I Think I Can Manage is a weekly column by retailer Steven Bates, who manages Bookery Fantasy, a million dollar retail operation in Fairborn, Ohio.  This week he takes on retailer exclusives on CCGs. 

I've been reading with bemusement the volley of comments about Topps' decision to release the Wayans Brothers CCG exclusively--temporarily, of course--through Blockbuster Video outlets (among others, see 'Ira Friedman from Topps on The Dozens,' 'Bob Cosner of Bob's Baseball Cards, Comics, and Gaming on CCG Retailer Exclusives,' 'Len Osborne of Cardhaus Games on CCG Retailer Exclusives,' and 'Pat Fuge of Gnome Games on TCG Exclusives'). 

Being a professional mugwump (mug on one side of the fence, wump on the other), I see the validity of arguments from outraged games retailers and the rationale of Topps VP Ira Friedman.  Yes, it does suck when publishers and manufacturers overlook the specialty store market, opting to crawl into bed with big box retailers or chains with higher visibility.  In a perfect world, those of us supporting the industry most stringently would be rewarded.  But from a marketing standpoint, Topps has chosen a course of action that will probably benefit the company more, and possibly result in residual business for the direct market later on (the 'trickle down' theory of economics at work).

We've seen similar deals struck before, from comics publishers like Marvel and Dark Horse, allied with places like Barnes & Noble, Target, Wal-Mart, and 7-Eleven.  Then, as now, retailers were outraged by this blatant disregard for their on-going efforts to support the publishers.  Who carried more total comics, the direct market or the chain stores?  Who stocked monthly periodicals AND graphic novels AND posters AND ... ?  Who didn't want to be treated like a red-headed stepchild by the parent companies?

The problem is, we really ARE the stepchildren of these industries.  Comic books, games, toys, trading cards, and most of the products we make our livings selling, existed before there was a direct market, before there were specialized comics and gaming distributors, before there existed this 'Us vs. Them' mentality.  'Our' products were available at newstands, dry goods stores, toy shops, and, yes, chain stores, long before most of us opened our doors.  We created the specialty market, not Topps, or DC, or Marvel, or any of the myriad others we depend upon for our livelihood.  Yes, we've been responsible for creating many financial successes for these companies.  But does that mean that they owe us something in return?

Whenever we, as human beings, come to depend on someone--a friend, a spouse, a business partner, a hero or icon--we naturally assume that they, equally, need us.  We expect loyalty, devotion, support, appreciation, affection, and reciprocal support.  But this isn't always the case.  Sometimes, we need them more than they need us.

Topps (and many other producers of specialty store products) benefit from their exposure in gaming, comic, and toy stores.  We, in turn, benefit from their successes.  But what of the products that fail?  Why do they bomb?  Are they just bad games and cards and comics that fail to capture the imaginations of the fans?  Or do they, sometimes at least, fail because we, the partner, refuse to support it?  Not all of us, of course.  But as a whole, do many new products bite the big one because the friendly neighborhood dealer doesn't order, shelve, stock, push, or promote it?

Retailers, by necessity, are a cautious lot.  We do not have the resources to order everything (not that we would if we could).  Our customer base largely determines what we should be selling, and our bank accounts tell us what we can actually afford to stock.  Different shops, with different regional and community standards to consider, different local economic factors to weigh, even different ethnicities of clientele to take into account, must build their product base as individuals, on a case-by-case scenario.  Of the several thousand potential specialty store outlets for a game like The Dozens, what percentage would've stocked it in any kind of quantity to make the game a hit?  50%?  A third?

By going with Blockbuster, Topps secured 3500+ outlets for their game.  And even if each Blockbuster carried only one display per store, which is highly unlikely, I'd venture to say that Topps would still sell a heckuva lot more than all of the specialty store orders combined.  And, in theory, the exposure of The Dozens to thousands of Blockbuster customers could generate sales in specialty stores after Blockbuster's limited-time-only exclusive runs out.

Personally, I don't see what all the hype is about anyway.  The Dozens strikes me as another lame wannabe game hoping to cash in on the celebrity status of the Wayans Brothers.  The concept--insulting someone's mother for points--might make for a great verbal schoolyard game, but as a card game, it seems awkward and lethally unfunny.  And the art reminds me of those 'huge' specialty store bestsellers, Wacky Packages and Garbage Pail Kids.

Retailers need to wake up to the realities of our industry.  Everything we do is based on the premise that our knowledge of and enthusiasm for the products we sell makes us superior to impersonal chains, big box retailers, and mainstream venues.  In many ways, we're like a church, or a cult, who believe that the gods favor us because of the temples we build and the rituals we perform, whether it be a weekly trek to comic book Mecca or that Friday night D&D gatherum.  But what if the gods are unhappy with the sheer number of sheep in the flock?  Would they continue to preach to the converted?  Or would they seek acolytes among the uninitiated?