Hundred-thousand dollar Kickstarter cancelled amid threats and anger

Do we have to get used to the occasional failure?

A major Kickstarter campaign has fallen apart amid disputes between its founders, leading to accusations of fraud from its backers and renewing concerns over how the site deals with projects which fail to deliver what they promised.

Erik Chevalier, as part of a start-up board game company called The Forking Path, raised $122,874 to create The Doom That Came To Atlantic City, a inventive twist on Monopoly which sees players taking the role of Lovecraftian gods and destroying Atlantic City (the setting of the American version of Monopoly) in an effort to instigate hell on Earth.

The total raised was three-and-a-half times what the group had asked for, and let them promise increasingly intricate (and expensive) stretch goals, from new pieces in the game and rules additions to free stickers and artwork. In June last year they finished fundraising, and settled down to get the work done. The delivery of the game was estimated as November that year, and, although communication was fairly regular, that delivery date was missed. As late as June this year, the Chevalier confirmed that "the project is moving along" with a release this autumn. Then, this Wednesday, he announced the sudden cancellation of the whole thing:

After much deliberation I've had to make this decision. I've informed Keith and Lee and neither at all happy with this situation. Every possible mistake was made, some due to my inexperience in board game publishing, others due to ego conflicts, legal issues and technical complications. No matter the cause though these could all have been avoided by someone more experienced and I apparently was not that person.

The comments below the post contain a lot of angry people – which is unsurprising, given that amongst the backers are seven people who pledged at least $500, three who pledged $1000, and one backer who offered $2,500, in return for the designers hosting an afternoon of gaming and taking them out "to dinner at a fancy restaurant in Portland". Backers are trying to get the press involved, filing fraud complaints with the Oregon government, and demanding refunds – which Chevalier has promised to give, although the question of where the money to do so will come from remains unclear.

The designers of the game themselves have also weighed in. Keith Baker writes:

Lee and I don’t know exactly how the money was spent, why the backers were misled, what challenges were faced or what drove the decisions that led to the cancellation of the game. Not only did we not make any money from the game, we have actually lost money; as soon as we learned the true state of affairs, we engaged a lawyer to compel The Forking Path to come forward to the backers and to honor its pledge to issue refunds.

At this time, it's unclear how Forking Path is going to go ahead. Chevalier has issued a second statement, reiterating his intention to provide refunds, and Baker is preparing to provide a "print and play" version of the game – but someone is going to lose a lot of money whatever happens. Even if Forking Path hadn't spent a penny, 10 per cent of the funds received go straight to Kickstarter and Amazon; either the backers are out-of-pocket, or the company is.

This type of failure is going to get more and more common as Kickstarter grows, if only because the sheer numbers game means that there'll be more chances for catastrophe. In addition, there's an indeterminate amount of "zombie projects" at any one time – ones which aren't ever going to deliver what they've said, but haven't actually come clean to their backers about that. Given delays in delivery of up to a year are relatively common on the site, there could be a whole lot of people slowly realising that they aren't getting what they were promised.

It puts the company itself in an awkward place. Its success is built on customers' perception of it as a sort of Etsy-with-preorders, where you are buying concrete goods, just a little in advance. And the terms and services of the site back that up, with requirements for refunds in the event of non-delivery. But funding creative projects is an inherently risky thing. What can go wrong probably will, and if a creator hasn't budgeted for that, they're going to get burned.

That doesn't make it any nicer when something you feel you've "bought" never turns up; but it may be a fact we all have to get used to if Kickstarter is sticking around.

The Doom That Came to Atlantic City. Photograph: Kickstarter

Alex Hern is a technology reporter for the Guardian. He was formerly staff writer at the New Statesman. You should follow Alex on Twitter.

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A glossary of football’s most hackneyed phrases – and what they mean

This is the time of the season when we all get tired. Time to break out the cliches.

This is the time of the season when we all get tired. The players, poor petals, are exhausted. The refs have had enough of being shouted at. The hot-dog sellers are running out of hot dogs. And the TV commentators, bless ’em, are running out of clichés. So, between now and the end, look out for the following tired old phrases, well-worn adjectives and hackneyed descriptions, and do feel sorry for them. They know not what they are doing.

It will go right to the wire. In the case of the Prem, this isn’t even true. Leicester are as good as there. It is only true of the Championship, where three teams – Burnley, Middlesbrough and Brighton – are on 87 points each, with the fourth team miles away. Now that will go to the wire. The phrase comes from those pre-war reporters in the US who telegraphed their copy. When it didn’t get through, or they’d never filed it, being too lazy or too drunk, they would blame the technology and say, “It’s down to the wire.”

Dead men walking. This is when the pundits decide to hold a seance in the studio, taking advantage of Alan Shearer having sent us all to sleep. It also refers to Pellegrini of Man City and Hiddink of Chelsea. They have known for ages they’re dead parrots, not long for this life, with their successors lined up even while their bodies are still warm. I think a moment of silence is called for. “Dead men walking” refers only to football. Must not be used in connection with other activities, such as media. When someone is sacked on a newspaper, they immediately get sent home on gardening leave, just in case they manage to introduce a spot of subversion into the classified ads, such as: “Five underpants carefully kept; make up; red dungarees; offers considered, Kent.” (The first letters of each word give it away, tee hee.)

World class. The number-one phrase when they can’t think of any other synonyms for what was quite good. As well as goals, you now hear of world-class throw-ins, world-class goal kicks, world-class haircuts
and world-class pies in the press room at half-time, yum yum.

He’s got a hell of a left peg. That’s because he borrowed it from his mam when she was hanging out the washing.

He’s got it in his locker. The fool. Why did he leave his left peg there? No wonder he keeps falling over.

And the sub is stripped off, ready to come on. So it’s naked football now, is it?

Old-fashioned defending. There’s a whole lexicon to describe brutal tackles in which the defender kicks someone up in the air, straight to A&E.

Doing the dirty work/putting himself about/an agricultural tackle/left his calling card. Alternative clichés that every commentator has in his locker for when yet another world-class, manic, nasty, desperate physical assault is committed by a player at Sunderland, Newcastle and Norwich, currently scared shitless about going down and losing their three Bentleys.

Opened up his body. This is when an operation takes place on the field, such as open-heart surgery, to work out whether any Aston Villa player has got one. OK – it is, in fact, one of the weary commentator’s nicer compliments. He can’t actually describe what the striker did, as it was so quick, so clever, and he totally missed it, but he must have done something with his body, surely. Which isn’t even correct, either. You shoot with your feet.

Very much so. This is a period phrase, as popularised by Sir Alf Ramsey. He got it into his head he must talk proper, sound solemn, or at least like a trade union leader of the times, so instead of saying “yes” he would say “very much so”. It’s having a comeback. Listen to Glen Hoddle – I guarantee that between now and the end of the season he’ll say it ten times, whenever someone has interrupted and he wants to get back to the aperçu he was about to share with us.

Most unpredictable Premier season ever. Or so Sky is telling us, on the hour, meaning “since last season”, which was the most unpredictable one since, er, the season before that.

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 28 April 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The new fascism