Fighting Both Other Players AND the Algorithm in Pokémon Go
(Or "The House Always Wins – Part 1")
Niantic’s overall approach to F2P design could be briefed as “heavily controlled scarcity/anxiety environment” (I’ve been writing something on it for some time now but yet to lead the thing to a close) but, main game aside for now, there’s no better place in Pokémon Go to see this aggressively fine-tuned system at work than the Battle League–the hub where players can take part in 5 sets of 5 PvP matches a day. Among the progressively meatier rewards, neatly placed in the 3rd slot, sits an interesting pokémon (or, phrasing it more accurately, the CHANCE to get an interesting encounter out of a Russian stacking doll pool of possibilities), there for the best-out-of-5 champion to catch–right where the game wants everyone to be: performing just above average to be motivated enough to keep chasing the carrot indefinitely.
After some years playing the game sort of regularly, I’ll tell you how I came to picture the matchmaking algorithm: THAT Alien. The Alien: Isolation one.
Well, let us say you’ve spent some good deal of time preparing a brand new team. Weaknesses x coverage considered, openers and closers, thinking about shield spamming strategies or tanking hits, spending TMs for specific moves and stardust on getting an extra slot for them, measuring it all up against the meta, all that jazz. You’d probably get a good run and make 4-out-of-5, even 5-out-of-5. You might as well happily jump about your hard-earned loot, but… unbeknownst to you the Alienithm has been triggered.
You bet the next run will be tougher; now the game has a new directive, and it is to get you some 1/5 or 2/5 result and keep the average, no matter what. If you got a really well-balanced team, flexible enough to adapt to the main current strategies around, you may nail a second good run in a row, sure. But then it’s about time to be sailing uncharted waters.
The Alienithm will huff behind your heels like a wolf. Firstly, it’s gonna shamelessly double-down on exactly the same effective openers to force you switching out early–the first sign of a struggle uphill of a battle. My dependable Crobat has suffered in sets full of Magnetons, Ampharoses, Electrodes, Galvantulas or whatever electric meta at reach; I’ve seen powerful heavy-hitter dragons suddenly shrugged by Sylveons; and then my own Sylveon having to face two Perrserkers in a row–meeting one in battle is rare enough, let alone two back to back. You could always try to predict how the thing is going to react; but my experience says it’s like changing lanes in a traffic jam–a waste of time and mental health. Survived yet again? Brace yourself, you’re now eligible for a free session of “Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them”.
I was having a hell of a ride this week. In 5 days I’ve scored 2/5 only twice; throughout every other set I was at the top end of the ratio, with 4/5 or, many times, 5/5 standings. The algorithm started fighting me (as expected) right after the second 5/5 set in a row, but for the first time in my Go career it was failing miserably.
I knew it was going to happen sooner or later… but today my dodgy run has come to an end–in spectacular fashion too: got a 0/5 without ever having a slight chance of winning a single match. The Alienithm finally gathered enough intel to scavenge Pandora’s Box and let hell break loose over my dizzy head.
For the records: that underworldly run brought me 3 Alolan Muk (including a shiny one, just to add insult to injury) employing the exact same (quite unusual so far) tactic: Acid Spray as debuff + shield bait followed by some gotta-nuke-’em-all Dark Pulse; I’ve seen a team piling up fast charging Night Slashers (an Elite perfect–CP 1500–Sandslash, downed just to be promptly followed by a samey Mankey) getting buff to a point they could go through my bulky Hypno and bring an extra rival down on their way back home just because; I met 3 or 4 (shiny or not) pretty versatile Mews, using Surf or Flame Charge or Focus Blast or Bulldoze or Flash Cannon as fit; and I’ve seen an Alolan Marowak melt a full Nidoqueen into oblivion with a single Fire Blast–a first for sure.
The final monslaughtering (sic) chapter of my adventure was closed. And the line I was saving for the other article, “the house always wins”, rang just as true in this particular corner of the game. But watching the Alienithm struggle along the way, making absurd choices, trying every random combination and beyond, dropping its nuts and bolts around before regrouping to its formerly almighty self, oh boy, that was priceless.
Appendix: standings for the brand new Flying Cup from yesterday and today (same team):
5/5; 3/5; 3/5; 3/5; 3/5
2/5; 2/5; 2/5; 2/5; 2/5
Average: 2.7 :P