I'm going to defend a bonus card, at least a little. I realize that's a rather bold thing to do, since it seems to be disliked by almost everyone, if the discussions I've read are anything to go by.
First, let me tell you a personal story. It isn't particularly important in itself, but it helps explain why I feel the way I do.
When I first started playing Wingspan, I was (and, to some extent, still am) deeply attached to the wetlands habitat. I loved building it up, filling it with birds, drawing lots of cards, and shaping my strategy around it.
Then, after a few games, I came across a bonus card that I thought was absolutely brilliant. It let me draw plenty of cards—the way I liked to play—while also making me feel less punished for having "wasted" so much effort investing in the wetlands. You all know the card I'm talking about: the famous Visionary Leader.
I liked the name, too. It matched my personality—or perhaps more accurately, the way I wanted to distinguish myself from other players. That may have been a little pretentious, but I don't think it's such a bad thing to imagine yourself having a few special qualities when playing a game.
I was often "behind" early in the game, rarely winning the first round goals. Yet I very often claimed the final one, and I rather naïvely convinced myself that this was almost the most important thing in the game. Of course, I was regularly running late, with a lot to do and not enough time left. This also led to many games feeling unfinished.
As time went by, I gradually—and thankfully—changed my opinion of this card. Today, I completely understand that it is ineffective in the vast majority of games.
Recently, whenever I read negative comments about it, the logical part of me completely agreed with every argument against it. But there was always something inside me that felt a little hurt, and I could never fully agree with the conclusion that it was simply a bad card.
Eventually, I found myself asking, "Why can't I bring myself to dislike this card?"
It was only recently that I found the answer. That reluctance was simply tied to a "first love" that I had almost forgotten. And that rediscovered first love is the story I've just told you—admittedly with a touch of romanticism.
Looking back, I realize that my attachment to this card has never really been about its power level. It comes from what it represented during my first games, and from the kind of player I wanted to be. Even now that I recognize its flaws, I still wouldn't want to see it disappear.
I like that this is a card new players can be wrong about. I like the idea that someone else might become attached to it, just as I once did.
I also like the diversity it brings to the game. It's one of the very few bonus cards that can reward a full wetlands strategy—a strategy that's naturally difficult to pursue. I like that it encourages players willing to embrace the wetlands, and to bear the weight of a hand overflowing with birds and all the possibilities it holds.
First, let me tell you a personal story. It isn't particularly important in itself, but it helps explain why I feel the way I do.
When I first started playing Wingspan, I was (and, to some extent, still am) deeply attached to the wetlands habitat. I loved building it up, filling it with birds, drawing lots of cards, and shaping my strategy around it.
Then, after a few games, I came across a bonus card that I thought was absolutely brilliant. It let me draw plenty of cards—the way I liked to play—while also making me feel less punished for having "wasted" so much effort investing in the wetlands. You all know the card I'm talking about: the famous Visionary Leader.
I liked the name, too. It matched my personality—or perhaps more accurately, the way I wanted to distinguish myself from other players. That may have been a little pretentious, but I don't think it's such a bad thing to imagine yourself having a few special qualities when playing a game.
I was often "behind" early in the game, rarely winning the first round goals. Yet I very often claimed the final one, and I rather naïvely convinced myself that this was almost the most important thing in the game. Of course, I was regularly running late, with a lot to do and not enough time left. This also led to many games feeling unfinished.
As time went by, I gradually—and thankfully—changed my opinion of this card. Today, I completely understand that it is ineffective in the vast majority of games.
Recently, whenever I read negative comments about it, the logical part of me completely agreed with every argument against it. But there was always something inside me that felt a little hurt, and I could never fully agree with the conclusion that it was simply a bad card.
Eventually, I found myself asking, "Why can't I bring myself to dislike this card?"
It was only recently that I found the answer. That reluctance was simply tied to a "first love" that I had almost forgotten. And that rediscovered first love is the story I've just told you—admittedly with a touch of romanticism.
Looking back, I realize that my attachment to this card has never really been about its power level. It comes from what it represented during my first games, and from the kind of player I wanted to be. Even now that I recognize its flaws, I still wouldn't want to see it disappear.
I like that this is a card new players can be wrong about. I like the idea that someone else might become attached to it, just as I once did.
I also like the diversity it brings to the game. It's one of the very few bonus cards that can reward a full wetlands strategy—a strategy that's naturally difficult to pursue. I like that it encourages players willing to embrace the wetlands, and to bear the weight of a hand overflowing with birds and all the possibilities it holds.
