The top ten list (here a term I will use to define a “top” list with any number of ranked items) has become an Internet staple, the lowest common denominator of online content. Listing off the “best,” “greatest,” or “top,” things in a given category easily generates hits – there’s nothing a Google cache loves more – and promotes rapid, mostly unintelligible discussion. As I previously mentioned, CRACKED.com basically exists only to list things in descending order. Any video game site with “game” in its URL will gladly create an arbitrary list of stuff and bill it as a feature article to buy time while the intern transcribes the David Jaffe interview. No less than 30% of GorillaMask’s content (I’m told it’s a very popular site) is comprised of links to lists, almost always of the top ten variety; there have already been three posted so far today. A top ten list requires very little work and has the potential to reap the sort of epic rewards that can only come handed down from Digg, del.icio.us, StumbleUpon, and the other Gods of Web 2.0 on high.

The problem I have with these lists, our own better-left-forgotten example included, is their general failure to define their terms. This failure of clarity is generally the reason people rant and rave over the content of these sorts of things. Normally these lists use catchall terms like “greatest” or “top” to rank items based on non-transparent criteria. Technical excellent, overall importance or influence, and personal bias are each factored into a final ranking. The real problem here is that there is a difference between “best,” “important,” and “favorite.” “Best” describes technical excellence, an undisputed, quantifiable quality; “important” measures a thing’s originality, influence, and impact; and “favorite” is largely based on personal bias, it ignores obvious flaws in favor of personal preference. Unfortunately, these terms are often used interchangeably.

Now it’s time to have my cake and eat it too. Let’s say I was going to list the five best, most important, and my five personal favorite video games from the last hardware generation, Dreamcast excluded. In this example, I’ll go against standard listing conventions and rank my items from top to bottom rather than bottom to top. See if you can spot the differences.

Because nobody cares and I don’t want to make this update any more retarded and space-filling than it already is, the reasons for these ranking will be relegated to a very special blogger’s commentary edition of the comments.

Though there is some overlap, clearly the lists are ranked based on different (and clearly labeled) criteria. GameSpy’s infamous 25 Most Overrated Games of All Time feature, despite having what appear to be clearly defined terms, still falls prey to the general murkiness of “top” lists. By lumping together games that were disappointing and overhyped with the titular overrated games, GameSpy produced a list no better than a general “greatest” list. Of course, this very same ambiguity lead to a tremendous amount of online discussion, and therefore an equally tremendous number of pageviews.

People love lists, even bad ones. They give folks a chance to quickly and efficiently express an option using numerical ranks. Lists are clean, orderly, and promote discussion. And here on the Internet, where “discussion” means poorly proofread attacks and lengthy opinionated stories leading nowhere in particular, the list is a mighty useful tool, regardless of its quality.

Now everyone sign up for a Listology account and compile lists of the “greatest” DORK Club updates.