The Bot Wars: why you can never buy concert tickets online

Enterprising programmers are creating bots that can reserve, and in some cases buy, everything from restaurant tables to eBay goods before humans can even get a look in. Where will the bot wars end?

Diogo Monica was frustrated. All he wanted was to book a table at his favourite restaurant, but it seemed to be an impossible task.

State Bird Provisions, in the Fillmore district of San Francisco, was fully booked for 60 days in advance, and had been ever since last August, when Bon Appétit magazine named it the best new restaurant in the country.

No matter how many times he returned to the website, the answer was always the same: “No reservations are currently available. As tables become available, they will be shown here.”

Sure, the crispy spiced quail is “unparalleled”; yes, the rose-geranium ice cream is “a singular delight”; but could the promise of such culinary gems really rouse so many to try, every single day, that a table became literally unbookable?

Diogo wasn’t the only one having problems, a myriad of online complaints attested to that. “It’s the hardest place to get a seat in the city right now, full stop," said one. “Don’t even bother,” said another. “Tried every day last week = 0 bookings.” 

Where could all the reservations be going? Were they even going up at all?

Unlike most customers, however, Diogo had another weapon in his arsenal. As a computer programmer, currently working for Twitter founder Jack Dorsey's new venture Square, he had the skills to build a bot.

“A bot is essentially a computer program that automates the process that a human would go through when making a reservations,” Diogo explained via email. This bot would scan State Bird Provisions’ reservation page at regular intervals, emailing him every time it was updated. “I set it to run once every minute.”

At first he had some success. The resulting flurry of emails showed him that reservations really were being released, albeit at four in the morning. Other people were on to this too: each day, without exception, every table would be snapped up within the hour. Armed with this knowledge – and the occasional tip off about a last-minute cancellation – Diogo began to get reservations again.

It wasn’t fair – that he knew. Other fans without his technical skills were still going without a table. But it was a relief to have some success at last after expending so much time and energy on the project. 

But soon, even armed with this insider knowledge, the tables were being grabbed from under him – even the unexpected, irregular cancellations. “The moment they became available they would be gone in the time it took for the website to load.”

He realised that his bot was up against something more powerful. Someone else – or maybe several others – had created a bot that could both watch for and then reserve the available tables all by themselves.

“You fight fire with fire,” he said. “So I decided to fight back, creating my own.”

And so he did. The days when Diogo couldn’t get a table for love nor money are now a distant memory. His bot is so good at its job that sometimes he gets two or three reservations in his name in the same day – he thinks he’s now been to the restaurant “around 15 times”. But he doesn’t expect to stay top for long. If he wants to keep getting tables at State Bird Provision, he’ll have to constantly modify his bot as rivals are adapted to undercut him.

Diogo wrote about the "bot wars" on his website – releasing the code for anyone who wanted, in a bid to “level the playing field” for the less technically-minded.

Soon his competitors were coming out of the woodwork too, including Anil Bridgpal, a former Comcast software engineer.

News spread quickly among the foodie community: his tale of automatons, of reservations made in superhuman speed, rang true with many who had spent fruitless hours refreshing and refreshing the reservation page.

“Weird things go on,” agreed one thwarted diner, who had met with precisely the same problem with a restaurant 60 miles away. “I submitted my reservation within two-tenths of a second after midnight and was told I was too early. Within three seconds I resubmitted and the message said nothing was available. This is not the first time this has happened to me.”

It wasn’t just him, Diogo realised; it wasn’t just this restaurant.

***

Diogo’s dispatch from the frontlines of the new bot wars provided a rare insight into an underground community of unknown, unseen programmers who compete to build the fastest, most powerful bots in a virtual arms race.

Just as high frequency trading, via automated software, took over the financial markets in the early 2000s, the use of bots is a technique that is increasingly coming to dominate online sales of all stripes.

Diogo admits to deploying bots himself not only for dinner reservations, but to secure cinema tickets on busy opening nights and the cheapest flights to visit his family in Portugal. Anil knows of bots for “concert tickets, camping grounds and marathon registrations”. Such programs “are pretty easy to for any developer to write,” he told me.

Yet despite their ubiquity, in hacker circles there is little discussion of the ethics of bot use. There are no gentleman’s agreements to abstain from silicon wizardry when fighting it out with the general public. When there’s an online race, it’s every man for himself – and no one said the race would be fair.

While this might still be only a mild irritation when booking restaurants – where bot use is confined to only the most popular places – it already poses an enormous problem for the music industry. Online ticket sales for concerts are increasingly dogged by accusations of foul play from fans who feel they have been leapfrogged by so-called “scalpers” who buy up dozens of tickets as soon as sales open, then sell them immediately on, for a profit.

When Beyoncé announced an eleven-date UK leg of her 2013 “Mrs Carter” tour, fans knew that competition for the tickets would be fierce. So, on the morning of the 23 February, before the sun had risen, TV researcher Gemma Meredith was ready at her computer, the booking page on her laptop screen and her credit card on the table in front of her.

By 9.29am, she was refreshing the page repeatedly, jostling for first place in the queue. At 9.30 exactly she had been redirected to a "virtual waiting room" – then minutes later, the verdict: “Tickets could not be found. Please try again.”

So she did. Again, then again. Twelve minutes later, while she was still waiting, Ticketmaster announced that every single ticket had been sold. “It was incredibly frustrating,” she said. “Who was buying these tickets faster than I could reload the page? I don’t see what else I could have done.”

Across London, events manager Philippa Brady was in exactly the same position. “Me and a friend were both trying on two different computers – and neither of us got anything. I'm usually pretty good at getting tickets, but the Beyoncé sale was a joke.”

Even Olympic swimmer Rebecca Adlington had no luck, telling her followers on Twitter: “Three computers, refreshing like crazy but no Beyonce tickets! Hope anyone else trying has had more success!”

Yet within moments of the tickets selling out, touts were already offering them on eBay for as much as £1,000 for a standing ticket. “"There were so many, someone was obviously making a lot of money. But what I didn't understand was how they had bought so many when I couldn't even get one," said Gemma.

Ticketmaster, like all the other major ticket outlets, is in the midst of a huge battle with tout-controlled bots. During the Beyoncé sale alone, it thwarted 120,000 ticket requests from bots, and the number that got round the defences cannot be known.

A spokesman for the company said: “Attempts are made during every busy on sale to purchase tickets unfairly using bots. This is an arms race between the technology companies like us and the individuals who create bots. These people are continually innovating and refining bots to make them harder to identify. 

“Ticketmaster is committed to investing in technology that thwarts these bots and we will continue to work hard to ensure that tickets go directly into the hands of genuine fans.”

In the US, bots are thought to account for 90 per cent of traffic to the Ticketmaster website, and 60 per cent of ticket sales to some of the most desirable events. Equivalent statistics were not available for the UK, the spokesman said.

Ticket scalpers can be found advertising online, seeking programmers to develop ever more advanced software. One advert, now ended but still visible online, requests a program to “automatically search for tickets to events on Ticketmaster.com the moment they go on sale”. It must be able to “solve CAPTCHA screens with 75 to 100 per cent accuracy” and evade “cookie or IP conflicts that will lead to Ticketmaster blocking me”. A freelancer based in India was paid $450 for the job.

Indeed, anyone with the money can now buy ready-made bots from hackers "off the shelf". Websites like ticketbots.net offer, for a price, ticket-buying bots to suit a number of different sites - including that of Ticketmaster (£645), eBay-owned Stubhub (£385) and even the Royal Albert Hall (£490).

“Grabs tickets and hold for you instantly,” the Royal Albert Hall bot promises. “Specify section and/or row. . . automatically purchases tickets as soon as they are found.” It is the modern day equivalent of paying someone else to queue. The botmaker declined to reveal how many he had sold.

Yet despite this burgeoning market, some benevolent developers have been willing to use their skills for the greater good.  Adam Naisbitt, an entrepreneur from Milton Keynes, was so frustrated by the difficulties of buying tickets to the London Olympics that he created a bot to notify him when seats became available. But instead of keeping it to himself, he released the information on Twitter, under the @2012TicketAlert username.

“The response was overwhelming,” he said. “We had over 100,000 followers, reached over 2.5m people, helped thousands get tickets and raised over £2,000 for the Olympic Foundation.”

The popularity of his feed, and the success of bots more generally, comes down to the fact that these (often quite simple) automated programs can surpass human abilities in several ways. They are faster, making instantaneous ticket choices, or lodging eBay bids in the final milliseconds of a sale, and capable of making more rational decisions that humans – which has led to them being marketed for use in online gambling. “They do not make mistakes or stake more money because they believe a particular team or horse will win,” said Rade Jaramaz, director of a British-based company that develops bots for use on the Betfair exchange.

Some bots are simply successful because they don’t get bored, and will repeat the same action, again and again, without a drop in accuracy or motivation.

For this reason, many hackers built their first bots for use in computer games. Online games often feature a requirement to complete repetitive tasks to earn virtual wealth, such as mining for gold – the profits of which can then be traded for in-game bonuses or even real-life money. By writing a program to automate this process, a player can benefit from hours of mining without having to do any of the boring work themselves.

Just as in real life, the effect of the bots was to skew the market. For those who use the bots, your task becomes easy – whether that be mining virtual gold or buying real, sought-after concert tickets. For those that don’t, well, they are at an enormous disadvantage.

In many of those games, the same pattern emerged. As more and more bots came online, the situation spiralled out of control. Inflation skyrocketed as the gold-rich bot-owners priced out everyone else. Some games, like Diablo III, saw a total collapse of their virtual economy.

In the end, for the rule-abiding players, it stopped being fun. It stopped being fair. So they stopped playing altogether.

Such is the challenge facing the online sales industry. Every time a wall is built to keep out the bots, the hackers will be programming around it, popping up behind it, whack-a-mole style. But unchecked, the bots will cause havoc, undercutting the real fans, who will be forced to buy from touts, at spiralling prices.

Too many disappointments will see customers turning away altogether. Or, perhaps, they will buy their own software, hoping to beat the scalpers at their own game.

And thus the bot wars shall escalate. 

Is it fair that programmers can build bots to buy things you want? Photo: CJ Isherwood on Flickr, via Creative Commons

Cal Flyn is a freelance journalist, who writes for the Sunday Times, New Statesman and others. Find more of her work at www.calflyn.com and her Twitter handle is @calflyn.

Getty
Show Hide image

Love a good box set? Then you should watch the Snooker World Championships

The game relies on a steady arm, which relies on a steady nerve. The result is a slow creeping tension needs time and space to be properly enjoyed and endured. 

People are lazy and people are impatient. This has always been so – just ask Moses or his rock – but as illustrated by kindly old Yahweh, in those days they could not simply answer those impulses and stroll on.

Nowadays, that is no longer so. Twitter, YouTube and listicles reflect a desire for complex and involved issues, expansive and nuanced sports – what we might term quality – to be condensed into easily digestible morsels for effort-free enjoyment.

There is, though, one notable exception to this trend: the box set. Pursuing a novelistic, literary sensibility, it credits its audience with the power of sentience and tells riveting stories slowly, unfolding things in whichever manner that it is best for them to unfold.

In the first episode of the first series of The Sopranos, we hear Tony demean his wife Carmela's irritation with him via the phrase “always with the drama”; in the seventh episode of the first series we see his mother do likewise to his father; and in the 21st and final episode of the sixth and final series, his son uses it on Carmela. It is precisely this richness and this care that makes The Sopranos not only the finest TV show ever made, but the finest artefact that contemporary society has to offer. It forces us to think, try and feel.

We have two principal methods of consuming art of this ilk - weekly episode, or week-long binge. The former allows for anticipation and contemplation, worthy pursuits both, but of an entirely different order to the immersion and obsession offered by the latter. Who, when watching the Wire, didn’t find themselves agreeing that trudat, it's time to reup the dishwasher salt, but we’ve run out, ain’t no thing. Losing yourself in another world is rare, likewise excitement at where your mind is going next.

In a sporting context, this can only be achieved via World Championship snooker. Because snooker is a simple, repetitive game, it is absorbing very quickly, its run of play faithfully reflected by the score.

But the Worlds are special. The first round is played over ten frames – as many as the final in the next most prestigious competition – and rather than the usual week, it lasts for 17 magical days, from morning until night. This bestows upon us the opportunity to, figuratively at least, put away our lives and concentrate. Of course, work and family still exist, but only in the context of the snooker and without anything like the same intensity. There is no joy on earth like watching the BBC’s shot of the championship compilation to discover that not only did you see most of them live, but that you have successfully predicted the shortlist.

It is true that people competing at anything provides compelling drama, emotion, pathos and bathos - the Olympics proves this every four years. But there is something uniquely nourishing about longform snooker, which is why it has sustained for decades without significant alteration.

The game relies on a steady arm, which relies on a steady nerve. The result is a slow creeping tension needs time and space to be properly enjoyed and endured. Most frequently, snooker is grouped with darts as a non-athletic sport, instead testing fine motor skills and the ability to calculate angles, velocity and forthcoming shots. However, its tempo and depth is more similar to Test cricket – except snooker trusts so much in its magnificence that it refuses to compromise the values which underpin it.

Alfred Hitchcock once explained that if two people are talking and a bomb explodes without warning, it constitutes surprise; but if two people are talking and all the while a ticking bomb is visible under the table, it constitutes suspense. “In these conditions,” he said, “The same innocuous conversation becomes fascinating because the public is participating in the scene. The audience is longing to warn the characters on the screen: ‘You shouldn't be talking about such trivial matters. There is a bomb beneath you and it is about to explode!’”

Such is snooker. In more or less every break, there will at some point be at least one difficult shot, loss of position or bad contact – and there will always be pressure. Add to that the broken flow of things – time spent waiting for the balls to stop, time spent prowling around the table, time spent sizing up the table, time spent cleaning the white, time spent waiting for a turn – and the ability for things to go wrong is constantly in contemplation.

All the more so in Sheffield’s Crucible Theatre. This venue, in its 40th year of hosting the competition, is elemental to its success. Place is crucial to storytelling, and even the word “Crucible” – whether “a ceramic or metal container in which metals or other substances may be melted or subjected to very high temperatures,” “a situation of severe trial”, or Arthur Miller’s searing play – conjures images of destruction, injustice and nakedness. And the actual Crucible is perhaps the most atmospheric arena in sport - intimate, quiet, and home to a legendarily knowledgeable audience, able to calculate when a player has secured a frame simply by listening to commentary through an earpiece and applauding as soon as the information is communicated to them.

To temper the stress, snooker is also something incredibly comforting. This is partly rooted in its scheduling. Working day and late-night sport is illicit and conspiratorial, while its presence in revision season has entire cohorts committing to “just one more quick frame”, and “just one more quick spliff”. But most powerfully of all, world championship snooker triggers memory and nostalgia, a rare example of something that hasn’t changed, as captivating now as it was in childhood.

This wistfulness is complemented by sensory pleasure of the lushest order. The colours of both baize and balls are the brightest, most engaging iterations imaginable, while the click of cue on ball, the clunk of ball on ball and the clack of ball on pocket is deep and musical; omnipresent and predictable, they combine for a soundtrack that one might play to a baby in the womb, instead of whale music or Megadeth.

Repeating rhythms are also set by the commentators, former players of many years standing. As is natural with extended coverage of repetitive-action games, there are numerous phrases that recur:

“We all love these tactical frames, but the players are so good nowadays that one mistake and your opponent’s in, so here he is, looking to win the frame at one visit ... and it’s there, right in the heart of the pocket for frame and match! But where’s the cue ball going! it really is amazing what can happen in the game of snooker, especially when we’re down to this one-table situation.”

But as omniscient narrators, the same men also provide actual insight, alerting us to options and eventualities of which we would otherwise be ignorant. Snooker is a simple game but geometry and physics are complicated, so an expert eye is required to explain them intelligibly; it is done with a winning combination of levity and sincerity.

The only essential way in which snooker is different is the standard of play. The first round of this year’s draw featured eight past winners, only two of whom have made it to the last four, and there were three second-round games that were plausible finals.

And just as literary fiction is as much about character as plot, so too is snooker. Nothing makes you feel you know someone like studying them over years at moments of elation and desolation, pressure and release, punctuated by TV confessions of guilty pleasures, such as foot massages, and bucket list contents, such as naked bungee jumping.

It is probably true that there are not as many “characters” in the game as once there were, but there are just as many characters, all of whom are part of that tradition. And because players play throughout their adult life, able to establish their personalities, in unforgiving close-up, over a number of years, they need not be bombastic to tell compelling stories, growing and undergoing change in the same way as Dorothea Brooke or Paulie Gualtieri.

Of no one is this more evident that Ding Junhui, runner-up last year and current semi-finalist this; though he is only 30, we have been watching him almost half his life. In 2007, he reached the final of the Masters tournament, in which he faced Ronnie O’Sullivan, the most naturally talented player ever to pick up a cue – TMNTPETPUAC for short. The crowd were, to be charitable, being boisterous, and to be honest, being pricks, and at the same time, O’Sullivan was playing monumentally well. So at the mid-session interval, Ding left the arena in tears and O’Sullivan took his arm in consolation; then when Ding beat O’Sullivan in this year’s quarter-final, he rested his head on O’Sullivan’s shoulder and exchanged words of encouragement for words of respect. It was beautiful, it was particular, and it was snooker.

Currently, Ding trails Mark Selby, the “Jester from Leicester” – a lucky escape, considering other rhyming nouns - in their best of 33 encounter. Given a champion poised to move from defending to dominant, the likelihood is that Ding will remain the best player never to win the game’s biggest prize for another year.

Meanwhile, the other semi-final pits Barry Hawkins, a finalist in 2013, against John Higgins, an undisputed great and three-time champion. Higgins looks likely to progress, and though whoever wins through will be an outsider, both are eminently capable of taking the title. Which is to say that, this weekend, Planet Earth has no entertainment more thrilling, challenging and enriching than events at the Crucible Theatre, Sheffield.

0800 7318496