force of the earlier generations. There is a greater variety of titles on more platforms for more specific, independent audiences than ever... so, less blockbusters.

The biggest hitch in a quantitative evaluation of single-/multiplayer statistics is the nature of cooperation itself. While navigating the world of Mario requires no more than one pair of hands, it need not be a one-person task. Much in the same way that crossword puzzles can fuel collaboration, these single-player games are often used with delight before a circle of friends.

As one explores the marriage of videogame and computer, the capacity and tendency to share the experience with others increases dramatically. All five of the bestselling computer titles are easily (if not primarily) multiplayer. Throw in the recent phenomenon of massively multiplayer online games (MMOG—no joke, this is the acronym), and all of a sudden millions of people from around the world are converging in video worlds via the internet killing, milling, and thrilling. Stories like The Sims and World of Warcraft have spawned thronging subcultures (see anouk’s article on Second Life for a dose of virtual reality). It’s stunning.

Perhaps gaming is changing. Perhaps the great virtual pendulum has swung from solitary to communal enterprises. Or perhaps videogames, like pastimes at large, have always been what people make of them.