The Board Game Industry Is Burning — And It's Their Own Fault

Update [April 20, 2025]: We removed the wrong titles. Unconscious Mind was not a Final Frontier game — that one’s on Fantasia Games (my mistake). But in the process, we dug deeper and found another campaign that was theirs: The Sixth Realm.

Between that and Merchants Cove: Master Craft, Final Frontier raised a combined total of $1.1 million from backers.

This changes nothing. They took the money and left people high and dry.

The correction has been made. If you think that undercuts any points in this post, you’ve got bigger issues than a campaign title.

The Industry Is Burning. And the Arsonists Are Playing Victim.

This week, the board game world caught fire.

Final Frontier Games—a company backed by millions—announced it’s shutting down.

Cephalofair—the multi-million-dollar juggernaut behind Gloomhaven—went on CNN to say they’ve been paralyzed by tariffs.

One blamed distributors. The other blamed Trump.

And the rest of the industry?

They’re echoing the same line: “There was nothing we could do.”

But here’s the truth nobody wants to hear (but I keep saying it anyway):

They’re not victims of tariffs. They’re victims of their own incompetence.

And I’m not saying that lightly.

I’m saying that as someone who’s built a game company from scratch.

Someone who’s eaten shipping losses.

Someone who’s hand-packed thousands of units just to keep promises.

And someone who actually bothered to look up the tariff codes before screaming into the void.

I’ve already written two blogs debunking this nonsense.

But apparently facts aren’t sexy until someone lights a $4 million fire.

So fine.

Let’s talk about it.

Let’s talk about the publishers who raised millions and still managed to crash their own ships.

Let’s talk about the freight forwarders filing lazy paperwork that nuked budgets overnight.

Let’s talk about the false narratives being fed to backers while inventory rots in warehouses—fully paid for by the very people being told “we can’t afford to ship your game.”

This isn’t a tragedy.

It’s a masterclass in bad business.

And today?

We’re naming names.

Strap in. Some reputations aren’t making it out of this blog alive.

Final Frontier: Dead Before Arrival

Final Frontier Games is dead.

And while their farewell message is soaked in tears and poetic heartbreak, let’s be honest—it wasn’t fate that killed them. It was failure. Avoidable, preventable, self-inflicted failure.

In their final Kickstarter update, Final Frontier announced that they were shutting down operations, leaving Merchants Cove: Master Craft and The Sixth Realm backers out to dry. The tone was predictably solemn. The messaging? A masterclass in buck-passing.

They blamed CMON.

They blamed the distributors.

They blamed the economy.

They blamed “unexpected circumstances.”

They (kinda) blamed GameTrayz

They blamed everyone but the people responsible:

themselves.

Yes, they apologized. Yes, they claimed sorrow. But what they didn’t do—not once—was truly own the decisions that led to their collapse. This wasn't a postmortem. It was a eulogy. A soft, sad letter to the fans about how the world did them dirty.

They said, “We are truly sorry we won’t be able to make good on the promise we made to you.”

They said, “Words cannot express how sorry we feel for this.”

But what they really meant was: “We’re sorry this happened to us.”

They Were the Victim in Their Own Story

Read the update yourself. You’ll see a tale of noble sacrifice:

• They absorbed $250,000 in pandemic shipping costs

• They funded their own localizations to keep promises to backers

• They dipped into funds from other projects to cover shortfalls

• They cut themselves thin to honor their vision and their fans

  
  

Admirable? Sure. And relatable—I did the same with High Noon and it damn near killed us too.

But here’s the thing:

Past nobility doesn’t excuse present neglect.

They present themselves like war heroes who were overwhelmed by forces beyond their control. But the truth is, they kept making the same foundational mistakes over and over again—and when it finally caught up with them, they wrapped it in a tragic tone and hoped we'd accept “sorry” as a substitute for accountability.

Let’s Talk About CMON

The “final nail in the coffin,” according to them, was a massive Chinese-language order from CMON that was never paid for. The order went into production anyway, on blind faith alone.

Now let me be clear:

There is no amount of money CMON could offer me that would make me work with them.

None.

CMON has a well-documented history of:

• Failing to deliver to customers

• Surprise-gouging backers with last-minute shipping hikes

• Refusing to own up to delays and screwups

• Acting with arrogant impunity because they know people will keep paying

People have openly speculated that CMON runs like a Ponzi scheme. And honestly? I see why.

So what does Final Frontier do?

They trust CMON with a massive production run without a single dime up front.

They banked their entire future on the shadiest company in the industry—and they lost.

That’s not bad luck. That’s bad leadership.

The Distributor Debacle

Next excuse: “Distributors backed out after orders were placed.”

Let me translate that for you:

“We greenlit thousands of units based on non-binding promises from people who didn’t give us any money.”

What kind of business does that?

If you’re operating a company where a canceled PO can bankrupt you, you don’t start production without a deposit. Ever.

Every factory in the world understands this. Every business that’s ever survived understands this.

But not Final Frontier.

They just hit “go” on production and hoped that the promises would turn into payments.

Spoiler alert: They didn’t.

When you gamble your backers’ money on handshake deals with no collateral, you’re not a victim of bad luck. You’re a volunteer for disaster.

The Games Exist. The Backers Still Won’t Get Them.

This is the part that burns.

Final Frontier admits the games are in warehouses—right now.

Warehouses are liquidating retail inventory to cover costs.

The backers, the ones who paid for those games, will get nothing.

They don’t say, “We’re fighting to get your product into your hands.”

They say, “We hope we’ll find someone to buy the IP and figure it out.”

No plan. No commitment. No fire in their gut.

Just tears. And the expectation that their “emotional devastation” is enough.

If my product was being held hostage in a warehouse while my backers waited? I’d be at the loading dock with a crowbar and a bodycam, not a violin and a candle.

They’re just walking away.

No fire. No fight. Just a quiet shrug and the expectation that we’ll forgive them because, hey, “we tried.”

The Self-Aggrandizement Mask

The whole second half of their update is a parade of “look how much we cared.”

They tell you about the 10 families who lost their jobs.

About the hopes and dreams crushed by cruel fate.

About how they were building “a lifetime relationship” with their backers.

They even ask you—no joke—not to lash out because they’re hurting too.

That’s not transparency. That’s weaponized vulnerability. It’s emotional blackmail disguised as community. It's gross.

You don’t get to throw a bomb into your fulfillment chain and then beg your customers not to yell because you’re sad about it.

The Ponzi Echo

They admit to dipping into funds from one project to pay for another.

They admit to letting timelines slip across multiple campaigns.

They admit that their entire infrastructure depended on CMON’s check clearing on time.

I’m not accusing them of fraud.

But I will say this:

If your company collapses the moment one check bounces, you weren’t running a business. You were running a house of cards.

The Final Frontier: Destination Delusion

I don’t take joy in any of this.

I know what it’s like to grind through shipping disasters, absorb costs, and stretch yourself paper-thin to keep promises.

But at some point, your passion has to mature into discipline.

And when it doesn’t, your failure becomes contagious.

This is why backers are skeptical.

This is why Kickstarter trust is evaporating.

This is why other publishers are left cleaning up the mess.

Because companies like Final Frontier burn to the ground the goodwill that the rest of us are trying to build.

And the most dangerous part? They still think they were the good guys.

Moving on...

The Last Time I’m Going to Talk About Tariffs

I wasn’t planning on writing this.

Not again. I’ve already written about tariffs—twice.

The first time was when the industry panic level hit “54%.”

The second time was when it climbed to “102%.”

But this week, things went mainstream.

The meltdown got camera time. CNN time.

And now this misinformation is being broadcast to millions of people who wouldn’t know a Harmonized Tariff Schedule from a player aid.

So this is it. The last time I’ll talk about tariffs.

Because when this is done, you won’t need anyone to talk about them again.

The Truth About Tariffs (For Real This Time)

Let’s kill the myth once and for all:

You are not paying 145%. You are not paying 245%. You are not even paying 25%—unless you screw it up.

The board game industry is in full-blown panic mode over tariffs.

CNN's talking about it.

Kickstarter updates are talking about it.

Discord groups are talking about it.

Retailers are paralyzed.

Publishers are “freezing operations.”

And everyone is shouting one number: 245%.

It’s everywhere—except the actual tariff schedule.

MFN Status: The Reason You’re Not Already Paying 145%

Most people screaming about tariffs don’t realize their board games are protected by something called Most-Favored Nation (MFN) status. Most publishers don’t even know what an MFN tariff rate is—let alone why it matters.

Here’s the deal:

• MFN status means a country (like China) is still considered a “friendly” trade partner under WTO rules.

• Products under MFN codes (like board games) don’t get hit with retaliatory “reciprocal” tariffs, because there’s nothing to reciprocate.

• But if your freight forwarder files your shipment under something like 9503—miscellaneous toys (hello, puzzles and dolls), you’re toast.

Why?

Because China raised their tariffs on U.S. toys under 9503. And under the reciprocal tariff framework, the U.S. slapped 125% right back on that code.

So now your shipment is flagged as a trade war casualty—not because of what’s in the box, but because someone put the wrong number on the form.

You didn’t get hit with 245% tariffs. You misfiled your HTS code.

This is the part nobody’s talking about. This is why some publishers are screaming about 145–245% while others are shrugging and moving games like normal.

It’s not policy. It’s paperwork.

The Real Tariff Numbers (When You Do It Right)

If you ship a complete board game—cards, minis, rulebook, dice, tray, and box—shrink-wrapped and ready to go, you classify it under:

HTS Code 9504.90.6000 – “Articles for arcade, table, or parlor games” Old Tariff Rate: 0% New (IEEPA) Rate: 20%

Yes, the IEEPA law dropped a blanket 20% duty on nearly every product coming out of China. That includes board games—even if they were previously exempt.

But that’s it.

Twenty percent. Not 145. Not 245.

It’s annoying. It’s sudden. But it’s manageable.

And more importantly?

It’s not your only option.

You Want Transparency? Here’s the Whole Box.

But let’s paint a clearer picture of what’s actually inside that box — and what each part really costs.

Because if you want to talk about board games, let’s talk about the whole board game:

Cards. Dice. Minis. Rulebooks. Punchboards. Boxes. Inserts.

Here’s the breakdown of the actual HTS codes and their current tariff rates under the IEEPA update:

Component	HTS Code	Tariff
Cards	9504.40.0000	20%
Rulebook	4901.99.00	20%
Punchboards	9504.90.6000	20%
Dice	9504.90.60.00	20%
Plastic Minis	9504.90.6000	20%
Paper Boxes	4819	25%
Plastic Inserts	3926	20%

Want to fact-check this yourself?

You can look up any HTS code and its tariff rate directly at the official U.S. Harmonized Tariff Schedule: https://hts.usitc.gov

Just type in the HTS code and hit enter.

Ignore Column 2 — it doesn’t apply to China. That rate is for countries the U.S. has no trade agreement with, like North Korea.

When shipping a complete, assembled game, the final effective tariff is ~21%—based on each component’s classification under its respective HTS code.

Not 245%.

Not 145%.

And definitely not the end of the industry.

Just enough to sting if you’re lazy.

But not enough to blame for a business collapse.

Is it a silver bullet? No.

Is it better than being scalped by lazy freight forwarders and paralyzed by misinformation? Every damn time.

The Real Scandal

Want to know why the industry keeps yelling “245%”?

Because most publishers don’t know their own codes.

They rely on freight forwarders who just plug in whatever HTS code gets the shipment cleared fastest—even if it’s completely wrong.

Some of them are getting hit with 145%+ rates not because the law changed, but because they never checked their own paperwork.

They’re not victims of policy.

They’re victims of their own ignorance.

And now they’re taking that bad info and spreading it like wildfire.

Backers are scared. Retailers are scared.

And the narrative has been hijacked by people who never ran a shipping manifest in their lives.

And freight forwarders?

Oh, they’re the silent chaos agents in all of this.

These guys will slap “miscellaneous toys” on your shipment like a cat knocking your glass off the table—not because they’re malicious, but because it’s faster and they just don’t care.

Click click, submit, done.

245% tariff? Not their problem.

Publisher meltdown?

Not their problem.

CNN interview?

Definitely not their problem.

The worst part? Nobody’s holding them accountable.

These are the people triggering industry-wide panic by misclassifying your entire business into the “oops” bin—and you’re just paying the invoice like it’s gospel.

If your freight forwarder can’t quote you the exact HTS code they’re using—and why—they shouldn’t be anywhere near your shipment.

They’re not logistics partners.

They’re random dudes with access to your bank account.

My Advice?

If you're a publisher:

• Stop outsourcing your HTS codes.

• Grow up.

If you're a backer:

• Ask your publisher if they know what HTS code their game is classified under.

• If they can't answer you, they shouldn't be handling millions of your dollars.

If you're a freight forwarder marking everything as "other toys" at 9503.00.0090:

• You're the reason this panic exists.

• Stop it.

Cephalofair’s $4 Million Tariff Lie Just Fell Apart

While Final Frontier was crashing and blaming the weather, Cephalofair was suiting up for prime time.

Literally.

They sent their COO, Price Johnson to CNN to cry about being crushed by $4 million in tariffs for 60,000 units of Gloomhaven: Second Edition.

The story?

That the tariffs made it “impossible” to import those copies into the U.S.

The villain?

Donald Trump.

And the number they floated—$4.14 million—wasn’t broken down, wasn’t explained, and wasn’t accompanied by a single receipt. It was just stated as fact. And CNN ran with it. No questions asked.

But we asked questions.

And we ran the receipts.

And what we found destroys the entire narrative.

First, let's tackle the interview, point by point. You can watch it on Price's Facebook page.

Debunking This CNN Interview: Piece by Piece

1. “We started production before we had any idea what the tariffs would be.”

That’s either a lie or a confession of gross negligence.

The U.S. began issuing Section 301 tariffs against Chinese goods in 2018. By 2019, board games were already at risk of a 25% tariff spike—on top of existing 0–11.2% baseline tariffs. This was publicly known and discussed in the industry.

So no, Price. You didn’t get blindsided. You ignored a moving train and then cried when it hit you.

2. “We’ve got $1.2 million of product stuck overseas—60,000 units—and we’re being told we’ll have to pay a 145% tariff to get it in.”

This is the heart of the grift.

We’ve already proven—with actual HTS codes—that a board game like Gloomhaven should incur: 20%

Real average tariff: $5 per game (rounded up estimate) Real tariff total for 60,000 units: $300,000 Not $2.94 million. Not even close.

So if they’re getting slapped with 145% or more, it’s because someone on their team filed the classification wrong.

That’s not a tariff crisis. That’s a user error.

3. “We’ve essentially been told to cease U.S. sales.”

Let’s get this straight.

He’s not saying they can’t operate globally. He’s saying they can’t sell in the U.S.—specifically through their retail distribution pipeline.

You know what that tells me?

They don’t have a direct-to-consumer strategy.

That’s not a tariff issue. That’s a business model failure.

Instead of pivoting to DTC:

• Instead of spinning up Shopify and running Facebook ads

• Instead of leveraging email lists and running preorder campaigns

• Instead of importing only the units they owed to backers

• Instead of warehousing the rest overseas and waiting it out

They just shut it all down.

That’s not leadership. That’s cowardice.

4. “Our last major project shipped 140 ocean containers from China.”

...Wait.

Hold up.

Let’s do the math.

A standard 40-foot ocean container holds about 2,385 cubic feet of usable space.

Even padded and palletized, a Gloomhaven-sized box takes up around 1 cubic foot.

So let’s say you can fit ~2,300 units per container.

That means 140 containers = ~322,000 units.

At their own stated production cost of $20 per unit, that’s $6.4 million in manufacturing costs. At $150 MSRP? That’s $48 million in potential retail value.

And this is the same company now claiming they can’t afford a $300,000 tariff hit?

Even if we give them the ridiculous benefit of the doubt and fantastically assume double the case size for whatever reason, that still puts them well over 150,000–160,000 units shipped in one wave. That’s still $2–3 million in production and $20–25 million in retail value.

I literally can't, even.

So the question stands: Where did all that money go?

You don’t ship $19 million in games and then cry poor six months later—unless your business model is catastrophically broken. And you want the public to forget that backers paid for the whole production run.

Let’s Call It What It Is

This isn’t a story about tariffs.

This isn’t about U.S. manufacturing.

This isn’t even about politics.

This is about a publisher who:

• Failed to adapt

• Overproduced inventory for a distribution model that’s dying

• Got caught without a plan B

• And is now spinning a victim narrative to cover up their own arrogance

You want the truth?

Backers bankrolled your future inventory. You were sitting on a goldmine. You just didn’t know how to sell it.

That’s not a tariff issue.

That’s a you issue.

Before he ever went on CNN, Price Johnson posted a public statement on Cephalofair’s blog to justify the panic. And after reading it, the picture becomes crystal clear.

Price’s article doesn’t include a single HTS code. It doesn’t cite a single invoice. It doesn’t even try to explore alternatives.

It’s not a breakdown. It’s a smokescreen. A slow, emotional setup for the media frenzy that followed.

Here’s the link: Tariffs & Tabletop: A Message from Cephalofair Game

And here’s what you need to know:

• He cites a timeline of tariffs jumping from 0% to 104%, without ever confirming what codes those tariffs actually apply to.

• He claims this “blanket policy” applies to all board games, but never names the actual HTS classifications that would prove it.

• He says the industry can’t pivot, can’t adapt, and has no options.

All of this—all of it—was published before the CNN piece aired.

And it’s the exact same language he used in the interview.

So no, CNN didn’t dig into this story. They didn’t do an exposé.

They ran the script Cephalofair handed them—and never asked for a receipt.

Now Cephalofair: Let’s Be Generous and Take Their Numbers

Cephalofair claims it cost them $20 per unit to produce Gloomhaven 2nd Edition. It doesn't. It's about half that, unless they're getting scalped. But okay, fine. Whatever.

• 60,000 units × $20 = $1.2 million in production costs

  
  

They also claim that new tariffs would apply a 245% tax on top of that cost—so:

• $20 × 2.45 = $49 in tariffs per unit

• 60,000 units × $49 = $2.94 million in tariffs

So their claimed total to import the games is:

$1.2M (production) + $2.94M (tariffs) = $4.14 million

That’s the number that made headlines.

But Here’s the Problem: That Tariff Rate Is Fiction

Cephalofair’s $4 million panic hinges on the idea that they’re being charged a 245% tariff.

They're not.

We already broke down the real tariff rates earlier—and unless you or your freight forwarder are asleep at the wheel, board games don’t get anywhere near that number. Even after the IEEPA update, if you ship the full game as-is under the correct code, the average tariff is 20%, with some components like packaging slightly higher.

So let’s redo the math using their own numbers and the actual tariff rate:

• Production: $1.2 million

• Tariffs (20%): $240,000

• Shipping (3 containers @ $15K): $45,000

• Total Landed Cost: $1.485 million

Not $4.14 million.

$1.48 million.

And That’s Not Even the Worst of It

Let’s talk about where this $1.2 million came from.

Because Cephalofair ran the Gloomhaven: Grand Festival on BackerKit—and raised over $5 million. That campaign included:

• Gloomhaven: Second Edition

• Gloomhaven RPG

• Miniatures and terrain

• Organizers, books, and more

  
  

So let’s be fair—maybe only $1.5–$2 million of that total was from Gloomhaven 2.0 itself.

That’s still enough to fully fund production of all 60,000 units.

Meaning: Backers paid for the entire production run.

So what’s sitting in that overseas warehouse right now?

Free product.

Fully funded by backers.

Unsold inventory—printed on spec—ready to be sold at 100% profit margin.

They Didn’t Just Produce for Backers. They Overproduced for Retail

If you only had 10,000–15,000 backers for Gloomhaven: Second Edition, why print 60,000 units?

Because they were planning to sell the rest at retail.

Probably to distributors.

Maybe to big box stores.

Probably to Target.

But the key here is: the backers didn’t just pay for their own games.

They bankrolled Cephalofair’s entire retail inventory.

And now that plan is stuck in limbo.

Not because of tariffs. Because they printed 45,000 extra units on speculation without a fulfillment plan or tariff strategy.

What Could They Have Done Instead?

They could have:

• Shipped only the 10–15k backer copies to the U.S.

• Stored the rest in their overseas warehouse, and chill.

• Imported in small waves, or shipped regionally to other markets

• Waited out the tariff situation while keeping their promises

Instead?

They went on national television and blamed the president.

They framed it as a political tragedy.

And they pretended they were the victims of a situation they created through arrogance and bad planning.

And Let’s Not Forget Frosthaven

This is the same publisher that raised $13 million for Frosthaven.

Even using their own bloated $20/unit figure, 83,193 backers × $20 = $1.66 million in production.

Add in generous shipping/logistics and call it $2 million total cost.

That leaves:

$11 million in capital.

Eleven million.

They had every opportunity to build out infrastructure, bring in experienced operators, plan for fulfillment risks, or diversify production.

They didn’t.

And now they want the public to foot the sympathy bill while they sit on unsold inventory that the backers paid for.

This isn’t a tragedy. It’s a grift.

And if you don’t like that word, fine. Call it what it really is:

An epic failure of leadership.

So Why Do I Keep Hearing This If It’s Not True?

That’s the question, isn’t it?

If what I’ve laid out here is true—if board games aren’t subject to +145% tariffs (or whatever made up number the hysteria brigade wants to drum up this week), if the real rates are closer to 20%, if there are clear ways around this entire mess—then why is the entire industry saying otherwise?

Why is everyone from Kickstarter publishers to CNN anchors repeating the same doom and gloom like it’s gospel?

Here’s the uncomfortable answer:

Because this industry isn’t built on business. It’s built on hobbyists.

Hobbyists don’t know how to vet freight classifications.

They don’t know what HTS codes are.

They don’t ask.

And they don’t check.

They trust that their freight forwarder is doing it right.

They get an invoice. They pay it.

And if that invoice says, “your tariff is 245%”—they believe it.

Because they’re not businesspeople.

They’re gamers who got a little lucky on Kickstarter.

And now they’re stuck playing a game they were never trained to win.

The Perfect Storm for Getting Screwed

Let me spell it out:

• The U.S. declares a 245% tariff—not on board games, but on a catch-all category that looks close enough on paper.

• China-based freight forwarders—who owe you no loyalty, especially in a trade war—now have an excuse to apply that rate.

• You don’t know the codes.

• You don’t question the paperwork.

• You assume the government is the villain.

  
  

And just like that, you're overpaying thousands, and you don’t even know it.

Because the people who could tell you the truth—don’t.

And the people who would tell you the truth—get banned from board game groups and cancelled from the industry for wrongthink.

It’s Not a Conspiracy. It’s Just the Cost of Ignorance.

Do I know for certain that freight forwarders are deliberately overcharging publishers?

No.

But I know they’ve done it in other industries.

I know it’s profitable.

I know it’s hard to trace unless you audit your customs entries.

And I know the people getting hit the hardest are the ones least likely to do that.

And worst of all?

They’re too naïve to know where the knife came from. And too proud to admit they let it in.

This is the last time I’ll talk about tariffs.

Not because they’re unimportant, but because we’ve exposed them completely.

If you’re still confused after this, it’s not because the truth isn’t out there. It’s because you’ve chosen not to look.

Now go back and read the Cephalofair section again.

And this time, read it like someone who knows the rules of the game.

Speaking of rules…

If you’ve made it this far, you already know what kind of industry we’re in.

It’s volatile. It’s unforgiving. And it doesn’t care how many backers you had if you don’t know how to run a business.

That’s why I wrote Game Changer.

Not to vent. Not to gloat.

But to hand over the playbook I wish someone had given me before I learned everything the hard way.

It’s not fluff.

It’s not a feel-good story.

It’s a field manual—built from the trenches of real campaigns, real fulfillment, real logistics, and real accountability.

If you’re tired of being lied to...

If you’re done watching multimillion-dollar publishers trip over the basics...

And if you’re ready to build something that actually lasts—

PRE-ORDER GAME CHANGER NOW

Because surviving in this industry isn’t luck.

It’s discipline.

It’s strategy.

And it’s knowing the rules of the game better than the guy next to you.