It Happens That Fast

Lieutenant Dan:  Look, it's pretty basic here.  Stick with me, and learn from the guys who have been in the country awhile, you'll be all right.  There is one item of GI gear that can be the difference between a live grunt and a dead grunt.  Socks.  Cushioned-sole, OD green.  Try and keep your feet dry.  When we're out humping, I want you boys to remember to change your socks whenever we stop.  The Mekong will eat a grunts feet right off his legs [begins dialogue with other soldier]

Forrest Gump: [narrating]  Lieutenant Dan sure knew his stuff.  I felt real lucky he was my lieutenant. [background given about L.D.]

Now, go shake down your gear, see the platoon sargeant, draw what you need for the field.  If you boys are hungry, we got steaks burning right over here.  Two standing orders in this platoon.  One — take good care of your feet.  Two — try not to do anything stupid like getting yourself killed.

Forrest Gump:  I sure hope I don't let him down.

Make some of the words more applicable to D&D and not Vietnam, the above is a platinum demonstration of what a DM should say to a new player entering the campaign.  I vote for, "Keep track of your numbers.  Hit points, experience.   Try to be accurate when recording your totals.  Mess up on your arithmatic and I'm not going to front you points you didn't properly record."

Except I probably will, but I don't want the players knowing that when they start.  Its not just the words or the sentiment.  In the film, Lieutenant Dan talks down to the both of them; and comparatively, he talks faster and with less politeness to the soldier (in the clip, not included in the above quote) who isn't new.  Speak in a hardened, serious tone and we send the message that these things matter, that we care about these things, that doing something that got the player's character killed would be a BAD thing and something that we'd view as stupid.

Take that position.  Don't quantify it, don't ease off on it, don't let the players think you don't mean it.  Look at Gump's response.  That's is dead on the attitude that every one of my present day players have; and something that a lot of my online players felt also.  "I don't want to fuck up.  I want to show I'm able to play intelligently.  I want to do well.  I don't want to disappoint Alexis."

Is that wrong?  Depends on what you want.  Many readers right now are asking, "Why would I want to play in a game with that on my shoulders?  That sounds like a lot of stress.  I'm not going to willingly put myself in a weekly situation where I'm trying to live up to someone else's expectations."

But if, as a DM, we do this right, the players'll comprehend the other half of this equation:  If they don't show up at all, they'll disappoint me for sure.  And that disappointment is going to go on, with them being bitter about it, because they don't even know why they feel that way.

Again, it's human nature.  There's a natural compulsion that's always at work arguing that we don't want to miss out on something.  In this case, a really good game of D&D.  And then here's this DM, talking like my participation doesn't even matter to him.  Like he doesn't need me.  And though he's expressing a bunch of expectations about my behaviour that I basically agree with, he's doing it in a manner that's frankly a bit rude and dismissive.  What makes him think he can talk to me this way?  What makes him think I even want to play in his game?"

Yeah.  Exactly.  What.

Here's the thing.  I don't need players.  I am shoulder-deep in players.  Any time someone drops out of my present campaign, there's at least one more person waiting in the wings, ready to join.  They know what I am, they know how I speak, they know what they hear from my present players ... and they know there's an expectation if they join, because before I need to tell them, my players already have.

I offer something that a lot of DMs don't have.  Certainty.  Like Lieutenant Dan, I know my stuff.  My game moves.  The players like it.  I know they like it.  And in that atmosphere, they don't want to disappoint their fellow players, either.  This is how a bond is formed.  Everyone cares.  Everyone wants to be there.  Everyone wants to try and do well.  There's no room in their hearts for any person who shows up and won't get on board with that.

Much of a new DM's problem arises from a strong desire to win over new participants with promises, encouragements and a powerful desire not to offend the would-be player.  We perceive, because it makes sense to us, that if the game world sounds really interesting, they'll be interested.  If we offer great opportunities and possibilities, they'll think, "Wow, I want that."  And we think that their participation won't happen if, my gawd, we say something upsetting.  So we speak carefully and, often without meaning to, make compromises.  The would-be player suggests doing something, or running some character class or race, that actually isn't in our game, and we find ourselves saying, "Well, that might be possible."  Or we say, "Um, well, actually, there aren't any dragonborne in my game," in a way that sounds pandering and unsure.  We don't speak affirmatively.  We speak with a desire to please.

And people ... hate ... this.  It's counterintuitive.  If we're seen as uncertain or apologetic — even if we don't actually say "sorry," but our tone suggests we might do so — then we're seen as weak.  Anyone weak can be ignored.  Or gotten around.  Or replaced with someone else ... anyone else.   A weak DM is sure to be a bad DM.

It's not reasonable.  It's not fair.  But it is.  Pander to the players; suggest that our perception of the game's structure is shallow or superficial; and the players will instinctively understand that we're trying to appease them, that we need them ... and that if we need them, we can't possible be any good at this.  They won't trust us when we say we're ready to run.  They won't believe us.

And the worst of this is that all this takes place without thinking in the listener's head.  It's a lifetime of automatically understanding who's important and who isn't.  It takes less than 2 seconds for the listener to rate us as one or the other.  Eight spoken words.  Probably not even all of our first sentence.  We get dismissed that fast.

The question is not, should we be Lieutenant Dan?  The question is, can we be him?  Do we have it in us.  Is that who we are?  It involves a risk offending or driving away players.  While understanding that anyone we drive away like this, we don't want as a player.  I don't want that kind of person in my campaign.  I don't need some sook who's going to quail at some phrase or concept, because it doesn't fit their narrow and fragile universe.  I want soldiers.  Player who have it in them to stand up and take it on the chin.  Players who feel confident enough that they think, "Sure, I don't want to disappoint Alexis; but I'm not going to, because I can handle this."

I don't need anybody in my game who can be offended because I don't talk sweet.