Bad Behaviour at the Table? Sort it out

Kobold flipping gaming table in a rage

At some point in every long running campaign, bad behaviour at the table happens. A player goes rogue. Not in the charming backstab-the-dragon way. But in the rules-lawyering, spotlight-hogging, eye-rolling, group-fracturing way. The table energy shifts. Shared fun begins to ebb.

If you run games long enough, you will face this moment. If you lead people long enough, you will too.

The parallels between managing bad behaviour at a roleplaying table and leading a team in the workplace are surprisingly tight. Both require the courage to act before the whole party wipes. Here are three stages to handle it, whether you are behind the DM screen or at the head of a meeting table.

Stage One: The Quiet Word by the Campfire

In the Dungeons & Dragons Player’s Handbook, there is an implicit social contract. The game assumes cooperation. It assumes you are not actively trying to ruin the experience for others. When a player starts derailing sessions, dominating decisions, or treating fellow players like NPCs, your first move cannot be a thunderbolt from the heavens.

It is a quiet conversation. Private. Calm. Specific.

  • “Hey, I’ve noticed you’re interrupting others a lot during planning scenes.” This is preventing them from getting involved.
  • “I’ve seen some frustration when rulings don’t go your way.” This slows down play and creates a bit of a weird atmosphere with myself and the other players.

This is not an accusation. It is feedback. You are describing behaviour and explaining impact.

At the gaming table, most problems live in the land of misunderstanding. Someone may not realise they are hogging spotlight. Someone may think the aggressive banter is funny when others find it draining.

The same is true in the workplace. As a leader, stage one is informal and early. You do not wait for the team to fracture. You address behaviour before it calcifies into culture. Make your expectations clear. The impact must be understood and the request for change cannot be ambiguous.

Most people, when treated like adults, respond like adults.

Stage Two: The Formal Warning Scroll

If behaviour continues after the informal chat , you have to escalate. At the table, this might mean a more direct conversation.

  • “We spoke about this last month. It’s still happening. If it continues, you may not be able to stay in this campaign.”

Now the stakes are visible.

In a group where you are all friends this can be a difficult conversation to navigate. But it doesn’t have to be confrontational. Reiterate the way the group likes to play and that the problem players style is different and not gelling.

In leadership, this is where structure matters. Documentation. Formal performance conversations. Clear consequences. Alignment with policy. Compliance with employment law. You are no longer just nudging behaviour. You are protecting the team.

In both spaces, the key elements are:

  • Clear examples of behaviour
  • Clear expectations going forward
  • Clear consequences if change does not occur
  • A genuine opportunity to improve

You cant escape the fact that this stage is uncomfortable. It requires backbone. Leaders often avoid it because they fear conflict. But avoidance is not kindness. It is deferred damage. Every time you fail to address ongoing bad behaviour, you send a signal to the rest of the group that this behaviour is is acceptable.

And that signal causes more damage than you would imagine.

Stage Three: Removing the Player from the Table

Sometimes, despite every effort, the behaviour does not change. At a gaming table, the final step is simple in principle, but very difficult in practice:

You ask them to leave the campaign. You do not do it lightly. Keep emotion out of it. Do it because the health of the group matters more than the comfort of one individual. Ultimately, it is a leadership decision.

In the workplace, this stage becomes formal performance management that may result in termination. This must comply with employment law, company policy, and procedural fairness. There must be evidence, the employee must have an opportunity to respond. There must be consistency.

But the principle remains the same. A team cannot thrive if one person consistently erodes trust, morale, or performance.

Letting someone go is not failure if you have:

  • Communicated clearly
  • Provided support
  • Given reasonable opportunity to change
  • Acted fairly and consistently

Sometimes the most responsible act of leadership is protecting the many.

The Deeper Lesson

Whether you are running a dungeon or running a department, leadership is not about avoiding conflict. It is about stewarding the experience. In a roleplaying game, you are safeguarding fun, safety, and shared storytelling. While in the workplace, you are safeguarding culture, productivity, and psychological safety.

Both require:

  • Early intervention
  • Honest conversations
  • Escalation when necessary
  • Courage to act

Ignore bad behaviour at the table long enough and it becomes the campaign setting. Unchecked and your game will stop being fun, players will leave and it will eventually implode. Ultimately, following the adage that no D&D is better than bad D&D.

Address the behaviour with clarity and fairness, and you show your players that they are important and that the game matters.

Quick Note: checking bad behaviour at the table doesn’t have to rest on the shoulders of the DM. Rather it can be dealt with by any player. Remember, having fun is a shared responsibility.

My First Bolt Action Tournament

Bolt Action game in progress

I’ve recently got into Bolt Action a WW2 wargame and am absolutely loving it. Before too long I found out that one of the local Perth clubs, Outpost 6030, was hosting Bolt Action at it’s Skulls 2026 tournament in March. I’ve never been particularly competitive gamer, rather enjoying the stories at the table than the results. However, playing four games in a day and getting to meet the wider community was too good a chance to pass up.

There is something nerve-wracking about your first tournament. You spend weeks painting models, tweaking lists, reading scenarios and imagining strategies. Then suddenly it is 0730 on a Sunday, you are standing in a hall full of strangers, ten beautifully laid out tables, 17 competitors, and your carefully assembled 1100 point force is waiting to march onto the battlefield.

I took a British Royal Marine Commando army with 12 order dice (not very many order dice as it turned out). I had spent plenty of time thinking about my list beforehand and honed it over a few practice games with Jake and Richard (thanks guys!). The event itself was run brilliantly by Dan. He kept everything moving smoothly, while maintaining a sunny disposition throughout. Four games between 0800 and 1700 is a proper marathon, but the day rattled along at a surprisingly fast pace.

Dan patrolled the tables answering rules queries and making sure we knew how much time we had left for each game. He also seemed to just love the atmosphere and getting into the hard fought games at each table. Every time he told me the time, I think a look of panic would cross my face. No poker faces in my side of the table.

My commandos sneaking up to an objective

Game one was against Marco and his Japanese army. This was my first real lesson of the day. I played far too cautiously, sitting back and trying to preserve units instead of throwing myself into the objectives. The result was that the end score was very one sided. Marco wiped the floor with me. These games were moving fast, and with four games packed into one day you had to get yourself into a winning position within three turns or simply run out of time.

After that first match I realised I needed to change my approach. From that point on I became much more aggressive and mobile with my commandos.

Game two was against Mark and his American force. The scenario involved hunting an informant and I felt much sharper in this game. I had a clear plan, moved more decisively and generally played far more tactically than I had in game one. The strategy itself was sound, but the dice gods decided to laugh in my face. My reserves stubbornly refused to arrive and secure the left flank, which allowed Mark to roll up that side of the table and march away with the informant and a convincing win. A fun game, though and I really felt on the edge of my seat the whole way through.

Lunch was a classic sausage sizzle and a quick chat, talking tactics and straight back into it.

Game three was against Martin and, yes, another Japanese army. By this point I was starting to wonder if every Japanese player in the state had decided to attend. This scenario focused on destroying objectives rather than simply shooting each other. It created a very different sort of game because instead of trading fire across the table, both of us were racing to damage key targets.

Martin had a very rough run of luck with his dice, while my army stuck to my plan nicely. My commandos moved quickly, focused on the objectives and managed to take out most of them. At last, my first tournament win. It may not have been the most heroic battle of the day, but it felt great to get one on the board.

The final game was against Dave and, somehow, yet another Japanese force. The scenario focused on eliminating a specific unit. I made a few mistakes early, lost momentum and Dave completely outplayed me. I couldn’t get anywhere near his unit while his airstrike and mortars battered my army from turn one.

My brave commandos being strafed by an enemy fighter

One thing that really helped me through the day was preparation. Before the tournament I had printed out the scenario pack and written a rough strategy for each mission. That turned out to be incredibly useful. Instead of staring blankly at the table trying to invent a plan on the spot, I already had a basic framework in mind. It freed up brain space for reacting to what my opponent was doing and kept me focused on the scenario.

Perhaps the biggest takeaway from the day was not the result, but the people. Every opponent I played was an absolute gentleman. Everyone played fairly, kept things friendly and had a good laugh along the way. I also had some great conversations with the other players between rounds. The WA Bolt Action community felt very welcoming, which makes a huge difference when you are walking nervously into your first event.

At the end of the day there was a prize giving. I think I finished 11th out of 17, which I was pretty happy with for a first event. I also won some extra order dice and an exclusive Gus March-Phillipps model, which felt like a proper little treasure chest at the end of the day.

Most importantly, I came away with four fun games, a better understanding of how tournament Bolt Action works and a few offers for future games. Not a bad haul for one Sunday. One thing’s for certain, I’ll be signing up for the next one as soon as I can.

I Don’t Like Phones: Why I Ditched Them from D&D

phone on fire

I don’t like phones at the game table.

There. I’ve said it. Phones are a distraction, they fracture attention, and they undermine the very thing that, to my mind, makes tabletop roleplaying special: a group of people actively engaging with each other.

Dungeons & Dragons is not a single player experience with occasional multiplayer cutscenes. It is a shared act of imagination, built moment by moment through conversation, reactions, and collective focus. Phones pull at all three.

Attention Is the Real Resource

Every D&D table runs on attention. When everyone is present, listening, and responding, the game hums. Scenes flow. Jokes land. Tension builds. When phones come out, that attention leaks away.

A quick glance becomes a scroll. A scroll becomes checking messages. Suddenly someone needs the last thirty seconds repeated, or misses a crucial choice, or reacts half a beat too late. Multiply that by a few players and the game starts to feel sluggish, disjointed, and oddly flat.

It Feels Like Disengagement Because It Is

One of the hardest parts of running a game is reading the table. Are players interested? Confused? Excited? Bored? Phones muddy those signals. When a player is staring at a screen while someone else is roleplaying a heartfelt moment, it sends a message whether they intend it or not.

That message is: this isn’t worth my full attention.

Even if the player insists they are listening, the social signal remains. It affects the confidence of quieter players. It undercuts dramatic moments. Collaboration feels lopsided, like some people are rowing while others are checking notifications.

D&D is a conversation. Looking at your phone while someone is speaking in a normal conversation would be rude. The table should be no different.

Immersion Is Fragile

Roleplaying lives in a delicate space. One moment you’re a desperate adventurer descending into the darkened chasm with nothing but a sword and your trusty companions. The next moment a buzzing phone reminds you about tomorrow’s meeting or a meme you saw earlier. The spell breaks instantly.

Once immersion cracks, it takes effort to rebuild. Phones make that crack wider and more frequent. They anchor players back in the real world when the whole point of gathering is to step somewhere else together for a few hours.

This Is About Respect, Not Control

Banning phones is not about authority or nostalgia or pretending it’s 1985. It’s about respecting the time and effort everyone brings to the table.

The DM prepares.
Players show up.
Stories are built together.

Asking for phones to stay off the table is a way of saying: this time matters. These people matter. What we are creating together deserves our attention.

Presence Is the Point

At its best, D&D is rare in modern life. A group of people, in the same room, focused on each other, telling a story in real time. That kind of presence is increasingly hard to find and incredibly valuable.

So yes, I don’t like phones at the D&D table. Not because I hate technology, but because I love what happens when everyone is truly there.