It should be game over for pinball. In this age of computers and virtual reality, a pastime that consists of batting a steel ball around a box seems as dated as eight-track tapes and Walkmans.

But the 154-year-old game is red-hot thanks to a wave of nostalgia and new gimmicks that have players from all generations digging into their pockets for loose change.

"The Intelligence," a podcast from the Economist, reported in 2023 that Stern Pinball Inc., the largest manufacturer of pinball machines, has recorded a 15% to 20% rise in sales every year since 2008. Newer arcades, like Main Street Pinball in Austin, Minn., and the Pinball Place in New Ulm, Minn., are taking full advantage of the game's rebirth.

"Once you get beyond just hitting the flippers and shaking the machine a little, you realize there's a lot more to it," said Azul Yoshi, 33, nursing a beer while killing it at a Deadpool game at LITT Pinball Bar, an arcade that recently moved from the Whittier neighborhood into the old Liquor Lyle's space in south Minneapolis. "It just unlocks a whole new world."

Yoshi, a software developer, comes to LITT (formerly known as TILT) a couple of times a week for its 40-plus, mint-condition machines.

Yoshi turns to pinballmap.com to discover arcades whenever he's traveling. He's impressed, though, with offerings in the Twin Cities, including longtime favorites like Blainbrook Bowl in Blaine, Hopkins' SS Billiards and Mortimer's Bar in Minneapolis.

Renée Jones Schneider, The Minnesota Star Tribune
Johnny Graff, AKA “Johnny Pinball,” works on a pinball machine at Can Can Wonderland in St. Paul.

Many host monthly tournaments, a good way to gauge Minnesota's place in the game's resurgence.

The International Flipper Pinball Association, headquartered in Chicago, said our state ranks ninth in the number of sanctioned events.

When IFPA president Josh Sharpe launched the organization's ranking system, it had 500 players in its database.

"My dream was someday, with a lot of hard work, we could hit 1,000 players. Twenty years later, we have 127,000," Sharpe said. "I always think we're done growing, but then we grow another 20 percent. People who get hooked spread the gospel."

Pinball took a back seat to Pac-Man and Atari's home video games in the '80s and stayed in a slump for over two decades. In Sharpe's mind, the game's renaissance started in 2012 when Stern released an AC/DC game that incorporated video, music and clever effects, like a swinging bell.

Machines with lots of gizmos and pop-culture connections are LITT's calling card. The bar, which features drinks like a Kickback, includes an Elton John game in which players maneuver around a crocodile with a guitar and a tiny dancer. On the Jaws machine, you can unlock scenes from the 1975 blockbuster film.

Those yearning for a back-to-basics approach head to Can Can Wonderland, the St. Paul entertainment complex that features mini golf, Skee-Ball and more than 60 vintage machines designed before 1976.

"For nostalgia and memories, these are No. 1," said Jonny Graff, who maintains the games as if they were his children, working from a rolling tool cart filled with replacement bulbs, rubber rings and screwdrivers. His dedication and knowledge is so deep he picked up the nickname "Jonny Pinball."

On a recent Friday afternoon, Graff was fine-tuning a baseball game, a task that would take him about 10 hours. It might have gone quicker if he didn't keep getting welcome distractions, like chit-chatting with a group from Portland, Ore., who wanted to talk about a classic game.

"We're a playable museum," he said while sipping a Diet Coke and tinkering with some base runners. "People are hard on things."

Graff and other pinball wizards scoff at those who think the game is all about luck.

Ben Franklin Granger, who won the state tournament in 2017, admits he gets rusty if he goes for some time without playing.

"It's true that there's a lot of luck. But then how come the same players rise to the top?" said Granger, who runs Underground Amusements, a St. Louis Park-based company that buys and sells machines. "It's about learning to deal with randomness, reading where the rebounds are going, knowing the conditions of the bumpers. Hardcore players are always looking to see how they can get the most points with the least effort."

One of the reasons Granger hasn't been able to compete as much as these days is the fact that he's raising a 2-year-old and a 4-year-old.

He hopes to pass along his love of the game to the next generation, just like his dad did when he took him to the arcade at the University of Minnesota.

"My oldest does play, but she wants to do it her way and not listen to me," Granger said. "She's not showing a huge interest, but maybe that's because we have a machine in the house. When I move it out, she'll have to go somewhere to play. Maybe then she'll appreciate it more."