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I don't think it's much of a secret to say gaming, as a primary hobby, can be incredibly isolating. Not always, but often. The older I have become, the more I have come to realise that games are best experienced with other people. Not just through Discord, or some in-game guild, but out in the real world.

I can speak to this from experience. I have locked myself in a room during the launch of a World of Warcraft expansion. I pulled many a sick day grinding out medals in Gears of War 3 back at school. And I have spent months at a time trying to convince myself that the latest fighting game release would be the one I finally get really good at.

All of these experiences were brilliant, and I have no desire to leave them behind. One of the worst parts of this job is knowing that when Guild Wars 3 or the next Armored Core game comes out, my boss will know any claims of food poisoning are phony. One of the best parts, however, is attending in-person gaming events. These days, they're what I look forward to most.

There is an energy to being side-by-side with other people with similar interests, at a Gamescom or a Tennocon, a Honkai Star Rail fast food promotion or Tekken 8 launch event. But you don't have to go to anything nearly as big to experience the social joys of gaming at its best. For my money, I'd argue that smaller hangouts are even better.

To prove it, I went to one! Around an hour's train journey into London took me to the Meltdown Esports Bar on Caledonian Road. On regular days there are a selection of gaming set-ups, open to play for those willing to drop some money at the bar. But it also hosts special events almost every week. That's why I was there, to play Marvel Tōkon: Fighting Souls on its launch weekend.

I love Meltdown and venues like it. It's not a big-budget corporate venture, just a humble business that thrives on returning customers. Photos of regular people cover the walls, themed drinks and nik-naks surround the bar. Casual set-ups line the perimeter, constantly in use, accessible to everyone.

If you've never gone to a launch event for a new multiplayer game, you're missing out. No one knows anything, everyone is at a similar level. The event I went to was a tournament, but winning wasn't really the goal in anyone's mind. It was purely a hangout, a way to laugh and mess around with a new game, and with new faces. You just drop £10 at the front, get yourself a drink discount token, and play some matches. And the pub was packed.

I wasn't particularly good at Tōkon when I went. This is a bit inside baseball, but no press outlet got review code until the day of release, which meant everyone started on the same day. This, while annoying from a coverage perspective, turned out to be a wonderful excuse to enter this bracket. Oftentimes, for the sake of fairness, reviewers are not allowed to do so, for good reason. I was unshackled - and terrible, like almost everyone else.

And this is important. You don't have to be great at games to spend time with other gamers out in the real world. It truly doesn't matter. Ask anyone who actually goes to these: it's far more important that you aren't a creepy weirdo and don't stink like a sewer. That's the universal bar; it's a really low one.

Given you meet those standards, the only real barrier is the confidence to start up conversations. During the tournament you sit side-by-side with the people you're playing against. After the game, you can chat. How did they pick their team? What do they think of the game? How often do they come to these sorts of things? Are they local?

Fast forward 15 minutes and you - like me - can continue the conversation. I found myself just chatting at one of the tables with a round of drinks, talking about going out in London with a friendly duo and one of the bar staff. We'd cheer each other on during our tournament matches, and laugh about dropped combos. I don't even know these people - not really - but now there's this connection formed around video games that otherwise wouldn't have been there. I'm mashing auto combos with some guy from South Africa who was in town and wanted to run some sets, and striking up a conversation with a handful of other familiar faces, who visited Meltdown as a social space more often.

What I've found is that certain games really blossom when experienced socially. When you're actually interacting with people, rather than progressing through a game on your lonesome, losses for example don't hurt nearly as much, if at all. Wins are moments you celebrate together, and areas of improvement are easier to identify. All the stress of competitive play is stripped away, replaced with the same comfort you'd have playing pool or darts with friends.

And all this cost was a train fare and the price of a few gaming-themed novelty cocktails. Sure, that's still a barrier to entry - things have only become more expensive over the past few years - but I've found it's a cost worth paying every time. I could have absolutely stayed at home and joined some Discord tournament, sat in my boxers and silently played my matches, but it wouldn't have been nearly as meaningful an experience - even just with the game, let alone with other people - as when I had left the house.

Social play is a fundamentally important human experience, and just because gaming is a digital medium does not mean it is limited to the digital realm. It doesn't have to be fighting games. Go play at a LAN if there's one nearby, go watch esports at some nerdy pub, go take your Switch 2 to a friend's house and watch the hours fly by.

And this all sounds obvious, I'm aware. Famously, even the most dull of activities is made better with company. But I think maybe, perhaps starting with the Covid lockdowns a few years back, I had forgotten the importance of it. It's so easy, especially when you have a full-time job - and especially when it's an internet-facing one - to just sit back and indulge yourself in a new game in the comfort of solitude. Once I actually leave this sludgy comfort though, the benefits immediately reveal themselves again. Of course this is great! How could I have ever forgotten that?

Online, particularly on social media, negativity reigns supreme; people seem to do little but groan about a game's imperfections. It can feel like a sickness draining away excitement around games in general. But there really is a cure, and it really is just stepping away from these platforms and going outside. It strips away feelings of burnout, or just general doom and gloom. To play with people is to see games for what they really are: fun.