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Unpicking the implications of Sony’s acquisition of Evolution, the world’s biggest fighting-game tournament
Sony acquires Evolution: what this means for the world’s biggest fighting-game tournament
The jokes write themselves. Smash Bros booted off the main stage to make way for PlayStation All-Stars: Battle Royale; likewise Killer Instinct for Battle Arena Toshinden. Sony and Daigo Umehara negotiating visitation rights for Justin Wong, since both of them now own him. As is often the case when big news breaks, the meme machine span into overdrive when Sony announced it had acquired the Evolution Championship Series (Evo), the largest fighting-game tournament in the world, through a joint venture with new esports company RTS. But memes were pretty much all there were – plus one recurring question. Why?
For Evo, at least, the motivations are clear. A business based on in-person events has been devastated by COVID19. The brand has suffered too, after Evo co-founder Joey Cuellar was accused of sexual harassment. Cuellar was ousted as CEO, and the planned online replacement for last summer’s tournament was cancelled. Cuellar’s fellow co-founders, brothers Tom and Tony Cannon, can be forgiven for thinking an exit was the sensible option.
For Sony the benefits are somewhat opaque. Yes, the deal gives PlayStation a foothold in the competitive-gaming scene, though it could surely build something with a broader remit and reach. It positions PlayStation as the default platform for fighting games and tournaments, but that was happening anyway. Beyond that, it’s a puzzling development – and in some respects a perilous one.
Evo was born of the community it serves. Established in 1996 in Sunnyvale, California, under the name Battle For The
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Sony’s partner in the acquisition is RTS, a new esports company set up by Endeavor, a hybrid media company and talent agency whose roots go back to the formation of the William Morris Agency in 1898; today it owns the UFC, Miss Universe and Turkish Airlines, among numerous others. Less is known about RTS’s intentions, but the pedigree is certainly there. CEO Stuart Saw was director of strategy at Twitch, and led Endeavor’s work on the 2019 Fortnite World Cup. If it all goes south somehow, he can always call on the old hands: Evo founders Tom and Tony Cannon are staying on in advisory roles.
Bay, the inaugural tournament was organised by the Cannons, Cuellar and Seth Killian, and attended by just 40 people. Evo 2019, the most recent in-person event, drew 9,000 players, and was watched by millions more.
Corporate gloss has been added over the years: today there are sponsors and ad breaks, and finals are broadcast live on ESPN. Players wear esports team jerseys. But until Sony pitched up this was still a grassroots event, with the Cannons and Cuellar the figureheads. Even Killian – a designer on Street Fighter IV who now works on
Fortnite – still took his regular seat in the commentary booth for
Street Fighter V finals. The soul of the planet’s biggest fighting-game tournament can be traced back to 40 people in an arcade in a San Francisco suburb.
The fighting-game scene is fiercely protective, and eager to call foul. The faintest whiff of Sony intervening, or even appearing to intervene, in Evo will be taken as a sign that the event’s time in the sun is over. Evo may be the biggest event of its kind, but it is far from the only one. Community-run alternatives would line up to take its place as the de facto fighting-game Olympics.
Sony insists it will be hands-off, and Evo will remain a multiplatform concern. But Sony has not merely bought an event. Bundled with it is its community – one that has frequently been in the headlines for the wrong reasons. In 2013, a player was charged with battery after assaulting his ex-girlfriend at a tournament. In 2017, a four-time Street Fighter champion was accused of domestic violence and kicked off the team that sponsored him. Even before the allegations against Cuellar, the scene was reckoning with its own MeToo scandal. All of this is now Sony’s to navigate, and to police.
This atmosphere is often attributed to the scene’s origins – the trash-talking, male-dominated arcades where the US fighting-game community was born. It was there, too, that Evo’s spirit was formed: unlike the big-money, invitation-only esports tournaments that have sprung up, Evo is open to all. If you can get to Vegas and cover your entry fee, you can rub shoulders with the best players in the world.
There is something truly special about that last part, something that perhaps makes this acquisition make more sense. Fighting games are the most easily readable of all esports: two characters knocking each other silly, health bars slowly draining, a timer counting down. At the controls are two solo players, with habits, neuroses and form. We have spent years lamenting in these pages that fighting games remain so inaccessible. Perhaps Sony can finally solve the puzzle, and bring them to the audience they deserve. In the process, perhaps it can also make the scene more welcoming, inclusive, less scandal-prone and safer. What a combo that would be.
Unlike the bigmoney, invitationonly esports tournaments that have sprung up, Evo is open to all