Azul, by designer Michael Kiesling, was released to the world in 2017. A puzzly little abstract game, it was an instant hit in the board gaming world. That same year, at the exact same time from my perspective, Sagrada, a puzzly little abstract game was also released, and much like the console wars of my childhood, I picked a side (Sagrada), and heckled the other team, for no good reason other than base tribalism. But here we are 8 years later, and I’ve finally come around to sing Azul’s praises
Over the years, Azul‘s continued popularity has only grown, and I’ve really come around to seeing how great this game is. With several more games building off the core concept, including Azul: Stained Glass of Sintra, Azul: Summer Pavilion, Azul: Queens Garden, and Azul: Duel. Now, I’ve played all these spin-offs, and I can say that the original Azul is my favourite, so today I’m going to dig into what makes this game so special.
In Azul, players are trying to build a wall. The rulebook says that Portuguese king Manuel I was struck by the beauty of the Moorish decorative tiles in the Alhambra, that he ordered his own palace to be decorated with similar wall tiles, but the theme doesn’t exactly shine through the gameplay here.
The gameplay of Azul has a number of coasters set onto the table in a circle, and 4 tiles pulled from a bag and placed on each one. On your turn, you chose one of the coasters and take all the tiles of one type to place into your staging area on your player board. Any tiles you didn’t take, get pushed to the centre of the table, which is another location you can choose to take tiles from.
Once all the tiles have been taken, any rows in your staging area that have been completed flow onto your finished wall, from top to bottom. When you move a tile to the finished side, it earns you 1 point for every connected tile on the X axis, and another point for every tile on the Y axis. There are also some bonus points for finishing each row, column, and for getting a colour in all 5 rows.
A couple restrictions to be aware of, though. If you already have a colour finished in a row, you can’t add a colour to that row again. If you take a bunch of tiles and have more than the row can allow, they ‘fall to the floor’ and are worth negative points. A game of Azul comes to an end when one player has completed a single row.
Azul is deceptively simple. It starts off by looking like a no interaction abstract puzzle, but as you dig deeper into the game, you start to find the ways to manipulate situations to your advantage. It only takes one time getting saddled with nearly a dozen black tiles when all of your rows are spoken for to teach you that you need to pay attention to what the others are doing.
Your staging area dynamically shrinks and expands as tiles are left over from round to round, as the rows only empty at the end of a round in which that row was full. I’ve seen players end a round with 4 of their 5 rows one tile away from being complete, and being utterly choked for the entire next round.
Azul isn’t Calico, where you can spend most of the game with your head in your hands staring at your own board. It requires you to be aware of what your opponents want, and for you to seize your opportunities the moment they arrive. There are plenty of opportunities to hate-draft precious tiles away from your opponents, or saddle them with excess baggage. Playing Azul well is as much as getting the tiles you want as it is denying your opponents the tiles they need.
But all this meanness, all this punishment, is below the surface of Azul. For a beginner, the tiles available to them are random, and building pretty little patterns is a delightful way to pass the afternoon. It’s pretty impressive, really, that Azul manages to appeal to such a wide audience with its ease of gameplay, while also having a deep tactical pool to plumb, for those willing to do so.
I like Azul a lot. More than I ever expected to, and maybe even more than Sagrada, if I’m honest with myself. It’s elegant without being cold, interactive without being overwhelming, and welcoming to anyone who can appreciate a handful of pretty tiles. It’s the rare abstract game that grows with you; gentle for newcomers, sharp enough for veterans, and endlessly replayable in between. When you finally build that perfect wall to earn 10 points on a single placement, it feels like a masterful stroke of genius. Azul has earned a permanent place on my table, but if you haven’t encountered the meanness inherent in the tiles, be prepared to feel the sting of betrayal when you finally do.
Board Game Hot Takes is one of my favourite board game podcasts. The casual banter the guys share make it feel like you’re part of a group, just chatting about your favourite games. In their most recent episode, #277, they dig into the games they’ve ranked on Board Game Geek, and I thought it would be fun to piggy-back on their conversation and explore my own BGG ratings. But before I get into that, I want to send a sincere congratulation to the BGHT crew on reaching 1 million downloads!
Now, if you’ve spent any time on Board Game Geek, you’re well acquainted with the BGG rankings. Every registered member can rank any game from a 1 to a 10. I’ve talked before on why I don’t include numbers in my reviews, as I don’t think a single number can really capture my experience with a game. But today, I’m diving straight into that subjective mess, how I actually rate games on BGG, and why those numbers matter a bit more than I want to admit.
So to set the stage, here’s my stats. On BGG, I’ve ranked 628 games, and my average rating is a 7.06. At this point in my board game career, I’ve gotten pretty good at knowing what I’m probably going to enjoy. So most of the games that catch my attention and make their way to my table will end up being around a 6 or 7 on my enjoyment scale. It’s pretty rare that a game has me excited and interested enough to play, but to fall utterly flat on its execution. Rare, but not impossible.
While I don’t take the BGG ratings of a game as the gospel truth, I do think there is some value in crowd-sourced rankings. So in this post, I’m digging into the full 1–10 spectrum. What BGG says those ratings actually mean, how I personally use them, and which games end up in each of those categories. Grab a coffee, brace yourself for some self-reflection, and let’s talk numbers.
1 – Defies description of a game. You won’t catch me dead playing this. Clearly broken.
0 Games – 0%
At the very bottom sits the rarest of ratings: the game so broken, incomplete, or objectionable that it barely qualifies as a game at all. A 1 isn’t just bad, it’s the kind of experience you keep on your list only to remind yourself what went wrong.
Perhaps a little controversial here, but I actually haven’t rated any games as a 1. With the criteria of getting a 1 being “defies description of a game”, I would have to play something so arbitrary and pointless, that I’d rather sit on the couch and learn to knit while the rest of my group plays a 1-rated game. When that game shows up, I’ll come back and edit this entry.
2 – Extremely annoying game, won’t play this ever again.
2 games – .32%
A 2 is reserved for the experiences that waver between disappointing into downright aggravating. These are the games that spark frustration and rage rather than fun. These are the games that make me swear off gaming, and inspire me to find new friends.
The only 2 games that I’ve ranked as a 2 are Cards Against Humanity, and Munchkin (the Christmas edition, but that’s a stand-in for the entirety of the Munchkin product line). Cards Against Humanity is a garbage game about putting the most absurd and inappropriate card from your hand into a sentence to make you feel like you were being clever. You know a game is bad when you can just draw the top card from the deck, and it happens to win more often than not.
Munchkin on the other hand, has a tiny bit more respect. I find Muchkin painful to play, as inevitably, one player makes it to 8 or 9 points, then everyone spends their cards hurting everyone else. I’ve had games take over an hour to complete, with players just getting close to the goal, only to be denied. It’s the anthesis of fun.
3 – Likely won’t play this again, although I could be convinced. Bad.
2 Games – .32%
Here lie the games that simply miss the mark. They’re not rage-inducing, but they’re firmly in the “no thanks” category. A 3 signals something fundamentally unenjoyable. Like the 2’s, I only have 2 games rated as a 3. Exploding Kittens, and Monopoly.
Exploding Kittens I can kind of get it’s popularity. It’s easy to play with kids, reminicient of Old Maid, but actually playing it feels like an exercise in tedium. Monopoly, on the other hand… Well, I don’t think I need to get into why I rated it a 3.
4 – Not so good, it doesn’t get me but could be talked into it on occasion.
8 Games – 1.27%
A 4 represents that the slow transition from actively avoiding playing a game, to a tepid, reluctant acceptance. These games aren’t as unplayable as the ones that came before, but I’d need a strong, convincing argument to get me to sit down and play these games.
I’m not going to go over every game in each category, but perhaps the most controversial 4’s I have are Grand Austria Hotel, and Ticket to Ride.
Ticket to Ride I’ve already reviewed ranted about, but Grand Austria Hotel is a fairly beloved game, so what gives? I find the dice drafting to be an exercise in frustration. Add to that the downtime between turns as the game can be fairly AP prone, I find the acronym for Grand Austria Hotel sums up my thoughts nicely; GAH!
Rounding out my 4’s are games like New Bedford, Nox, Phase 10, and Pokémon Master Trainer.
5 – Average game, slightly boring, take it or leave it.
35 Games – 5.57%
A 5 game is the equivalent of a shrug. Perhaps perfectly serviceable, usually slightly boring, and often easily forgotten, these are games I will never seek out, but then again, probably wouldn’t protest too loudly if someone else is really keen to play them. A 5 is usually a dumping ground if I recognize a game has some interesting elements, but don’t jibe with me personally.
Some notable 5’s include Dorfomantik: The Duel, Isle of Trains: All Aboard, Disney Villainous, and Rajas of the Ganges. My most controversial 5’s are Terraforming Mars, Great Western Trail, Maracaibo, and Teotihuacan. I’m sure you can argue that my distaste for these games is a skill issue, and if that’s the case, then I invite you to start your own blog and call me out for my bad opinions.
6 – Ok game, some fun or challenge at least, will play sporadically if in the right mood.
100 games – 15.92%
The 6 rating marks the beginning of genuinely enjoyable territory. These games offer some entertainment or challenge, even if they don’t call to me consistently. They’re usually pleasant, albeit perhaps a bit fragile. Maybe requiring the right group, and are generally not that memorable.
A lot of euro games end up here. Some classics like The Pillars of the Earth, Amerigo, Catan, Finca, Machi Koro, and Viceroy. Some more contemporary 6’s for me include the likes of Deus, In the Hall of the Mountain King, or Ex Libris. Most of these are games that had a cool or had an interesting hook, but nothing that made me want to come back.
Speaking of games that made me not want to come back, other popular games languishing in my 6’s include Beast, Arcs, Terra Mystica (and by extension Age of Innovation, and The Quacks of Quedlingburg. These are games that others love, but I simply did not enjoy. To each their own, I suppose!
7 – Good game, usually willing to play.
220 Games – 35.03%
The 7 category is where my “average enjoyable game” lives. These games are reliably fun, worth returning to, and generally welcome on the table. Not masterpieces, but certainly good gaming.
Some games that I like more than the majority of BGG users include such titles as Bananagrams, Stalk Exchange, Roll to the Top, Dinosaur Tea Party, Bag of Chips, and even the classic Scrabble.
Some beloved games that I’ve slotted into the 7 space are heavy-hitters such as Ark Nova, Gloomhaven, Twilight Struggle, Root, Mage Knight, and Tzolkin.
Really, the majority of games in this category are just good games, but ones that didn’t really blow my socks off. Marco Polo is intresting, but I find a tiny bit tedious to play, I recognize that Ra is a great game, but I fundamentally dislike auction games, so here it sits. Architects of the West Kingdom, Raiders of the North Sea, Lorenzo il Magniflco, Trajan, Yokohama, Tapestry, Dominion, King of Tokyo, Spirit Island, and Clank! A Deck Building Game are all examples of games that I enjoyed, but I don’t feel the need or urge to play them again, let alone rush out and buy a copy to own.
8 – Very good game. I like to play. Probably I’ll suggest it and will never turn down a game.
201 Games – 32.01%
An 8 is where my enthusiasm starts to shine through. These are games I’m genuinely excited to bring to the table. They’re often polished, engaging, replayable, and memorable. I won’t t always choose them over my absolute favourites, but I’ll happily recommend them and would rarely turn down a play.
The upper crust of the 8’s are the ones that just barely squeak onto my top 100 games of all time lists. These are games I’d be happy to own, or would easily recommend to others as great games to give as a gift, or just to play.
Some of the most popular games that I’ve ranked as an 8 include the eminently popular Wingspan, Azul, andCarcassone. Some heavy games that hit my 8 rating include A Feast for Odin, SETI: Search for Exterrestrial Intelligence, Pax Pamir, The Gallerist, Voidfall, and Eclipse: New Dawn for the Galaxy.
A 9 is reserved for the games that spark joy almost every time I think about them. They’re often the ones I suggest first, that I never feel done exploring, and remind me why the board game hobby is so great in the first place. When a 9 hits this level, it’s a great day. This includes Pandemic, 7 Wonders, Scythe, Patchwork, The Castles of Burgundy, Jaipur, and Brass: Birmingham.
10 – Outstanding. Always want to play and expect this will never change.
14 Games – 2.23%
A question the BGHT crew posed was “What seperates a 9 from a 10?” For me, the 10 is the pinnacle. The games that feel complete, magical, and endlessly rewarding. These are the experiences that define me. Whether it’s emotional, elegant, epic, or simply perfect for me, a 10 is more than a favourite, it’s a masterpiece that reaffirms why I love board games at all. These are the games that make me salivate when I think about them, and my heart race while I’m playing them.
Paperback Adventures was Slay the Spire crossed the deck building in a way that just excites me. Bullet❤️ had that spark that reminded me that board games can still really excite me. Galaxy Trucker never fails to make me full-belly laugh. Isle of Skye,Istanbul, and Race for the Galaxy are endlessly replayable. And then, of course, there’s Food Chain Magnate, which was the perfect combination of mechanics and theme that burrowed its way into my psyche and never ever let go.
Conclusion
In the end, BGG ratings aren’t about winning some invisible argument about what a game should score. They’re about capturing how a game made me feel when I played it. What surprised me, what fusturated me, and which games stuck in my brain as I laid in bed after an exhillrating game night.
My 1s and 10s and everything in between aren’t objective truths. They’re breadcrumbs marking where I’ve been in this hobby and where I found joy and pain along the way. They subjective opinions that tell my story. If you’ve struggled with rating games for fear of ‘giving the wrong rating’, don’t stress about it. If there’s one thing I’ve realized during this exercise is that the numbers change. Let me know where you agree with me in the comments below, and if you disagree with some of my takes, then that’s okay too.
The late 00’s and early 2010’s were a beige time in board games. Lots of board games with shades of brown and themes about trading spices and goods for prestige in the Mediterranean. Let’s not forget all the covers with grumpy men staring either at you, or off into the distance. Rococo, designed by Matthias Cramer, Stefan Malz, and Louis Malz and published by eggertspiele in 2013 decided to buck this trend by having a beige cover with a woman staring at you instead. Oh, also instead of trading spices, you’re trading silks, threads, and laces as you craft ballroom gowns to sell for cash or rent for prestige.
Rococo is a euro game through and through, but a bit of an interesting take on deck building. Each round, you pick up your whole deck of employee cards and choose 3 to put into your hand. These employee tasks allow you to preform one of the six main actions, but not all employees can preform every action. Masters can do everything, apprentices can do most of the actions, excluding only crafting master dresses and hiring new employees. Journeymen are cut off from seeking the Queens Favour, and from making dresses entirely.
To take an action, you must play one card from your hand and then choose one of the six main actions. Taking the queen’s favour earns you 5 Lirve (the currency for Rococo) and you get to go first next round. Visiting the silk market allows you to take silks, or, discard the silk tile for thread and laces. All of which are important for building the dresses. Building dresses is another main action, where you pick one blueprint from the row along the bottom of the board, turn in the required resources, then either sell the dress for cash, or rent it out and place it in the hall in an area majority contest that will net you a small amount of prestige. Each round, there are 4 employee cards available for purchase, and this action can only be taken by a master. When you buy an employee card, they do go right into your hand, so you can use their ability on the round you purchase them. The next action is to depute a worker, which has you send them off to get a small amount of cash equal to their skill level (and removes them from your deck), and the final action is to sponsor a decoration, which just has you trading in a sum of money and placing a disc onto the board.
Most of the employee cards also have a special ability that gets activated after you preform the main action. These can be as pedestrian as earning you a single coin for their labour, while others will net you resources, or allow you to preform a specific main action with a discount. Each player takes a turn playing an employee card, doing one action, then activating the employee bonus, and their turn is over. Once all players run out of cards, the round ends. After 7 rounds, the game ends, and the player with the most prestige points, is the winner.
Rococo does have some really interesting concepts. First, its approach to deck building is novel and full of control. Instead of shuffling your discard and drawing 3 cards, you get to just pick up your whole deck and choose any 3 cards you want. Once used, those employees will sit in the discard until you go through your entire deck, but still, it’s deck building without the luck of the draw.
The other aspect of Rococo that I really enjoyed was the dynamic markets. Both the resource market and the employee market cost money, but the amount of money you need to spend goes down as players buy from those markets. It creates a fascinating tempo consideration. If there’s a juicy employee that you want, is it worth 5 Livre to buy immediately? Or can you wait until someone else buys a different card so you get the employee you want for 3 Livre, or even for free if they’re the last employee available for the round.
All of the markets refresh at the start of each round instead of during gameplay, so it’s not uncommon for a market to run out of options. This creates another timing consideration. Do you take a resource from the market now? If you wait, will there even be anything left the next time your turn comes around?
Everything I’ve talked about so far is in service of the main board, where you’re making and renting dresses to people lining the halls. Each of the 5 halls will give prestige to the player who has the most dresses in that hall, as well as prestige for the dresses themselves. This is where the bulk of your points will come from.
But at the end of the day, Rococo is still a euro game. There’s not a ton of player interaction other than taking a resource from a market first, or sneaking in one last disc into a hall to secure the majority.
I think Rococo shines best at odd player counts, as having an even number of players makes the area majority aspect of the game a bit of a tit-for-tat tug of war instead of something a bit more competitive. At the same time, I don’t think having a lot of players will do the game any favours, as the entire stack of employee cards will be used no matter the player count. With more players, you’ll be stuck reusing your same basic employees again and again, leading me to think the ideal player count is 3.
Rococo is a great mid-weight euro game. It has all the familiar trademarks of other games (resource markets, deck building, recipe fulfillment), but utilizes the mechanics in novel and dynamic ways. The theme of creating dresses in 18th century France is whimsical and unique. It’s not a hard game to play, making it a good choice to play with those who have graduated past gateway games and are on their way to a more meaty affair. It doesn’t break traditions, or reinvent the wheel, making it an easy game to enjoy.
For those of you keeping track, it’s been nearly 3 months since I reviewed Final Fantasy VII. I promise, I started Final Fantasy VIII immediately after, but I’ll be really honest. I found it to be so unfun that I struggle to play it. Every time I turn the game on to keep progressing, I get into a single battle, roll my eyes and shut it down again. So instead of progressing on the main story, today’s post is another adventure into one of the spin-off games, Theatrhythm Final Fantasy. Specifically Final Bar Line, the most entry in the series.
Theatrhythm is a rhythm game set to the music of the Final Fantasy universe. When you first launch the game, you’re given a key, and a carousel of the main line titles, along with a choice selection of some of the more popular spin-off games. Your key will unlock one game, along with a few chibi representations of party members from that specific title.
You’re tasked with building a party to take into each one of these rhythm game missions, and the characters are largely separated into different types. Attack type, defense type, support, summoner, and so on. As they go on missions, they level up and unlock new skills.
But wait, you might be asking. Why are you getting levels and skills in a rhythm game? That’s a great question, and one that is never really answered. Each game presents you with a linier path of songs, starting from the beginning of the game, and progressing through the major plot beats. Each level has various dots scrolling from left to right, and all you need to do when the dot hits the right side of the screen is press a button. Literally, any button will suffice. You can choose to use the shoulder buttons, the face buttons, d-pad, anything. If two buttons hit the right side bar at one time, you’ll need to hit two buttons. There’s also green lines, when make you hold a button for a while, and if that green line slants up or down, you’ll need to hold the joystick in that direction to satisfy the note. There’s also arrows mixed in with the buttons, asking you to press one of the joysticks in that direction.
And that’s the entirety of the gameplay. But literally behind the rhythm game aspect, your party of characters is walking in the background from right to left, letting the scenery scroll by, and occasionally encountering monsters. Your party will automatically battle the baddies they encounter, and should they defeat them, they’ll just keep on walking to the left until the song ends. After a couple songs, you’re rewarded with another key, so you can unlock another game’s music, and if you manage to complete all the songs for a game, you’ll be able to add that games antagonist to your party, just for kicks.
To encourage you to build your party out a little bit, each song has a mission for you to accomplish, and most of them have to do with the party defeating a certain number of baddies, or using certain types of skills. It can be quite difficult to nearly impossible to defeat enough enemies when you first start the game, meaning you’ll likely need to return once your party has levelled up enough to lay the smack down on the enemies. That said, some characters synergize with each other incredibly well to really ratchet up the damage they’re able to output, making previously impossible challenges an utter breeze.
I find the RPG elements of Theatrhythm to be banal and superfluous. It literally does not matter how you build out your party, or if they fail to accomplish whatever the goal of the song is. The only thing that matters is that you hit enough notes to complete the song. I will concede that some of the characters trade defense for attack, and if you stack too many of those characters together, then missing just a handful of notes is enough to make you fail the song.
The rhythm game itself is simple and generally relaxing. The music of the Final Fantasy franchise is beautiful, and it’s actually been really lovely to revisit the past 7 games I’ve played in this way. The musical themes stirring up the memories of my adventures was more nostalgic that I originally expected. Some of the songs really ratchet up the difficulty, putting this game into the “easy to play, difficult to master” territory. Thankfully, each song has several difficulty levels, letting you push yourself on the easier songs, and pull back on the more devilish ones.
I use the term ‘master’, loosely. Theatrhythm is very forgiving, with generally wide range for accepting a button input, to the directional arrows just needing to be within the correct 90 degree arc. Add this to the dual stick and any button approach, and sometimes just spamming things at the right general direction is enough to get you through a difficult spot.
I was surprised at just how many songs were packed into this game. Every main title has at least 10 songs to deliver, and Final Fantasy XI shows up with a whopping 44 songs. With the DLC added, there’s over 400 songs to play through, although some of the most popular songs end up repeated and remixed several times (looking at you, Battle on the Big Bridge).
Theatrhythm ends up being a wonderful and charming celebration of Final Fantasy music, and one that I thoroughly enjoyed. Although the RPG elements are pointless, they do provide a fun little background for my daughter to watch while I focus on the dots flying across the screen.
If you’re being picky, you’ll start to notice that not all note tracks are particularly well-matched to each song. Some dots will fly by and ask for button presses off-beat, but it’s hard to really complain too much when all of the music is just so good. As a celebration of Final Fantasy’s 35th anniversary, Theatrhythm absolutely succeeds in being a big package of fan service to long-time fans. I don’t think the gameplay is engaging enough to make you want to sink hundreds of hours into it, nor will you be organizing multiplayer Theatrhythm parties any time soon, like you used to do with your favourite rhythm games. But if you’re a Final Fantasy fan, I think you’ll find yourself surprisingly touched when the themes of your favourite games come on, and the caricatures of the heroes you’ve spent dozens of hours with bob across the screen. Just don’t show up expecting deep, satisfying RPG gameplay, you won’t find it here.
I’m not really an expansion kind of guy. In general, when given the choice between buying an expansion to a game I already know, or buying a whole new game, I’m going to pick buying a new game almost every time. Yes, I realize expansions are usually cheaper, and there is something lovely about injecting a bit of new into something you and your group are already familiar with, but still. I own very few expansions.
In 2023 I reviewed Akropolis, the tile laying game designed by Jules Messaud and published by Gigamic. I was absolutely smitten with it then, to the point that it landed as number 36 on my top 100 games list, the last time I made that list. Akropolis: Athena is the small box expansion that adds just a few tiles, but can absolutely bend the game if you let it. Let me explain.
Akropolis: Athena basically consists of a deck of goal cards, and a bunch of single hex tiles. That’s right, single hexes. At the start of the game you lay out 4 goal cards, and below each goal card, lay out 4 hexes for a total of 16 single hexes. During the game if you manage to achieve one of the goal cards, you get to take one of the single hexes from that goal card, and place it into your city. You can only achieve each goal once, so you also take a piece of an Athena statue to remind yourself you’ve already completed that objective. If you manage to complete the whole statue, the leftover stone at the end of the game is now worth 5 instead of the usual 1.
What makes Akropolis: Athena special, is that the goal cards are often pulling you in different directions. They offer objectives that by themselves offer no strategic benefit, but those single hex tiles can be game changing. I can’t tell you how often I play a tile laying game, and want to snap a piece in half (looking at you, My Island), or cursing the orientation of a polyomino tile (The Z tile is always facing the wrong direction in My City). Akropolis: Athena gives you the satisfaction of a single hex, allowing it to just drop into the perfect place in your city to make everything feel whole again.
And these single tiles can be really powerful. They may give you stars to improve the score of a certain colour in your city, and many of them are actually split in half, giving you the power of two districts on a single tile. This can allow you to bridge the gap between blue districts while strategically keeping the yellow half away from another yellow tile, or, it can be useless as the spot where you need the tile to go just doesn’t work for the colours that are surrounding it.
Depending on what set of goals you have, it’s entirely possible that no one manages to complete all 4 in a single game. They do ask you to do some odd things, which you often won’t accidentally stumble into doing on your own. Like having a straight line of red tiles, or putting a green tile next to a green star. You might luck into it, but you’ll more than likely need to make a concerted effort to achieve the goals.
The payoff for managing to complete all 4 goals can be almost game breaking. In one of my plays, I managed to complete all 4 objectives, and then hoard 15 pieces of stone for a bonus 75 points. Considering that in the base game, an average score is 114, it’s a pretty lucrative path to take. But if chasing that stone dragon takes up entirely too much of your time, and your opponents’ manage to collect everything they’ve ever wanted, then Athena on her own is unlikely to save your game.
What I’m trying to say is that it is possible to ignore this expansion completely and still come out the victor. Especially if the players overcommit to completing the objectives and don’t properly capitalize on the benefits Athena brings. For some people, if an expansion can be ignored, they ask why have it at all? I have to say that I really appreciate this expansion. Having the goals shift every game keeps the gameplay feeling fresh. Now you can’t just rely on hording the green tiles to carry you to victory every single game. Because the Athena tiles do shift the balance of the stars, perhaps in one game the purples just have that little bit higher chance to be even more powerful than the other colours. I also really appreciate having something extra to shoot for, especially when the market is bare and none of the tiles available to be are useful.
Akropolis: Athena hits a pretty great balance between being powerful and exciting, but not overwhelmingly so, in that if you ignore the expansion bits, you have no hope to compete. At the very least it adds variety to the strategy of Akropolis. Athena definitely improves Akropolis, and I feel comfortable in teaching the expansion to new players right from the start. I think my only main complaint is that I can’t fit the expansion into the base box without tossing the entire insert away and just letting everything be loose in there. But even with that gripe, If you enjoy Akropolis and want a small expansion that meaningfully refreshes the puzzle without complicating it, Athena is a must-have.
