Dear Peter Adkison,

Hi, I’m Martin Ralya. And I don’t really think you hate us — although I am starting to wonder.

I’ve been to GenCon seven times (1997, 1999, 2000, 2002, 2003, 2004 and 2005) and I’m registered for 2006. I’ve gone with between two and five other people every time — usually three, my gaming group from Michigan.

On top of my badge and events, I usually spend about $100 at the GenCon store and between $300 and $700 in the exhibit hall.

Back in my early twenties, I wasn’t living a very happy life; GenCon was quite literally the highlight of my year. Since then, it’s been nudged out of the top spot (it’s a highlight, not the highlight), but it’s something I look forward to for months.

I buy my plane ticket and get time off from work months in advance. My group makes it a priority to be online and registering for events the moment registration opens; ditto with getting our hotel room. We take notes every year, trying to see how we can smooth out the process next year.

I’m not quiet about my excitement, either. Since I started writing Treasure Tables, I’ve posted several times about GenCon — and I’ll be posting several more times before the con, too.

And my group has a ball when we’re there. Being at GenCon is a fantastic experience, and one that’s consistently improved over time. That really can’t be understated.

In other words, I love GenCon.

The problem is that GenCon no longer appears to love me.

And as far as I can tell, it should love me. I’ve never given GenCon any reason not to love me, and as I’ve outlined above, there are lots of checkmarks in the pro column. Heck, I’ve even taken my lumps and not walked out on this marriage.

There was the year where, despite being among the first to register for housing, we wound up sleeping in a dorm room in the ghetto, over a mile from the convention center. (I slept in a closet.) And the year where my registration info mysteriously disappeared, and I had to buy my badge again. (Every year since, I’ve brought all of my receipts to the con with me.)

And then there was GenCon 2003, year one in Indianapolis.

That was when it started to take two of us several hours to register for events, on top of the several hours we spent building our list of events. We were naive, and didn’t think we’d need to pick alternates. The server was unbelievably slow and buggy, but we pushed through it. To the best of my knowledge, between 25,000 and 30,000 people went to GenCon in 2003.

In 2004, we learned our lesson: We packed our lists with alternates, and cleared our schedules so we could be in front of our computers the moment registration opened. Again, the servers pretty much sucked. To the best of my knowledge, between 25,000 and 30,000 people went to GenCon in 2004.

2005 was more or less the same, but this time we got most of what we wanted to register for — a combination of miltary precision, good planning and flexibility. Go us! Still, the servers sucked. To the best of my knowledge, between 25,000 and 30,000 people went to GenCon in 2005.

Registering for events for GenCon 2006 is still fresh in my mind, because I just finished doing it. I bet you can guess how it went: It sucked.

We got almost nothing that we wanted, which isn’t your fault — I guess we picked popular events. I can shrug that off. But in the process of getting almost nothing that we wanted, we wound up fighting with the shitty server. Again. For the third year in a row.

And I have to tell you, this puts a two-part damper on my excitement about GenCon. The first part is strictly short-term — I’m an easygoing guy, and the frustration of the registration process will wear off in an hour or two.

The second part, though, is long-term and cumulative: Every year, I get less and less enthusiastic about registering for GenCon.

But it’s a catch 22 — my group has learned that if we don’t register, we have to stand in line at the con, and we wind up playing in events that no one in their right mind would fly across the country for. So we have to register ahead of time, and in order to register ahead of time, we pretty much have to do it the moment that registration opens.

Let’s back up a few paragraphs, to where I kept repeating how many people go to GenCon every year. In 2003, the con moved to Indy — a fantastic venue, by the way, and so much better than Milwaukee. Growing pains were to be expected. (And boy were there growing pains — to which, admirably, you responded with an open letter.)

No problem, I thought. Now they know what to expect, and they’ll sort out their server problems next year.

But registration was still about as fun as pulling teeth in 2004.

And in 2005.

And in 2006.

I’m sure setting up a site that can handle the influx of traffic you must get in the first few hours is a massive undertaking, not to mention building the event database and getting all your ducks in a row.

But after three straight years of the same problems, why aren’t they fixed?

Because I have to imagine that the money is there, it’s just not being spent on the registration system. And if it’s not there, raise badge prices by $5 — that $125,000-$150,000 would pay for a lot of improvements.

It’s not just the servers, either — it’s the clunkiness of the process itself. If it’s going to take three minutes for a page to load (about average for me today), why can’t I sort by non-full events? Or view more than 10 events on a page?

After today, for the first time ever, I’m considering skipping GenCon in 2007. I don’t want to do that — like I said, I love GenCon — but the bullshit:fun ratio doesn’t seem to be getting any better.

Why is that, and what are you going to do about improving it next year?

Thanks for listening. I hope to hear from you, either on Treasure Tables or via email or snail mail. If I do, I will post your response in the same place that I first posted this letter.

Sincerely,

Martin Ralya

This is a TT first — I’m not usually much of a ranter, and my posts here are overwhelmingly positive. Provocative title aside, I aimed for a balance between passion and reasoning in this letter. I hope I struck that balance!

I’d love to hear your take on this letter in the comments, as always. And if you agree with my sentiments, help give this letter legs — link to it on your blog, tell your friends. Thank you!

Update: Peter has responded to this letter.