Candyland: Advance


Hey, is that —

Before you ask: Yes, that is a picture of Candyland featured prominently at the top of this post.

What?!? But I thought this was a serious gaming blog! Candlyand isn’t even a real game!

Both are true statements. Here is the cipher that resolves the paradox: I am the father of a five-year old. Admittedly, I was blindsided when she chose Candyland for this evening’s pre-bedtime game, but as my wife pointed out, it would be an opportunity to try out the new rules that I had wanted to use since the day she was born.

So tonight, I present to you the rules for Candyland: Advance (or “Advanced Candyland” or “Candyland for Big Girls and Boys”  or whatever you want to call it):

  1. Setup the game as normal, except:
    • Remove the “Queen Frostine” picture card from the deck. (This card, already quite powerful, pretty much breaks this version of the game if it’s included. And yes, I realize that I’m actually expressing concern about not wanting to have broken rules in Candyland.)
    • Deal each player one random card.
  2.  On your turn, you may take one of the following actions:
    • Draw a card
    • Play a card
  3. Players are limited to a maximum of five cards in their hand; if they begin their turn with five cards, they must play one.
  4. Playing a card that would result in moving to a space that is already occupied advances you to the next open space of that color.

Aside from these changes, the game plays as normal. Simple as they are, these tweaks completely transform Candyland, turning it into an actual game since you now have to make decisions, even adding a minor amount of strategy.

A couple of observations from tonight’s game:

  • Implementing the rule about skipping a space that’s already occupied by another player not only alleviates the frustration of trying to cram multiple playing pieces onto a single space, but combining it  with the rule about being able to have multiple cards in your hand creates a layer of tactical decision-making.
  • On similar note, the cards that advance you to a picture card space are still powerful, but if you draw one after you’ve advanced past that space, they end up clogging your hand instead, effectively reducing the maximum number of cards you can hold.

These rules provide a way to fill the gap for kids who are ready for something more than simple children’s games but for whom gateway games may still be too much.

Oh , and I realize that these rules are pretty much a direct ripoff of Ticket to Ride, but like they say, if you’re gonna steal, steal from the best, right?


When Roll-and-Move is Superfluous

Ah, the roll-and-move mechanic. Is there anything more ubiquitous in classic American boardgames, anything that more clearly defines a boardgame as such? It’s such a staple that entire children’s games have been constructed around this simple mechanic – for example, both Chutes and Ladders and Trouble are built from it, with one or two twists added on top.

Perhaps no other mechanic so directly translates an action taken by a player into a clear effect in the game. You roll the dice (or flick the spinner, as the case may be), and move your plastic avatar an equal number of spaces. It’s a concept that is so concrete and simple that even very young children can grasp it. It is well-placed in certain games, but it has been overused to the point where its inclusion in some cases is illogical or lazy. I can practically hear the conversation in the design meetings:

GAME DESIGNER: This is a trivia game where players have to correctly answer questions in a variety of categories ranging from history to pop culture, to sports. Trivia games have a broad appeal across many demographics, but the real strength of this game is its potential as a cash cow; we can release innumerable other versions with questions dealing exclusively with TV shows, movie franchises, and boy bands.

WELL-INTENTIONED, YET CLUELESS CEO: I like it! I think we should have the track that the pawns move through be round, and should players roll one or two dice to see how far they move on their turn? Also, we should have matching colors for the pawns and pie wedges that the players have to collect. Chromatic synergy will really draw people in!



Off the top of my head, I can think of three classic games where roll-and-move is a poor or unnecessary inclusion, and I’m certain that many more exist. However, rather than just being an exercise in bagging on old-school boardgames, I’ll suggest alternative mechanics that can help improve them.

A casual stroll through Murder Mansion

The inclusion of roll-and-move in Clue is somewhat forgivable, as the pawns and the board represent the characters moving through the various rooms of the mansion. But it does beg the question of why the characters’ movement speeds can vary so wildly from one moment to the next. Does Miss Scarlet break a heel and have to take a moment to remove her shoes? Does Col. Mustard have a trick knee that sometimes acts up? More importantly though, it mainly serves as a tacked-on mechanic that does nothing to enhance the core gameplay: putting together clues and using logic and deductive reasoning to solve the mystery (or alternatively, making false accusations to lead the other players astray).

The Solution: One time during my childhood, my father adroitly demonstrated how much better this game is without using dice for movement and simply allowing players to move from the room they’re currently in to an adjacent room on their turn. You can’t go directly from a room on one side of the board to a room on the opposite side (unless they’re connected by a tunnel), but getting there by moving from one room to the next using this method takes no more time, and probably less on average, than using dice to get there. Plus, since you spend every turn in a room, you get to make an accusation on each of your turns – that is, actually playing the game. Most people don’t mind graciously waiting for their turn to come around while the other players take theirs, but missing out on one or more turns because you didn’t roll high enough to get to the next room is just frustrating.

The questionable triviality of roll-and-move

Roll-and-move in Triivial Pursuit entirely superfluous. Trivia is fun. Roll-and-move can be fun, but not when it’s so utterly and completely disassociated with everything else in the game. The core of Trivial Pursuit is answering trivia questions. What’s the first thing that comes into your mind when you hear the words “trivial pursuit?” At what point does rolling a die to push a pawn around a board enter the picture?

It’s fine that the goal of the game is to correctly answer a question from six different categories. But, similar to Clue, it becomes exceedingly frustrating having to waste turns waiting for the correct number to come up on the die which will finally allow you to move to a space so that you can have a shot at answering a question from that one category you need.

The Solution: There are many ways to make this game better. Instead of it being a race, which is what is accomplished by the inclusion of the random movement element, make it a more traditional trivia game by scoring points for answering questions correctly. Or skip the points and have the goal remain getting a correct answer in each of the six categories. You can even roll the die to randomly choose the category. It will still be aggravating waiting for that last category that you need to come up on the die, but it will be less so than trying to get the exact number you need to land on a wedge space on the board.

Removing the movement aspect of the game makes it exclusively about answering trivia questions… but isn’t that the point of playing trivia-based games? Young kids enjoy counting spaces on the board and moving pawns around; anyone old enough to actually know the answers to the trivia questions will find this aspect of the game tedious.

A monopoly on randomness

Of my three examples, roll-and move is most justifiable in Monopoly, as there needs to be some randomizer to determine when players owe rent, and to whom. Unfortunately, while there are some strategies and tactics that can be employed, the gameplay leans too heavily on this mechanic, and too much of the game comes down to the fickle whim of the dice gods.

The solution: The fix here requires approaching the game through the lens of verisimilitude. Think about it: If the players are all wealthy real estate moguls, why are they staying at someone else’s hotel, and spending so much money that it potentially bankrupts them? Rather than representing the players, the tokens represent vacationers visiting Atlantic City* and looking for lodging.  Suddenly, using dice to randomly  move tokens around the board makes more sense, as it’s simulating tourists choosing to stay at in different locations.

Property would still be acquired the normal way, and trades could be made, but rather than players paying each other, rent money would just come from the bank (not really representing an actual bank in this case, but the collective wallets of the hotel guests). The winner would be the first player to accumulate a certain amount of money. This would preserve existing strategies (for example, the statistical chance that someone lands on a given property), but it would also remove the player elimination aspect of the game. Nothing’s worse than going bankrupt in the first hour of Monopoly and having to sit around waiting for the game to finish. The rules as written say that normally the game ends as soon as one player is eliminated, and the winner is the person with the most money and property, but every game that I ever played always went down to the last man standing. There are some minor tweaks to gameplay that would have to be made in order for it to all work, but I think this would be a refreshing new twist on a classic game.


Roll-and-move is a valid mechanic that has its place, another tool in the box of game design. Like any other mechanic, there is nothing inherent about it that will make a game more or less enjoyable; how enjoyable a game is depends on a number of factors; choosing the correct mechanics and skillfully implementing them in a way that conveys the experience that the designer is trying to achieve is just one of these factors.


*Or Middle Earth. Or Springfield. Or the Death Star. Seriously, the verisimilitude only holds up if you play the original game and not one of the other entries on the interminable list of re-skins.



I mentioned it in passing earlier, and it seems somehow remiss to not discuss the game that probably best epitomizes the roll-and-move mechanic, distilled down to almost pure form: Trouble. Honestly, when I first started writing this essay, it hadn’t even crossed my mind to write about this game, much less come up with a solution to improve it. One reason it didn’t occur to me to include it is that Trouble doesn’t merely include this mechanic, it is this mechanic; I can’t really label something as being superfluous when removing it would mean gutting about 90% of the gameplay.

My daughter received a copy of Trouble this past Christmas. I was somewhat dreading the inevitable request to play – not because I don’t love sharing all facets of tabletop gaming with her, but because my now decades-old memories of my last time playing it are of sitting with my sister and cousins in a room in my grandparents’ house, not really having anything else to do, but still getting bored waiting for the coveted “6” to come up so we could get on with things. Furthermore, at five years old, she already has some experience playing games that have significantly more depth (King of Tokyo and Formula D, for example), and playing Trouble at this point seemed akin to getting stomped on by an opponent’s pawn and being sent back to start. However, one afternoon shortly after New Year’s, it occurred to me that giving it a try might make for a nice diversion and be a quick and easy way to get in some family time, so I actually ended up asking to play.

Unbeknownst to me, my daughter had been given an updated version of the game which includes several new additions that leave the simplicity intact but also make it a much faster-paced, tactical game (yes, I did just use the word “tactical” to describe Trouble). There are new spaces which give the player an extra die roll (or pop, in this case) and warp spaces which allow a pawn to skip half the length of the track. Perhaps the best new rule is that rolling a one results in not only that player immediately ending their turn, but, in a brilliant example of game design, allows each of the other players to move one of their own pawns from the start position onto the track. In the past, the worst part of Trouble was having only a 1 in 6 chance on your turn of being able to move a piece from its starting position and getting it into play. Now there’s a 1 in 3 chance that somebody will get to put a piece into play on a given roll.

The end result is a much more crowded board – which means that there are more situations that occur in which decisions have to be made – and much more frenetic gameplay; it’s almost like playing an entirely new game. This is not to say that hardcore gamers will want to pick up a copy to bring to their next game night, but it is a game that hardcore gamers who are parents can enjoy with young children and which can potentially be a stepping-stone to becoming serious gamers themselves. A few simple tweaks revitalized this classic, and I couldn’t have thought of any better improvements myself.

Meaningful Choice in Game Design

I still haven’t played Frostgrave yet because I’ve been more of a poser than an actual gamer lately, trying to keep abreast of what’s happening in the industry, putting in time on this blog, but not getting to actually play many games. (In fairness, I’m also spending as much time as I can on a gaming-related side project… coming SOON). Frostgrave is definitely near the top of the list of new games I want to try.

I’ve read the rules, and they seem pretty solid, and I definitely dig the D&D vibe it has going on. One thing that raises a flag in my mind, however, is allowing apprentices to be optional. The rules pretty much say that taking an apprentice is always the optimal choice over spending an equivalent amount of gold on soldiers. Given that the optimal choice clear, it seems pointless to make it a choice at all. However, since I haven’t actually played the game yet, I’ll refrain from taking a definitive stance on this point, but it does lead to a broader topic.


Meaningful Choice in Game Design

Choices are what makes a game a game. This is such a defining feature that games such as Candyland, “War” (that silly card game we all played as kids), and BINGO are not really games at all; rather they are programmed systems that you run to find out what the outcome is. In all three examples, the programming is the order that that the cards end up in after shuffling or the order that the BINGO numbers are called. Ask yourself: is there anything that the player can do in any of these games that will have an effect on the outcome? (I suppose if you introduce the element of gambling into BINGO, then it qualifies as a game since you have to decide how much to wager or how many boards to play, but, not being a blue-haired old lady, my experience of playing BINGO competitively is nonexistent. Also, I don’t intend to diminish the value of Candyland for teaching kids some of the basic structures of games and preparing them for better games down the road.)

An essential feature of good game design is meaningful choices. Choices are what makes a game, but interesting choices that have a meaningful impact on the outcome of the game are part of what makes a good game. One obscure example that stands out to me (and here, I will draw on my experience of a game that I have actually played to make my point!) was a piece of equipment from an early version of Reaper’s tabletop miniatures game, Warlord. Whether or not you’ve ever heard of this game isn’t really important – but props to you if you have heard of it, and more still if you’ve ever played this fun game which never became as popular as it deserved to be!

In Warlord, there was a 10-point piece of equipment known as “Divine Favor.” To give you a sense of what 10 points in this game means, 1,000  – 1,500 points were the most common game sizes during this time (meaning that Divine Favor would account for 1% of your army’s value, at most). There was a spell called “Bandage” which also cost 10 points. Using Divine Favor or Bandage resulted in similar outcomes, which on the surface made their identical point costs seem to make sense, but here are a few other facts:

  • Divine Favor was a one-shot item that automatically negated (negated, not healed) the first point of damage the model equipped with it took, after which it was used up.
  • Bandage would heal a point of damage to one friendly unit, but required a spellcaster to successfully make a casting roll. This also incurred the opportunity cost of using an action to cast it.
  • Divine Favor could be equipped on any model, chosen before the game started.
  • Bandage could be cast on any model, as long as it was within range of the spellcaster.
  • Divine Favor was unique (only one per army).
  • Multiple copies of Bandage could be purchased by the same army.

The details for successfully casting a Bandage spell made it an interesting part of army-building – a meaningful choice about how to spend your points. Perhaps those points you’re thinking of spending on casters and Bandage spells would be better spent on making your units harder to damage rather than healing them afterwards, or on offensive capabilities so they have a better chance of killing enemy units before being damaged themselves?

Rather than buying a Bandage spell, you could spend the same amount of points on an item that would accomplish the same thing, only better –no action or casting roll required! Divine Favor was clearly the optimal choice for your first 10 points, and a decision where the optimal choice is clear is not a meaningful one.

The only question was on which model to equip Divine Favor, but it would invariably be an important, powerful model; 10 points spent on making your warlord or hero that much tougher to kill was a much better use than giving it to a lowly foot soldier. For example, an average Warlord might cost 160 points and be able to take four points of damage before being killed, which works out to 40 points per damage track (Warlord’s term for “hit points,” basically). Why would you not spend 10 points to essentially add another DT to one of your most important units? One fairly unique aspect of Warlord that makes those 10 points even more valuable is that models’ stats degrade as they take damage; so keeping a model damage-free a little bit longer, as Divine Favor does, is much more valuable than merely keeping it alive but with lots of damage.

In order for the question of whether or not to take Divine Favor to be a meaningful choice, it should probably have cost somewhere between 25-35 points – more than Bandage, but still cheap enough to always be tempting; probably a worthwhile choice in most situations, but not clearly the optimal one. Alternatively, another solution would have been to make it a “free” piece of equipment that everyone got, skipping the first no-brainer decision and going right to determining how best to use it. I think the best solution is what Reaper ultimately decided to do, which was to remove Divine Favor from later editions of Warlord.

One of my favorite examples of tightening of game design based on the elimination of sub-optimal choices is from Warcraft 2. In the early release of the game, most custom scenarios for online matches started you with a set amount of gold and a single peasant with which to construct your base. Given that a town hall was required in order to recruit more peasants to collect more gold to ultimately build the rest of your town and recruit your army, the town hall was the optimal choice for the first building constructed. This meant that the first two minutes of every match were spent sitting around waiting for your town hall to finish building. It appears that Blizzard realized this, as in later releases of the game , you would start online matches with your town hall already built. This was standard procedure by the time Warcraft 3 was released, and in that game, every race started with their version of the town hall and five workers. (Undead were the exception, starting with three cultists and a ghoul. This resulted both from and in other interesting game mechanics, but that’s going too far down the rabbit hole for this post.)

To reference an oft-used quote from Antoione de Saint-Exupéry: “Perfection is finally attained not when there is no longer anything to add, but when there is no longer anything to take away.” Meaningful choices make games fun; forcing a player to make a “choice” where the optimal decision is clear is tedious and unnecessary – a chore, not something fun. A great game must have interesting, meaningful choices at the core of its mechanics, and paring down unnecessary decisions certainly helps towards this end.  But there is more to creating a great game than solid, streamlined mechanics.