Global esports: Transformation of Cultural Perceptions of Competitive Gaming 9781501368776, 9781501368745, 9781501368752

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Global esports

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Global esports Transformation of Cultural Perceptions of Competitive Gaming Edited by Dal Yong Jin

BLOOMSBURY ACADEMIC Bloomsbury Publishing Inc 1385 Broadway, New York, NY 10018, USA 50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP, UK 29 Earlsfort Terrace, Dublin 2, Ireland BLOOMSBURY, BLOOMSBURY ACADEMIC and the Diana logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published in the United States of America 2021 Volume Editor’s Part of the Work © Dal Yong Jin Each chapter © of Contributors Cover design: Namkwan Cho Photographs © Getty Images All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. Bloomsbury Publishing Inc does not have any control over, or responsibility for, any thirdparty websites referred to or in this book. All internet addresses given in this book were correct at the time of going to press. The author and publisher regret any inconvenience caused if addresses have changed or sites have ceased to exist, but can accept no responsibility for any such changes. A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. ISBN: HB: 978-1-5013-6877-6 ePDF: 978-1-5013-6875-2 eBook: 978-1-5013-6876-9 Typeset by Deanta Global Publishing Services, Chennai, India To find out more about our authors and books visit www​.bloomsbury​.com and sign up for our newsletters.

Contents Preface

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Introduction: Esports  Dal Yong Jin 1

Part 1  History, Institutionalization, and Legitimization

2 The Future of Esports Institutions: A Comparative Analysis of “Late-Twentieth-Century Sports” and “Esports” Institutions  Rory K. Summerley 15

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Sports versus Esports: A Comparison of Industry Size, Viewer Friendliness, and Game Competitiveness  William Campbell, Amanda Goss, Kyle Trottier, and Mark Claypool 35

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Esports: A Chinese Sport?  Milan Ismangil and Anthony Fung 60

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Historiography of Korean Esports: Perspectives on Spectatorship  Dal Yong Jin 77

Part 2  Money, Data Power, and Network

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The Business Model Network of Esports: The Convergence of Overwatch  Tobias M. Scholz 99

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Statistics, Spectatorship, and the “Attention Economy” of Esport  Ben Egliston 115

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Counting Clicks: Esports, Neoliberalism, and the Affective Power of Gameplay Metrics  Tom Brock 132

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Esports Transmedia Universes: The Case of Overwatch  Raine Koskimaa, Tanja Välisalo, Maria Ruotsalainen, and Veli-Matti Karhulahti 149

Part 3  Media and Esports

10 Orienting Esports: Locating the Perceptual and Cultural Work of Shoutcasters  Max M. Renner and Nicholas Taylor 169

Contents

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11 Convergence of Music and Esports  Yaewon Jin and Tae-Jin Yoon 184 12 Esports, Australianness, and Beating New Zealand: Portrayals of Esports in Mainstream Australian News Media  David Jian-Jia Cumming 202

13 The Emergence and Transformation of Global Esports: Comparative Perspectives of Korean and Canadian Esports Scenes  Dal Yong Jin 223 Part 4  Collegial Esports, Youth Culture, and Gender

14 Are Esports Only for “Youth”?: How Ageing and the Institutionalization of Esports Blur the Generational Lines of Video Game Culture  Dan Padua 243

15 The Emergence of College Esports in North America  Nyle Sky Kauweloa 262 16 Gaming on Campus: The Promotion of Esports in Chinese Universities  Paul Martin and Wei Song 281

17 A Balance between Competition and Community in Public Gaming Spaces  Ying-Ying Law 297 About the Contributors Index

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Preface In the early twenty-first century, esports has become one of the most significant youth cultures. As hundreds of thousands of people, in particular global youth in their teens and twenties, enjoy esports as either amateur game players or fans, the esports industry has transformed itself into one of the largest and most profitable cultural industries. It was not long ago when video gaming, including early esports, was considered as unwelcomed geek culture between the 1970s and the 1990s; however, with the development of computers, high-speed internet, and mobile technology, as well as the global economy, game culture has significantly grown and esports has especially become a symbol of the convergence of culture, sport, media, and digital technology. Esports has also become one of the most enjoyable and playful cultural segments in recent years. Many game scholars, college students who examine esports as part of game studies, game designers, and media, both traditional and new media, are all highly interested in the current status of esports. The growth of esports can be witnessed in several areas in our contemporary society. To begin with, esports has already been related to new media and digital technologies, including cable channels, internet TV, online streaming services (e.g., Twitch), and social media (e.g., YouTube and Facebook). Several network channels have also jumped onto this esports bandwagon. In college, many students play digital games on and off campus, and many universities have established game teams, game arenas, and game departments. Several mega corporations, in particular, telecommunication and digital game companies, have founded professional teams to compete with each other, while advertising companies utilize esports as a new venue for their business. Notably, several game scholars have continued to pay attention to esports, which is exciting and engaging. Most of all, there are hundreds of thousands of esports fans around the globe, as esports has become a global sensation that attracts thousands of spectators to live events held at esports arenas and other venues. Global youth, ranging from mid-teens to mid-twenties, have participated in esports activities. Digital games and esports have shown a unique growth trend as well. Unlike other professional sports like soccer and baseball, esports can gain in popularity during economic recession as well. For example, people increasingly turned to digital games and esports during the first half of 2020 under Covid-19, which means that people played games and watched esports on new media with stay-at-home mandates issued around the globe. Consequently, game scholars, policy makers, and game designers are keen about the future directions of esports. Regardless of the rapid growth of esports and its huge impacts on our contemporary society, academic discourses show a lack of empirical studies and theoretical

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breakthroughs. This edited volume examines the recent surge of esports in the global scene to fill the gap. I believed that at this time it is crucial to document the history of esports and discuss the backgrounds of the growth of esports. In particular, after conducting interviews with college students who played games, as semi-professional players or amateur players for several different time periods for my own research, I was certain that students were eager to learn about esports as part of their academic interests. Due to the involvements of several different actors and elements, as well as varied approaches, I thought that it was prudent to edit the volume instead of creating a monograph. I hope that this edited volume offers new perspectives by identifying the major platforms relevant to learn esports, from broadcasting to smartphones, and therefore, esports’ implications in global youth culture. This book will shed light on the current debates on the growth of global esports culture. There are several people whom I would like to thank. Most of all, this project is made possible due to supports by Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council (SSHRC) Insight Grant of the Canadian government, which supported my field research, conference presentations, and training graduate students. I also want to thank Katie Gallof, the senior acquisitions editor of Bloomsbury, who professionally and timely helped me develop the project. She especially emphasized the importance of history based on proposal reviews, and therefore, we discussed and decided to include one journal article (Chapter 4 in this edited volume) published by me in the International Journal of Communication in 2020. Finally, I wanted to share my excitement with those who play, watch, and enjoy digital games as part of their daily cultures and activities as they are people who make this project real. Dal Yong Jin Simon Fraser University

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Introduction Esports Dal Yong Jin

Esports is everywhere. From college campuses and big cities around the globe to media, both traditional and new media, esports has expanded its popularity and influenced people’s cultural activities. As digital games themselves become one of the largest cultural industries in terms of export, number of users, and employees, esports has been a global phenomenon. Esports, referring to an electronically mediated sport and the leagues in which players compete through networked games and related activities (Jin, 2010), has existed since the early 1970s—as a form of competitive digital gaming—when some American students gathered at computer labs to do battle among the stars. These students “piloted ships through a speckfilled void, shooting missiles and dancing against gravity in one of the world’s first video games, Spacewar,” which was played on the Programmed Data Processor-1 created by a group of students at MIT (Li, 2016, 1). Of course, after the emergence of several esports leagues, such as the Professional Gamers League (PGL) founded around 1997 and the Cyberathlete Professional League (CPL) formed in the United States in 1997 (Taylor, 2012), contemporary esports arguably started in Korea as it began to develop its esports league in the field of online gaming in 1998 as StarCraft became popular in the country. About twenty years after the emergence of esports in Korea, esports has already become one of the most significant cultures for global youth and business models for many venture capitals and mega media giants. In Korea, esports has continued as a major sports event and symbol of ICT (information and communication technology)-driven digital economy. Reflecting the popularity of esports in Korea, Tyler Erzberger—an esports reporter—on ESPN tweeted a very interesting story titled “The Elite 4 of South Korea,” and he included Bong Joon-ho (the director of Parasite who won four Oscar awards in February 2020), Son Heung-min (a soccer player who plays in the UK), BTS (a seven-member K-pop boy band), and Lee Sang-hyeok, better known by his in-game name Faker (a Korean professional League of Legends player) (https​:/​/tw​​itter​​.com/​​Fionn​​OnFir​​e​/sta​​tus​/1​​22668​​398​ 71​​51740​​930) as four elites in contemporary Korean society. The inclusion of a

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professional game player is not surprising at all due to the high acceptance of esports as a major cultural norm. Since the early twenty-first century, esports has rapidly become globally popular, and many esports leagues have emerged (Hutchins, 2008). Due to the soaring popularity, several universities in the United States (e.g., Ohio State University, the University of North Texas, and the University of California at Irvine), Canada, France, Turkey, China, and Korea have established esports-related academic programs, esports arenas in campus, and esports clubs. Esports games in various campuses are not unusual as many students play digital games for fun, recognition, and money. Several big cities around the world, including Los Angeles and Philadelphia in the United States, Seoul in Korea, and Beijing in China, have constructed esports arenas for digital game competitions (Bloom, 2019). The increased attention toward the activity in the twentyfirst century has signaled that “the gaming industry is adopting more flexible avenues of public event consumption with the goal of generating higher profit margins” (Borowy and Jin, 2013, 2254). In particular, in the late 2010s, as “competition has always been a central part of video games” (Li, 2016, 2), many global youth enjoy global competition primarily with online gaming, followed by mobile gaming. The phenomenal growth of esports and related gaming activities and cultures around the globe over the past two decades clearly indicates the characteristics of social and cultural understanding of esports. More importantly, network broadcasters and cable channels, which previously did not broadcast esports, have jumped on the esports bandwagon. For example, once it launched its own esports vertical on ESPN.COM in January 2016, ESPN has continued to develop esports programs. As one of the most recent media involvements, the Overwatch League has been broadcasted on ESPN; however, in March 2019 the semifinals and grand finals on ABC were the league’s network television debuts, which is unprecedented. According to Nielsen, the Overwatch League grand finals, aired on ABC on March 24, managed to pull in 367,000 viewers. This seemed like a small viewership compared to the other sporting events broadcasted on the network. Considering this was the League’s network debut, however, the numbers proved the popularity of the Overwatch League, and in general esports (Simmonds, 2019). Prior to this, in June 2016, European broadcaster Sky, ITV, and gaming company Ginx TV announced the launch of a 24-hour esports channel, Ginx eSports TV (Barraclough, 2016). Game streaming services like Twitch have also played a key role in the growth of esports since the early 2010s. Likewise, esports involves various cultural and economic dimensions, and esports must be comprehended as a more complex process than other sports, emphasizing the connection between sport, technology, and media. For example, the convergence of online games with digital media has two different levels of integration: one is the integration “between electronic gaming and sport” and the other is “between electronic gaming and digital media, which is convergence between culture and business” (Jin, 2010, 61). As Jenkins (2006) points out, media convergence denotes the technological integration that powers new media and distinctive new media forms. The outcome is the growth of esports spectatorship, of course. Esports has indeed become a global

 Introduction 3 sensation that attracts thousands of spectators to live events held at arenas and other venues around the world: People are realizing hundreds of millions of influential, affluent kids are spending a huge amount of time and money on esports. In 50 or 60 years, people are going to look back at esports and recognize the same kind of cultural shift. For TV and video programmers, the challenge of catching and keeping the attention of young millennials has never been greater than in today’s multiplatform, thousandchannel world. (Tribbey, 2016, 12)

In the early twenty-first century, competitive player-versus-player digital game play has been a heavily promoted feature of overall gamer culture. Global youth, ranging from mid-teens to mid-twenties, have participated in esports as either professional players or fans in the age of digital media. For them, esports is one of the most significant youth cultures to follow, while many ICT corporations, including game firms, telecommunications companies, new media, and advertisers have leveraged esports as one of their most lucrative businesses.

The Growth of Esports in the Digital Age Esports has continued to grow as people enjoy digital games, such as console, online, and mobile games. The digital game market has consequently increased over the past two decades, which is not a cottage house industry anymore. In 2018, esports captured the attention of nearly 395 million viewers worldwide, and that is expected to surge to roughly 646 million viewers by 2023, according to a report from Newzoo (2020). Of those 646 million projected viewers, 351 million will identify as “occasional viewers” and 295 million will consider themselves esports enthusiasts. The rapid growth of esports spectatorship means growth of the esports market. According to PwC (PricewaterhouseCoopers, 2018), esports revenues totaled $805 million in 2018, with the largest portion coming from sponsorships ($277 million), followed by media rights ($181 million) and streaming advertisements ($163 million). As such, esports has continued its rapid growth with soaring revenues and increasing audiences and players across the globe since the early twenty-first century. Newzoo (2020) predicts that esports revenue will be as much as $1.56 billion in 2023. That is greater than American Football and rugby combined (Ayles, 2019). As audiences grow, so do expectations. Esports viewers want to be able to watch their favorite teams, players, and tournaments on any screen, at any time—and this will push profitability (Koch, 2019). Esports has been a global phenomenon; however, most of the attention thus far has focused on North America and Asia, the two largest esports markets. By region, AsiaPacific leads the global esports markets and is projected to capture the largest market share. As Paul Verna explains, “the U.S. is a natural growth opportunity for esports because of the strong gaming culture here, the ties between gaming and sports, and

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the country’s natural inclination toward competitive endeavors. The same is true of Western European markets, particularly the U.K., Germany, and France” (Koch, 2019). However, esports is not only for the Global North, because several countries in the Global South like Latin America, Africa, and Southeast Asia are actively developing their own esports and relevant activities. As one of the recent esports leagues, Africa Esports Championship (AEC) has been created with the aim of organizing world class esports across Africa since 2019. Currently, the AEC has about twenty-four participating countries that are running national leagues in various games. For the AEC, FIFA 19—a football simulation video game—and Tekken 7—a fighting game— are two major games (Ogeto, 2019). Likewise, Latin America has developed esports teams and tournaments, including Latin American League. They don’t seem to gain as much attention as tournaments in other regions do, although they are very active. For example, in 2019, the Latin American League achieved new records—a larger audience than ever before, and a much higher level of competitive play. Mexico is the largest market in Latin America, with roughly $1.8 million in revenue, followed by Brazil with $1.6 million. Other countries such as Argentina, Chile, and Colombia are close behind (esports​.ne​t, 2019). This is seemingly small, compared to North America and Asia. What is important is that underdeveloped countries in Latin America and Africa have rapidly advanced esports and relevant activities. Meanwhile, Southeast Asia, comprising Indonesia, Malaysia, Philippines, Singapore, Thailand, Vietnam, and Taiwan, projects huge growth in the esports market. The number of online gamers alone is expected to rise from 154.3 million in 2019 to 186.8 million in 2023. Mobile gaming is also a big part of the Southeast Asian market. As of 2019, 40 percent of the 500 million smartphone owners play mobile games. While China, Korea, and the United States are considered the powerhouses of esports, there are plenty of other countries with a massive investment in the esports culture (Worrall, 2019). This implies that, in the 2020s, esports is global in scope, and the popularity of esports as both youth culture and new business will continue to grow.

Literature Review on Esports Over the last two decades, people have witnessed a dramatic expansion of esports in every corner of the world. As a result of this phenomenon, many media scholars, game scholars, and cultural anthropologists have developed their ideas. Several existing books and articles address terrain similar to what will be covered in this book. Unlike practical guidebooks, commonly talking about “how to become esports players,” “how to become esports broadcasters,” and “how to win esports games,” several academic works, mentioned later, seriously discussed esports based on research from various perspectives. As discussed, esports has had a long history. Up until the mid-2010s, there was little academic work on esports; however, we have seen signs of that changing in recent years, as several game scholars have started to pay attention to esports and

 Introduction 5 relevant areas, including professional gamers and new media. While it is still limited, there are a handful of book-length academic works. To begin with, in her new book Watch Me Play: Twitch and the Rise of Game Live Streaming, T. L. Taylor (2018) took a close look at the revolution in game live streaming and esports broadcasting focusing on Twitch as thousands of people broadcast their gaming live to audiences over the internet using popular sites like Twitch. She also attempted to find answers to “what happens when people began to transform private play into public entertainment and an emerging media form of network broadcasting arises” (p. 22). Roland Li (2017), in his book titled Good Luck Have Fun: The Rise of Esports, addressed esports as one of the fastest growing industries in the world and argues that a confluence of technology, culture, and determination has made this possible. Li explored the players, companies, and games that have made it to the new major leagues. T. L. Taylor (2012) previously examined pro-gaming, with its highly paid players, play-by-play broadcasts, and mass audience, and therefore, discussed whether or not esports should even be considered sports. She also discussed the importance of leagues, teams, owners, organizers, referees, sponsors, and fans in shaping the structure and culture of pro-gaming. Focusing on the business side of esports, Tobias Scholz (2019) discussed esports management, industry, and business models, while addressing the early history of esports as well. He believes that the esports industry is still emerging, in terms of structures, new companies, and markets, and he emphasizes the significance of research on historical observations concerning the business aspect of esports. As one of the first books on esports, Jin (2010) analyzed Korean esports as a pioneer in the early stage of esports. Jin discussed the emergence of esports as a youth culture phenomenon and the working conditions of professional gamers, while mapping out the role of game fans as consumers. Rogers (2019) also explored the ways in which the rise of professional gaming has shaped and been shaped by media, interpersonal communications, and what it means to be classified as an athlete. The books mentioned earlier are valuable sources, and many scholars and students have learned about the concepts and scope of esports through these fine books. However, as their titles prove, none of them fully and comprehensively analyzed the entire scope of esports in the global context. Some of them discussed several cases (e.g., Korean esports) and/or particular areas (streaming platforms like Twitch) of esports. These academic works mainly talked about limited areas without discussing history, industry, sociopolitical issues, and government regulations. None of them analyzed the emergence of mobile esports. More importantly, they did not seriously analyze the significance of the convergence of broadcasting (both old and new forms), players, games, and smartphones. Unlike these previous works, this book contributes to a better understanding of the major characteristics of esports currently undergoing reorganization in the global cultural industries and the broadcasting systems. I hope that this book makes a significant contribution to the literature, as we believe that the book puts new ideas on the agenda, and it is global in scope and readership.

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Goals of the Book This edited book explores the recent surge of esports in the global context and comprehensively discusses people’s understanding of esports. This book addresses several major dimensions differentiating it from existing literature by understanding contemporary esports. First, it discusses why esports has become a global phenomenon, reflecting the rapid growth of esports around the world. Indeed, one of the major characteristics of the book is that it is global as chapter contributors and areas examined are not limited to any particular regions or areas. Chapter contributors in this book are located in various countries, including the United States, the United Kingdom, Canada, Germany, Australia, Finland, China, Korea, Hong Kong, and Brazil, and therefore, they represent diverse systems, industries, and cultures, which are embedded in their chapters. Their focuses, however, are not local, but rather comparative and global. This globally welldistributed contribution will certainly attract more readers than regionally skewed monographs and edited volumes. By historicizing and institutionalizing esports in our global scope and expertise, we commonly analyze the rapid growth of esports and its implications in youth culture and digital economy. Instead of emphasizing case studies based on national or regional esports, it analyzes the institutionalization of esports in comparison with regular sports, like football and soccer so that the readers are able to historicize the growth of esports. Secondly, it analyzes the growth of esports from diverse approaches and frameworks. For example, some chapters address business and political economy perspectives together, which are some of the most significant matters for our interpretation of the growth of esports. Other chapters examine cultural implications in global youth, in particular among college students. In so doing, the readers are fully able to understand not only the business models, but also critical matters embedded in esports like neoliberal implications on esports. Third, some chapters in this book also discuss a potential shift of esports from online to mobile gaming. They address why many global game players and fans play and enjoy online and mobile games in professional game competitions, and therefore, they investigate the manners in which the transfer to, from and between online and mobile gaming culture is occurring in a specific subset of global youth. Fourth, it analyzes the convergence of media and esports. While discussing the significant role of several cable and online streaming services, including ESPN and Twitch, chapters in this category emphasize previously unexamined areas, such as esports and music, esports and news, and play-by-play game commentary, known as shoutcasting, which make the book unique from other existing books. In this light, this book also emphasizes new perspectives by identifying the major platforms used to enjoy esports, including broadcasting and smartphones. Last, but not the least, this book examines the increasing role of esports in the realm of youth culture. Some chapters discuss college esports in a few areas, including North America and China. Likewise, these chapters analyze several cultural issues, such as gender among esports players, while investigating the significant role of game communities.

 Introduction 7 Overall, by analyzing these unexamined or less-discussed agendas, we advance the current debates on the growth of global esports culture. We expect that our readers will be able to advance their understanding of global esports from diverse perspectives and utilize theories, approaches, and debates learned from this book in interpreting esports, which is itself rapidly becoming part of our daily activities and culture.

Overview of the Book One major advantage of this book is the scope that it is able to provide for gathering together a relatively large number of specific esports studies. To encourage the reading of the chapters alongside other cognate areas I have organized the contents across five broad thematic points. Part 1 documents history, institutionalization, and legitimization and explores some of fundamental issues in tandem with the growth of esports. Chapter 2 accomplishes two goals. On the one hand, it attempts a comparative analysis between the institutionalization of late sports and esports institutions. On the other hand, it seeks to discuss how the modern esport institution may look in the future with reference to the ongoing discussion, by institutional bodies, of what the ideology of esports should be and what this discussion has been for late sports and esports in the past. To achieve these aims several case studies of sporting institutions are examined, including the X Games, the Starcraft ProLeague (Proleague), and the Evolution Championship Series (EVO). Chapter 3 analyzes esports along three important axes: industry size, viewer friendliness, and game competitiveness. Researching the size of the esports industry allows for observation of potential economic impact. Examining the viewer friendliness of esports can help better understand the appeal to spectators. Analysis of game competitiveness can show potential engagement by audiences. The chapter discusses esports by comparing them to traditional sports in order to provide for a relatively well-understood frame of reference. This means that some of the comparative analysis of sports leagues in this chapter is unique. Chapter 4 traces the recent development of esports in the Chinese context. Esports for China is uniquely situated as it can capitalize on a culture of esports existing within the country. Unlike football, a traditional sport on which the government has set its eyes on, esports is still in its infancy allowing the Chinese government to stake their claim; however, there are several obstacles which become apparent in the chapter. The chapter begins with outlining esports in China, particularly zooming in on Hangzhou and Shanghai to show the scale of current esports developments in terms of infrastructure and governmental intent. It then goes through various perspectives on esports, after which current issues of esports development in China are discussed. Chapter 5 documents the very early esports era, which played a major role in developing Korea’s esports scene, between the late 1990s and the early 2000s. It articulates the historical backgrounds for the emergence of esports in tandem with Korea’s unique sociocultural milieu, including the formation of mass spectatorship. In

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so doing, it attempts to identify the major players and events which contributed to the formation of esports culture. It periodizes the early Korean esports scene into three major periods, namely the introduction of PC communications like Hitel until 1998, the introduction of StarCraft and PC bang, and the emergence of esports broadcasting and the institutionalization of spectatorship in the Korean context until 2002. Part 2 comprises chapters focusing on money, data power, and network to discuss several business models and the importance of data power and network. Chapter 6 analyzes the ways in which the esports industry is highly volatile amid exponential growth; however, it acknowledges that there is still no one best way to create a sustainable business model. It argues that we can observe convergence as well as divergence tendencies, especially as the actors are profoundly intertwined in a business model network. In this chapter, the business model network has been described, and the underlying convergence mechanism is described as well as potential strategies to create a sustainable business model network for Overwatch and every company involved. Chapter 7 is concerned with the use of statistical information in broadcasts of esports matches, concentrating on applications in the game Defense of the Ancients 2 (Dota 2). It situates statistical information as a key technique for accumulating, and deriving commercial value from, the consciousness of viewing subjects. Specifically, it argues that statistics work as an intermediary that frames viewers’ attention to esports broadcasts, linking together disparate parts of esports matches, leagues, and tournaments. It develops two further arguments that 1) the statistical orientation of the user creates the potential for the emergence of affective states that may be commercially desirable, specifically in impelling continued viewing, and that 2) this statistically mediated mode of attention is further monetized by Valve through paid access features. Chapter 8 argues that the gameplay metrics used to measure player performances in video games enable the competitive logic of capitalism, and a neoliberal subjectivity, to circulate through esports cultures. Drawing on a case study of the esport hit game Dota 2, this chapter critically considers how its metrics, like “actions-per-minute,” “matchmaking rank,” and “kills-deaths-assists,” reward neoliberal bodily performances. In particular, it shows how these metrics entangle players into a discourse of “competition that requires players to monitor and optimize their performances” to remain competitive within the game’s market. Chapter 9 analyzes Overwatch as transmedia. It utilizes multisited data that we approach with two methods. First, it makes use of an ongoing survey concerning the reception of Overwatch and its professional Overwatch League; second, it employs a close reading of the game both as a playable product and as a spectatable Overwatch League show including broadcasts, social media engagement, and so on. It situates Overwatch in the framework of previous transmedia studies and ponders what kind of transmediality emerges in the case of this particular esport game and speculates what it can furthermore teach us about the relationship of fiction and non-fiction in gamecentered esports transmedia universes. Part 3, Media and Esports focuses on the crucial relationships between media and esports. In Chapter 10, Renner and Taylor forward a theorization of shoutcasting

 Introduction 9 attending to how the experience of space is remediated and transformed for esports spectators, that builds on and extends the limited, albeit productive research currently on esports commentary. They do so by foregrounding a shoutcaster perspective regarding the work of color commentating. By guiding us to these different spaces through media-intensive practices of data analysis and visualization, casters locate audiences materially and perceptually while also discursively orienting them. It offers a theoretical, empirically driven account that understands how the work of esports commentators narrativize space in order to orient audiences. Chapter 11 examines what used to be the “Wild West” of sports, showing a rapid transition to a full-fledged professional sport moving into the mainstream. In an endeavor to grow the scene, the league infrastructures, broadcastings, and monetization of esports have been immensely based on those of traditional sports, and naturally, the intersections between the two industries are apparent to the public. However, as the focus lies in the “sports” frame, the potential of esports has also been acknowledged with limitations around the sports-related notions of “competitive gaming” and “spectator culture.” Chapter 12 investigates the ways in which the media plays an important role as an information disseminator for its consumers, setting the agenda of what to think about and how to think about it. Cumming uses the Australian mainstream media that provides an interesting case, reflecting the core sport values integral to the Australian national identity. With esports embodying values of both gaming and sport, a thematic analysis was conducted to investigate how esports was portrayed in the Australian mainstream media. Esports was portrayed in six main ways as: an investment opportunity, having societal impacts, sport-like, entering the mainstream, professionalized, and underdeveloped in Australia. Chapter 13 explores the recent surge of esports in the global scene. Through a comparative analysis of Korean esports fans and Canadian esports fans and players, it articulates three major unconventional prospects. First, it discusses the reasons why esports has become a global phenomenon, from a small youth culture in Korea. It analyzes the ways in which people in North America perceive the significant role of Korea in the realm of esports. Second, it analyzes the second unconventional aspect, which is a potential shift of esports from online to mobile gaming. Finally, it discusses the third unconventional perspective by identifying the major platform to enjoy esports, including broadcasting and smartphone, and therefore, its implications in global youth culture. Part 4, Collegial Esports, Youth Culture, and Gender addresses a handful of key issues relevant to esports in the context of youth culture and gender. Chapter 14 unpacks the institutionalization of the esports industry to highlight how esports has become a significant cultural site for multiple generations who consider digital games an integral part of their daily activities. It argues that understandings of esports should be expanded beyond a global youth culture as there are multiple instances, constructed in news media, demonstrating that the emerging cultural phenomenon is indeed multigenerational and intergenerational. It highlights the contours of the emergent discursive relationship between esports, youth culture, and adults at a time

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when esports is constructed as a mainstream and pervasive global popular culture phenomenon. In Chapter 15, Kauweloa discusses the creation of collegiate esports programs by educational institutions that has sparked curiosity about how the culture and practice of competitive video gaming fits within educational settings. This chapter explores the backgrounds of competitive gaming in colleges, the various stakeholders in the collegiate esports space, policy concerns for universities and colleges as esports programs gain in popularity, and issues of diversity and inclusion of gamers in collegiate esports. Chapter 16 asks how esports is framed as a university activity by the companies and organizations involved in running intercollegiate esports tournaments. It argues that ads for university esports competitions use four main frames to present esports to these stakeholders in a flexible way that addresses their perceived desires and anxieties about esports on campus. It contributes to understanding the changing attitudes to computer games in China and how commercial and state organizations are involved in this reshaping of attitudes. It also contributes to understanding one of the ways in which commercial organizations in China navigate the regulatory landscape by adopting a flexible and interpretable set of frames for their activity. Chapter 17 considers the representation of male and female gamers in competitive gaming, and it focuses on the issues of access to gaming communities and opportunities to compete competitively. It emphasizes that it is important to highlight that the history of video games is filled with tournaments and competition, where competitive gaming later developed the association of the specific term “esports.” While the esports industry itself is still young, it has attracted a vast community of professional players, teams, commentators, sponsors, and, most importantly, spectators and fans. How to understand these contemporary esport elements is the concern of this chapter.

References Ayles, J. (2019). “Global Esports Revenue Reaches More Than $1 Billion as Audience Figures Exceed 433 Million.” Forbes. December 3. https​:/​/ww​​w​.for​​bes​.c​​om​/si​​tes​/j​​amesa​​ yles/​​2019/​​12​/03​​/glob​​al​-es​​ports​​-reve​​nue​-r​​eache​​s​-mor​​e​-tha​​n​-1​-b​​illio​​n​-as-​​audie​​nce​f​​i gure​​s​​-exc​​eed​-4​​33​-mi​​llion​/​#21b​​c18ae​​1329 Barraclough, L. (2016). “Pay TV Operator Sky, U.K. Broadcaster ITV Back Ginx Esports TV Channel.” Variety. June 16. https​:/​/va​​riety​​.com/​​2016/​​tv​/ga​​mes​/s​​ky​-it​​v​-vid​​​eogam​​ ing​-t​​v- channel-ginx-esports-tv-1201796789/ Bloom, D. (2019). “Esports Stadiums Are Popping Up Everywhere.” Forbes. May 31. https​:/​/ww​​w​.for​​bes​.c​​om​/si​​tes​/d​​bloom​​/2019​​/05​/3​​1​/esp​​orts-​​stadi​​ums​-a​​re​-po​​pping​​up​-e​​v​eryw​​here/​​#16bf​​02525​​210 Borowy, M. and D. Y. Jin (2013). “Pioneering Esport: The Experience Economy and the Marketing of Early 1980s Arcade Gaming Contests.” International Journal of Communication 7: 2254–75. Hawthorne, M. (2019). “The Future of Esports in Latin America,” Esports.Net, August 10. https​:/​/ww​​w​.esp​​orts.​​net​/n​​ews​/i​​ndust​​ry​/th​​e​-fut​​ure​-o​​f​-esp​​orts-​​​in​-la​​tin​-a​​meric​​a/

 Introduction 11 Hutchins, B. (2008). “Signs of Meta-Change in Second Modernity: The Growth of Esport and the World Cyber Games.” New Media & Society, 10(6): 851–69. Jenkins, H. (2006). Convergence Culture. New York, NY: New York University Press. Jin, D. Y. (2010). Korea’s Online Gaming Empire. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Koch, L. (2019). “Esports Playing in the Big Leagues Now,” eMarketer, February 5. https​:/​/ww​​w​.ema​​rkete​​r​.com​​/cont​​ent​/e​​sport​​s​-dis​​r upts​​-digi​​tal​-s​​​ports​​-stre​​aming​ Li, R. (2016). Good Luck Have Fun: The Rise of Esports. New York, NY: Skyhorse Newzoo (2020). 2020 Global Esports Market Reports. Amsterdam: The Netherlands: Newzoo. Ogeto, M. (2019). “Africa Esports Championships 2019. Medium.” May 20. https​:/​/me​​ dium.​​com​/l​​udiqu​​ework​​smedi​​a​/afr​​ica​-e​​sport​​s​-cha​​mpion​​ships​​-20​19​​-641c​​f8a83​​97e PricewaterhouseCoopers (2018). Sports Industry: Lost in Transition-PwC’s Sports Survey 2018. London: PWC. Rogers, R. (2019) (Ed.). Understanding Esports: An Introduction to the Global Phenomenon. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books. Scholz, T. (2019). Esports Is Business: Management in the World of Competitive Gaming. London: Palgrave. Simmonds, J. (2019). “ABC Viewership Stats for OWL Playoffs Revealed. March 30.” Upcomer. https​:/​/up​​comer​​.com/​​overw​​atch/​​story​​/1415​​530​/a​​bc​-vi​​ewers​​hip​-s​​tats-​​for​o​​wl​-​pl​​ayoff​​s​-rev​​ealed​ Taylor, T. L. (2012). Raising the Stakes: Esports and the Professionalization of Computer Gaming. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Taylor, T. L. (2018). Watch Me Play: Twitch and the Rise of Game Live Streaming. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Tribbey, C. (2016). “Watching People Playing: It’s Game on Esports Media Players Multiply, Drawn by Rapid Growth and Digital Youth Reach.” Broadcasting and Cable. June 27, 12–13. Worrall, W. (2019). “Greater Southeast Asia Is Becoming a Gaming and Esports Steamroller.” CCN.COM. November 19. https​:/​/ww​​w​.ccn​​.com/​​great​​er​-so​​uthea​​st​-as​​ia​is​​-beco​​ming-​​a​-gam​​ing​-a​​nd​-es​​​ports​​-stea​​mroll​​er/

12 

Part 1

History, Institutionalization, and Legitimization

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2

The Future of Esports Institutions A Comparative Analysis of “Late-Twentieth-Century Sports” and “Esports” Institutions Rory K. Summerley

Introduction Many have defined sports by citing their commonly institutional nature (Abanazir, 2018; Guttmann, 1994, 158; Polley, 2007, 16; Suits, 1988, 61) and so it is worth considering how esports fit into this paradigm. This chapter follows up on work done to compare the early institutionalization of traditional sports with that of esports (Summerley, 2019). In conclusion it was noted that the large gap in time between traditional sports (primarily institutionalized in the nineteenth century) and esports (first institutionalized in the late twentieth century) made an exact comparison challenging. It has been proposed by Abanazir (2018), Esports Bar and Newzoo (2018, 4), and Summerley (2019) that more recent sports institutions from the 1990s that failed to topple traditional sports from their throne (hereafter “late sports”) to roughly contemporaneous esports institutions may reveal more about the current state and likely future of esports. Thus, this chapter intends to accomplish two goals. First, it attempts a comparative analysis between the institutionalization of late sports and esports institutions. Secondly, it seeks to discuss how the modern esport institution may look in the future with reference to the ongoing discussion, by institutional bodies, of what the ideology of esports should be and what this discussion has been for late sports and esports in the past. To achieve these aims several case studies of sporting institutions are examined. For comparative analysis of contemporaneous sports institutions that were created in the late twentieth century and early twenty-first century, the primary case studies discussed here include the Ultimate Fighting Championship series (UFC), the X-Games, the Starcraft ProLeague (Proleague), and the Evolution Championship Series (EVO). These institutions have been chosen because of their year of institutionalization, their relative popularity, and continued success among niche audiences, the diversity

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of sports included, as well as representing a mixture of corporate and grassroots-led organizations and sports. Esports Bar and Newzoo (2018, 4) see esports as being historically similar to the UFC specifically which informed comparisons made in this chapter. Furthermore, because of the financially precarious nature of esports it is worth examining lessons to be learnt from sports institutions and games that are historically contemporaneous or ceased such as those listed by Abanazir (2018, 10). Other miscellaneous institutions1 will naturally be touched upon throughout.

Comparative Analysis of Late Sport and Esport Institutions In the late twentieth century, particularly during the 1990s, many alternative sports had developed to the point of institutionalization and often in response to dominant mainstream team sports. Wheaton (2004, 2) notes that this bundle of activities is variously lumped under labels such as “extreme,” “alternative,” “lifestyle,” “whiz,” “action-sports,” “panic sport,” “postmodern,” “post-industrial,” and “new” sports. Kusz (2004) notes that they “were primarily imagined in American media culture as a radical new collection of non-traditional sporting activities” (p. 198). Kusz contests that the collective label of “extreme” was branded in the 1990s, even though the sports themselves did exist before this point.2 Given the temporal focus of this chapter they will simply be referred to as “late sports” to differentiate them from traditional sports and the increasingly general term “modern sports.” These late sports were often institutionalized in conjunction with the rise of a generation that had grown up in an increasingly media-entertainment-driven world or in the wake of highly masculine ideologies about sport that had perpetuated through the twentieth century. All of these late sports institutions technically represent multiple sports and practices but for the sake of simplicity this chapter focuses on the institutionalization of the most popular sports in each (mixed martial arts in UFC and skateboarding in the X-Games). Brazilian Jiu Jitsu practitioner Rorion Gracie and pay-per-view producer Bob Meyrowitz partnered to institutionalize the UFC in 1993 with the first tournament taking place later the same year (O’Hara, 2008, 22). Less of a sporting institution initially, the idea was to create an event to determine which martial arts style was “the best” (Smith, 2010, 621). As infamously noted by sports journalist Lewis Wertheim (2007), early UFC events “were more spectacle than sport” (p. 54). The X-Games were institutionalized by American sports media conglomerate ESPN Inc. in 1993 although the event was not first held until 1995 (Marcus, 2011, 227). They were originally called the “eXtreme Games” to capitalize on the newly monikered “extreme sports” (Wheaton, 2004) and became a dominant institution within that niche. Kusz (2004, 198) identifies extreme sports as forming in 1995 primarily targeted at “Generation X.” Kusz (2004) sees ESPN as pouncing on this new audience as a lucrative revenue stream with the development of the channel ESPN2 and subsequently the X-Games themselves.

 The Future of Esports Institutions 17 The continuing conversation about esports often focuses on active institutions and, especially, successful cases of growth; very rarely are failed ventures discussed. Starcraft 2: Wings of Liberty’s (Blizzard Entertainment, 2010) release was one of the earliest experiments by a major corporation to manage the direction of a developing esport that it directly owned. The first Starcraft league was created in 1998 (Jin, 2010, 59). The institution most closely associated with the Starcraft series was the Starcraft Proleague, which began in 2003 and ceased in 2016 (Kim, 2016; Liquipedia StarCraft II, 2019). It was technically formed by the Korean ESports Association (KeSPA) in 2005 from two competing leagues that started in 2003: MBCGame StarCraft League (MSL, formerly known as the KPGA Team League) and the OnGameNet StarLeague (OSL) respectively formed by rival broadcasters MBCGame and OnGameNet. While active, Proleague organized tournaments for Starcraft: Brood War (Blizzard Entertainment, 1998) and later Starcraft 2, as well as the Starcraft 2 World Championship series (WCS) starting in 2013 and run by Blizzard (Rea, 2016, 24). It was one of a number of tournaments run under the Battle​.n​et World Championship series, which collected several tournaments for different Blizzard games under a single banner (Blizzard Entertainment, 2012; Hillier, 2012). Eventually Starcraft 2 settled into a niche role within esports but its history is worth examining as an example of the factors that hold back a game from penetrating a global market and maintaining a lucrative revenue stream despite its iconic legacy. To broaden the discussion, this chapter also considers a primarily grassroots esports organization, annual US fighting game tournament the Evolution Championship Series (EVO), to contrast Blizzard’s more corporate approach. EVO (explain it a bit) aimed to preserve tournament culture through its own institutional philosophy. Regional fighting game communities on the east and west coasts of America would brag about regional strength online message boards in the 1990s. This settling of disputes became an impetus for announcing B3 (first held in 1996), the precursor to EVO (Harper, 2010, 67–8). This “B series” tournament (1996) began in an influential west coast arcade at Southern Hills Golf Land which, like many arcades, closed in the early 2000s due to the rise of the home console industry (Harper, 2010). Arcades were where competitive fighting game play began, and tournaments during this era were almost exclusively grassroots events funded and organized by community members in conjunction with the proprietors of arcades. EVO was created as a means of preserving this environment so that the community that had grown up in the arcades would not die with them (TheScore Esports, 2018). EVO (beginning in 2002) was intended to preserve tournament culture, not necessarily arcade culture (i.e., coin-operated games and attractions). Comparing the processes and factors of institutionalization affecting the case studies outlined earlier will help determine what late sports might reveal about esports and their future.

The Institutionalization Process Taylor (2018, 136–7) describes the history of esports as coming in three waves: “Game” (amateur community and enthusiasts), “Sport” (institutionalization and

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professionalization), and “Media entertainment” (a focus on esports events as entertainment product over competition). It is worth considering how these waves create tensions in both esports and late sports. The process of institutionalization concerns how institutions universalize and regulate a ruleset for competitive play, promote an institutional philosophy to legitimize and reflect the character of the sport, and propagate the institution’s sport(s) to ensure its continued existence (Summerley, 2019). Universalization is the codification of the rules of a game, universally adopted by all competitors under an institution. Informally, this begins prior to institutionalization through the development of communally agreed rules about sporting behavior first created by the community. Then, as Taylor (2012) puts it, “formal tournaments operationalize many of these bottom-up community practices” (p. 63). The institution’s burden to codify rules is a concern for all institutions but fewer rules are explicitly stated in esports rulesets (by the nature of certain rules being hard-coded into the game). Esports have still developed along similar lines to the late sports examined here. In a legal history of the UFC, Smith (2010) notes how the universalization of mixed martial arts (MMA) rules was tied up in regulatory concerns surrounding violent sports in the late twentieth century. Like many “third wave” esports, MMA was initially promoted as “media entertainment” under the UFC. Smith (2010, 621) notes that the rules were not as formalized as for most institutionalized sports. This lack of rules combined with the relative danger posed by injury led to the UFC holding events in regions where “athletic or boxing commissions were either inept or non-existent” (Smith, 2010, 621). The sport’s violent nature and its association with risk and danger was likely a draw for early fans but also a risk for the propagation of the UFC. It was not long before the sport would be criticized as being morally dubious and lawmakers had to get involved. In the late 1990s, the sport’s popularity had died off and, in 2001, the UFC was bought by Frank Fertitta, Lorenzo Fertitta, and Dana White (Smith, 2010, 622). The new owners realized that an institutional philosophy that was in line with the law was necessary for the sport to proliferate. Executive director of the Nevada State Athletic Commission Marc Ratner was brought on as vice president of Regulatory Affairs to ensure that regulation was built into the institution (Smith, 2010, 623). In 2001, the “Mixed Martial Arts Unified Rules of Conduct” (or the Unified Rules) were established in meetings between MMA promoters and members of various state regulatory bodies (Smith, 2010, 627). The amount of regulation of UFC blossomed between 2008 and 2009 as the UFC actively complied with lawmakers to establish a means of regulating the sport (O’Hara, 2008, 4). This presents an interesting difference when comparing the UFC to esports institutions since esports have not often had to deal with the legal status afforded to sports, especially violent or dangerous ones. In a 2008 interview with assistant general counsel of the Ultimate Fighting Championship, Michael Mersch noted that universalization was an important factor for the perceived legitimacy of UFC: “The rules give the people watching it the idea that they are watching a legitimate and professionalized sport” (Wertheim, 2007, 54). Smith (2010, 634) echoes this sentiment, stating that the unified rules of MMA distinguish it

 The Future of Esports Institutions 19 from other violent and unregulated activity. MMA rules describe the circumstances of a foul, when a match can end and imply what constitutes acceptable levels of violence (Smith, 2010, 635–6). They promote a legally compliant philosophy of violence within reasonable boundaries. The UFC does this not only to maintain a less confusing and dangerous sport but also to maintain legal status and cultural legitimacy. However, its reliance on legal frameworks in the United States make widespread acceptance difficult due to differences in regulation by state. Skateboarding has many important differences and similarities to MMA and esports. Unlike other games discussed here, skateboarding is not always seen as a definitive sport performed under rules. One skater interviewed stated they “Did not want to see it become an Olympic sport because it would be too regulated and too competitive; whereas “[the] whole point of skating is opposite of becoming a sport”” (Beal and Wilson, 2004, 41). In other interviews, a generational change between amateurs who “keep it real” and younger participants who look to commercial sponsorship and processes can be seen (Beal and Wilson, 2004, 36). Although skateboarding had been around as a pastime for much of the twentieth century including formal institutions such as the California Amateur Skateboarding League (est. 1980) and the National Skateboarding Association (est. 1983) (Glionna, 1997, 114–15; Marcus, 2011, 200), the X-Games have remained the dominant institution. Many skateboarders were uninterested in seeing the culture formalized to any extent. Indeed, they clung to an identity that privileged an “outsider” label (Beal and Wilson, 2004, 32). Mainstream understanding of the activity reflected the attitude that skateboarding was not a sport: “As Steve Hawk recalls: ‘In 1986, after Sports Illustrated did a story on Tony Hawk, there were letters to the magazine for weeks from people saying, “How could you devote six pages to a skateboarder? That’s not a sport!”’” (emphasis original) (Glionna, 1997, 117). This led to a gap that could easily be filled by corporations like ESPN to formalize the activity under the moniker of a sport. In some ways, skateboarding jumped straight to the “third wave” of competition when ESPN took it up as media entertainment in the form of a sport. Kusz (2004) sees ESPN as pouncing on this new audience as a lucrative revenue stream with the development of the television channel ESPN2 as well as the creation of the X-Games. The X-Games were a commercial success and established the character, rules, and philosophy of the sport in the mainstream in part thanks to the support and prowess of Tony Hawk (Glionna, 1997, 119). Sponsors included nonendemic brands like Mountain Dew, Advil, and Miller Lite. Much of the X-Games’ identity was hated by most amateur skaters; it was seen to be corporate invasion into an authentic lifestyle (Marcus, 2011, 227). However, the size and power of the X-Games meant that these criticisms were mostly invisible in the mainstream. One blogger from concretedisciples​.c​om described corporate activity in skateboarding as “the bastardization of skateboarding to meet the goals of a boardroom full of executive buttf@#$s [sic]” (Marcus, 2011, 227). As with any sport the dominant perception of it changed over generations (Beal and Wilson, 2004, 41). Older skaters are not keen on younger generations as they see them as products of institutions such

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as the X-Games (which deemphasizes risk, authenticity, and physical danger) but these younger skaters also tend to be more skilled (thanks in part to formalized competition) which presents a challenge to criticisms of newer generations (Beal and Wilson, 2004, 43). The first ESPN X-Games had an audience of 198,000 spectators internationally and prominent skateboarders such as Andy MacDonald noted the positive quality of the X-Games in bringing cultural legitimacy to skateboarding despite the event’s perceived inauthenticity (Marcus, 2011, 228). ESPN considered it a success despite grassroots criticism and moved to hold the games annually rather than every two years as initially planned. Core skating magazines did not cover the X-Games extensively, however, the mainstream skating audience still attended live events and spectated online (Marcus, 2011, 230). Unfortunately because of grassroots skateboarders’ inherently anticorporate and outsider philosophy, an opportunity to grow the sport through cooperation was missed and it has now arguably splintered into two very different practices. Not only do some skateboarders look at mainstream sports derisively, they also look at sports similar to their own with derision. This might be due to competition for the same community or simply gatekeeping. Beal and Wilson (2004, 47) note that “The lack of respect most skateboarders had for in-line skating is frequently equated with femininity and homosexuality.” This discriminatory perspective on other sports is one more case of a community’s resistance to opening its doors to external forces that has prevented skateboarding from growth amid grassroots practitioners. The split in skateboarding between corporate and grassroots ideologies can be roughly aligned to the notion of “street” and “vert” skating which privileges the use of ground level obstacles and ramps respectively (Beal and Wilson, 2004, 50; Marcus, 2011, 229–30). Wheaton (2004, 4) emphasizes that the character of late sports originates from grassroots values but are quickly subsumed by companies that place a televisual focus on the sport. In skateboarding’s case this is met with hostility as many of the participants in late sports are also players or dedicated spectators who do or live the sport: “the sports are performed in ways that often denounce—or even resist— institutionalisation, regulation and commercialisation” (Wheaton, 2004, 4). American skateboarder Jake Burton is quoted by Wheaton (2004) as defining lifestyle sports as “completely living it all the time.” Fans are also players in the same way that EVO maintains tournament culture from early arcades. Despite their grassroots stalwarts, late sports became dominated by corporate institutions like ESPN’s X-Games and NBC’s Gravity Games (Wheaton, 2004, 8). Esports are similar in that many early cases of esports were clearly grassroots in flavor but recent moves by developer-publishers aim to capture a relatively young audience eager to watch their games online. Thus late sports and esports have a similar trajectory from grassroots sport that was colonized as a form of entertaining spectacle by corporations for a young audience (primarily men in their late teens to early thirties) (footballbenchmark​.co​m, 2019; Gray, 2018; Lombardo and Broughton, 2017). The institutionalization of many sports involves mythologization, often with the goal of making a sport seem more legitimate, traditional, or national than it really is.

 The Future of Esports Institutions 21 A popular practice with sports clubs is consecrating them as “ancient” or proving their age as evidence of the legitimacy of such an institution (Harvey, 2005, 8). The story is slightly different with late sports and esports as the argument for wider cultural legitimacy through institutions is more of an uphill battle due to their relative recency. The legitimacy of MMA is often derived through comparison to ancient events such as gladiatorial bouts (Bolelli, 2014; O’Hara, 2008, 6). In the case of skateboarding and many other extreme sports, the philosophy tends to appeal to notions of counterculture or youth culture and so are not as concerned with widespread cultural legitimacy. In the case of the X-Games this is, to put it cynically, motivated by corporate direction rather than to necessarily reflect the philosophies of “legitimate” skateboarders. Instead of appealing to legacy, esports institutions (assuming they want to be financially successful) must develop aspirational philosophies such as those promoted by EVO or ones aligned with corporate values such as those held by Blizzard Entertainment (n.d.). In a panel on EVO’s history Tom Cannon, one of the founding members of EVO, outlined the mission statement of EVO organized under three principles that aspire to preservation: Evo’s Mission: preserve and grow the arcade competitive culture Competition: All competitors are equal, regardless of skill. Hype: The drama of humans under pressure. Struggle: Every player’s personal journey to get stronger. (Evo2kvids, 2017)

While regulated competition is a concern of the institution, other aspirational moral qualities also underpin EVO as in traditional and late sports institutions. Even global esports institutions see this as necessary for development of a sporting institution (Valentine, 2019). EVO’s ongoing “struggle” amid other esports is to never sacrifice its grassroots origins in the increasingly corporate space of esports. Thus EVO primarily concerns itself with the preservation of the culture of fighting games. Rulesets determined for many of its games reflect the values held by sub-communities for each individual fighting game (e.g., the SBR [Smash Back Room] rules for competitive Super Smash Bros. Melee) (HAL Laboratory, 2001; Harper, 2010, 189–90). Harper (2010, 193) frames EVO cofounder Seth Killian’s term, a “social collective” view, to describe how communities codify rulesets through emergent play which are subsequently refined and universalized by institutions like EVO. EVO is a comparatively grassroots institution, and Cannon stresses that EVO’s success is because it has never relied on giant sponsorships or venture funding because of the precarious situation this would put the tournament in if it grew (Evo2kvids, 2017). Cannon compares other esports events, such as the International, to EVO making the point that they are superficially similar but have very different qualities. Everyone in an esports arena is there as a fan but at EVO, every attendant is a player. Cannon acknowledges that EVO is going against the grain of most other “traditional” esports institutions and claims that its unique qualities are exactly what make EVO worth preserving rather than emulating other esports tournaments. However, grassroots institutions like EVO have considered the wider commercialization and

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context of spectatorship that propagation requires (Summerley, 2019, 7). EVO does not resist professionalization or commercialization but it is not principally founded on being a “third wave” entertainment event either. While Starcraft 2 is still played by a dedicated community, its size and influence has waned dramatically compared to the central role the Starcraft series once commanded in the esports scene at the turn of the twenty-first century. As early as 2004, Starcraft (Blizzard Entertainment, 1998) would attract up to 100,000 fans for professional Starcraft finals matches in South Korea (Rea, 2016, 22). Despite their ownership of the brand, Blizzard was generally disinterested in managing esports up until around 2008 (Rea, 2016, 24; Taylor, 2012, 163). In the run-up to Starcraft 2’s release is when they became infamously embroiled with KeSPA over the rights to broadcast the game (Rea, 2016, 24; Taylor, 2012). As early as 2008 Blizzard had considered how Starcraft 2 might fit into the emerging esports landscape (Taylor, 2012, 163). This culminated in Blizzard’s eventual dropping of KeSPA and adoption of ownership of esports events with their own esports department between 2010 and 2013 (McCutcheon, 2010; Rea, 2016, 24). In the early 2010s, Starcraft 2 was the most popular esport worldwide. Although its “failure” is not completely remarkable considering how many video games are no longer actively played competitively, Starcraft 2’s status combined with the struggles of its institutions is what makes it an interesting case study. Partin (2018) saw the success of the Brood War expansion for the original game as the catalyst for Blizzard to ask themselves what their role in the emerging phenomenon of esports might be and developer-publishers began to see their games as ongoing services. Blizzard’s attempt to control their esports scene directly may have begun with steps like removing LAN support from Starcraft 2 so that any match played via Blizzard’s platform, Battle​.ne​t, would have to go through them inherently (Petzall, 2009). Starcraft 2 esports product manager (2016–19) Adrian Harris, in interview with Partin (2018), recalls that saturation of streamed esports content presented a problem to the long-term state of the game. Simply too many tournaments and events were being held annually (sixty to seventy per year by WCS alone) and event organizers could not compete with Blizzard in terms of management and funding. The WCS’ initial points system was highlighted by Partin (2018) as an unintentionally exclusive structure for early Starcraft 2. Rea (2016, 24) also notes that WCS circuits were at one point divided into a worldwide “WCS Circuit” and a “WCS Korea” circuit to emphasize the dominance Korean players had at the time. Not only that but Korean players competed and dominated in both. Starcraft 2 was also likely seen as stale in comparison to then-upcoming multiplayeronline-battle-arenas (MOBAs) which have now fully supplanted real-time-strategy (RTS) as a major genre in esports3 (Partin, 2018). RTS would not have had as diverse a community as other genres. Within the fighting game genre, as many as nine subcommunities may be large enough to support just as many titles in a year at EVO. If a Starcraft 2 player liked RTS games but only had Starcraft 2 to choose from, there may not be much incentive to continue with the genre (or they might migrate to MOBAs) when institutions for RTS games collapse. Since institutions for Starcraft 2 did not also

 The Future of Esports Institutions 23 typically host MOBAs circa 2010–15 (due to Blizzard not having a MOBA at the time), the resilience was not there. Partin (2018) also identifies the game’s “Heart of the Swarm” expansion as a key contributor to its failure to hold community interest. The “Swam Host” unit in particular is cited as being extremely powerful but boring to use and watch. By 2015, international Starcraft 2 had effectively gone dormant and Blizzard began to rethink institutional events. Region-locked competition was introduced and WCS 2015 combined to represent a genuine spread of global competition with guaranteed qualifier spots for less-represented regions such as Latin America and Oceania (Partin, 2018). Having more successful non-Korean players at WCS 2015 also helped boost international interest in SC2. The Legacy of the Void expansion also rebalanced the game to be more action-oriented and a metagame that was perceived to be slow and dull. The game was also made free to play in 2017 which would have likely expanded the market to fence-sitters as well as other territories. Partin (2018) notes that Brazil and Russia picked up interest in the game around this time. Partin (2018) emphasizes three factors that an esport must balance to achieve success: “one, it must be enjoyable for the vast majority of players; two, it must be deep enough to retain the interest of elite players; and, three, it must be fun to watch.” Starcraft 2’s legacy and relatively small size have endured as benefits though despite a lack of growth. It is logistically easier to run, its smaller audience places less pressure on a broadcaster to secure a guaranteed amount of views and league prize pools do not need to be as high to attract top-tier talent. In 2019, Starcraft 2 was ranked sixth by live esports hours watched in 2018 (Newzoo, 2019, 28) but there are also those who point out the lack of Starcraft 2 in Blizzard’s long-term esports plans (Schreier, 2019; Tassi, 2019). Partin (2018) also cites the high level of skill required as another factor that maintained a secure niche for Starcraft 2.

Concerns of the Sport Institution—Capital, Identity, and Longevity Esports researcher Newzoo may not fully understand the reasons for UFC’s success if they intend to compare it to the potential growth of esports (Esports Bar & Newzoo, 2018, 4). Although the target demographic and development of both the UFC and esports may have superficial overlap there exist important differences. As I (2019) discussed elsewhere, on the comparison of esports and late sports, three factors can be isolated as defining the nature of a given sport: capital, identity, and diffusion. As I (2019, 8) suggested a Bourdieusian notion of capital (Bourdieu, 1986, 243, 248) can be used to understand the balance of power within a sports institution. Fundamentally they are supported by economic capital (usually corporate or elite patronage) and legitimized by social and cultural capital (through grassroots support and influential advocates for the sport). This is true of the late sports institutions covered earlier as well as most cases of esports. Esports differ from traditional sports

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in terms of how economic capital was sourced historically (the former derive funding from corporate sources whereas the latter, initially, derived funding from wealthy individuals of the upper classes). Late sports are historically contemporaneous to esports and so the structure and development of capital has influenced these sports in similar, more comparable ways. Summerley (2019, 15) concludes that esports institutions tend to not only receive more corporate funding early on compared to traditional sport institutions but are also often directly owned by corporate entities. This means that economic capital weighs heavily on the interests of these institutions. Economic capital cannot prop up an institution alone, the cooperation of a sport’s community is necessary, and this can be seen in all examples of successful sports. However, the inevitable participation of corporations in esports given their legal claim as the rights holder of the game in question makes the esport institution an awkward thing given how capital is understood by the institution’s owner. Thus, a difference in the goals of corporations and of individuals involved in the sports community is something that must be discussed when looking at the future of esports in their current state. This discussion can be seen happening in the cases of both the UFC and the X-Games which respectively negotiated the needs of or splintered from their communities. With regard to identity, Kusz (2004, 197) argues that mainstream news media in the United States during the late 1990s framed extreme sports as mostly white everymen (despite a relatively diverse audience) as well as reviving traditional notions of American masculinity when describing them. Beal and Wilson’s (2004, 32) ethnographic work on skateboarders revealed that skateboarders value an “outside” identity and this appears to be framed in opposition to conventional sport and the identity of “jocks.” They also framed skateboarding as “artistic” or creative as well as being a physically risky activity. Beal and Wilson (2004, 39) further note the inherent contradictions in the identity of skateboarders, particularly with regard to gender. Many skateboarders extol “generic” virtues which are actually coded as hegemonically masculine. Skaters also value authenticity in terms of amateurism since money should not be involved in a desire to skate. However, skaters are not generally anti-capitalist and accept commercial processes that allow them to buy and be marketed equipment (Beal and Wilson, 2004, 32). The X-Games are firmly located in skateboarding’s mainstream identity and most institutions would probably appear more “inauthentic” when juxtaposed against a more grassroots equivalent (Beal and Wilson, 2004, 35). The UFC engages a relatively diverse audience as it has been broadcast in over 149 countries and the demographic of UFC is 18–34 and 39 percent female as of 2013 (Weaving, 2014, 129–30). However, in 2017 it was reported that the median age of UFC television audiences had jumped fifteen years from thirty-four to fortynine between 2006 and 2016 (although this may be due to younger viewers moving away from television) (Lombardo and Broughton, 2017). Weaving’s analysis of the UFC’s approach to gender tells a conflicted story. Current UFC president Dana White is on record saying that he would never feature professional women’s fights, especially not as a headliner, but was convinced otherwise by the lucrative profit to be made from broadening UFC’s audience (Weaving, 2014, 130). In this case, the

 The Future of Esports Institutions 25 philosophy of the sport was guided by economic capital meeting the demands of social capital. McClearen (2017, 3225) looks at diversity through the marketing of the UFC which has arguably improved over time. McClearen (2017) argues that the “brand ethos” of UFC 200 “we are all different” would have been received very differently by the comparably less diverse audience of UFC1. Again, this pivot may have been to propagate the sport for social reasons although McClearen (2017, 3226) also links it to the “neoliberal logic” that a diverse audience is a larger and therefore more profitable audience. It is clear that late sports suffered a lot of the identity problems (lack of diversity, discrimination) that plague traditional sports. Many of these arguments make appeals to the physical nature of the games played or to ludic balance. Yet, there’s no ludic reason why esports players should be formally bracketed for competitive play by classical markers of identity apart from a competitor’s income, country of origin, and class.4 Age, gender, race, and even physical ability theoretically do not interfere with one’s ability to compete in most esports. However, reality is evidently different from the ideal. Gender division does still happen informally, and Caucasian male competitors are predominant. A parallel can be drawn between the codification of late sports and esports as white and masculine. For esports this may have developed similarly to crises felt about masculine identities in post-1960s America (Kusz, 2004, 199). Taylor (2012), Voorhees (2015), and Witkowski (2012a, 129) argue that hegemonic masculinity, which defines the identity of sporting athletes, also primarily defines the esports player who sees themselves as an athlete “minus the emphasis on physical qualities” (Taylor, 2012, 116). Esports have the potential to level the playing field across many sectors of society but if esports institutions aspire to succeed modern traditional sports they may see the adoption of hegemonic masculinity as necessary. “Ludic Diffusion,” a term employed by Guttmann (1994), refers to the process of a game spreading across geographical areas. By propagating their rulesets and centralizing legitimate competition, institutions take on the responsibility of directing ludic diffusion. If a sport is to “diffuse” then it is worth considering how it can be made to generate income and appeal to the non-player, and so commercialization and entertainment become concerns for institutions over time. The ludic diffusion of late sports was relatively limited by regional differences in law, early corporate colonization and a grassroots resistance to mainstream culture. Marcus (2011, 232) outlines five “major influences” that helped the development of skateboarding as a sport in the 1990s. These include market diversification, the boom in shoes and soft goods industries, the widespread use of the internet, California legislation that framed skateboarding as dangerous (and thus appealing to the youth), and the institutionalization of the X-Games. Although factors external to an institution play a big role in a sport’s diffusion, institutions are also present in this process. Guttmann states, in reference to more niche sports: “receptivity to ‘exotic’ sports has been limited to the more affluent and better educated sectors of the population” (1994, 173). Esports and many late sports are arguably sites for gentrification as a grassroots crowd gives way to middle class consumers attracted to a sport by its refinement for

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a broader set of consumers by corporations. Wheaton outlines nine commonalities featured across many “lifestyle sports” although some are not unique to this type of sport and many of them accurately describe esports.5 In the case of late sports it may be because of an identity or philosophy that is fundamentally perceived as other, as is the case with the UFC and the X-Games as well as other late sports such as In-Line Skating or Ultimate Frisbee (under the World Flying Disc Federation) (Thornton, 2004, 186, 192). Skateboarding communities were highly resistant to direct cooperation with corporations whereas the UFC was restricted by differences in the legal regulation of martial arts in the United States and public perception of MMA as an unnecessarily violent sport. Skateboarding and other late sports were presented as alternatives to popular traditional sports. The history of MMA is littered with comparisons to the perceived legitimacy of boxing and other martial arts (O’Hara, 2008; Smith, 2010, 653). Esports are currently in a similar identity flux between being categorized alongside other sports, other video games, or as their own separate thing. Corporate practice in the esports sphere may even push them as media entertainment as Taylor (2018) suggests or, cynically, nothing more than a marketing vehicle. What determines their “ludic legitimacy” (Guttmann, 1994, 137) is still uncertain when considering their long-term success. Most esports are a precarious other in the world of sports because of various factors including (but not limited to) expensive equipment; the commonplace degradation of that equipment; developer changes to the core game that may conflict with institutionalized competition; intellectual property ownership by a corporate author; commercial pressure on publishers to supplant existing games with new games; the number of esports dividing attention among a community; broadcast guidelines conflicting with ratings information in games; the radical difference between video games markets in certain nations; and competition with other sports and entertainment. Esports are not only other to traditional sports but to sports generally. However, recent efforts such as the inclusion of esports as a medal event at the SEA Games in 2019 may change this (BBC News, 2017; BBC Sport, 2018; Villar, 2018). Ludic diffusion occurs at a rapid pace for esports due to several factors. Given that esports emerged in the mid-1990s and developed alongside the internet and modern arcades, the ludic diffusion of esports has grown in parallel with these locations. Taylor (2012, 9) argues that the initial success of organized esports was due to the capacity for play over LAN and DWANGO events and later broadband (Chee, 2006) (similar to Marcus’ observations about the internet’s effect on skateboarding). The Starcraft series was inherently LAN-based in its early history and Korea’s advanced internet infrastructure, alongside early investment from broadcast media, was instrumental in the success of Starcraft and other games (Jin, 2010, 35, 59). Since latency is still a competitive limitation, esports teams playing over the internet would still be somewhat regionally aligned (Rambusch et al. 2007, 161). The real aid of the internet to esports institutions is how much easier it makes finding and communicating with others who can propagate a niche interest. The ability to find a community that shares one’s interests is expedited by the internet which was key to forming early grassroots esports tournaments such as EVO (Harper, 2010, 193) or the Cyberathlete Professional League

 The Future of Esports Institutions 27 (CPL) (King and Borland, 2003 in: Taylor, 2012, p. 8). Even arcade-based esports would have been aided by the spread of the internet. EVO’s institutional precursor was kickstarted by online discussion and fighting games have generally benefitted from online discussion (Harper, 2010, 67–8).

The Future of Esports Institutions It has been suggested by other theorists that esports cannot easily be compared to traditional sports (Abanazir, 2018) and that “eSports should be understood as a more complex process” (Jin, 2010, 61). Comparing radically different sports brings a number of historical “ifs” and “buts” to the fore. And yet the narrative of esports’ future success attempts this comparison without much reflection on the specifics of sports history. Much has been made of the continuing and future success of esports, often framed as entertainment media while also being favorably compared to popular sports such as association football, basketball, or baseball despite radical differences in history, audience, and size. Industry reports and trade body discussions on esports are overwhelmingly positive and, simultaneously, omit any discussion of how esports might fit into the history of sports broadly (footballbenchmark, 2019; Gray, 2018; Newzoo, 2018a, 2018b, 2019; Partin, 2018; UKIE, 2019). In comparing esports to traditional sports there is a risk of making natural equivalences that fail to look at the history of similar endeavors (such as late sports or sports institutions that have ceased). Esports are unusually unstable compared to other sports and still command only a relatively niche audience even among people who regularly play or watch video games. Despite these comparisons, it is never usually recognized that the most popular spectator sports are relative historical flukes and the factors informing their success are historically unique. The extinction of sports rarely factors into the question of how far esports might go. Over the course of Taylor’s (2012, 136) research, they kept meticulous track of various organizations that were set up over the years and noted that a majority “closed.” This speaks to the early challenges of a new field but also to the potentially different nature of esports. This chapter was written as the infamous “Blitzchung” controversy that embroiled the Hearthstone Grandmasters ASIA 2019 unfolded (Chalk, 2019; Prescott, 2019; Serrels, 2019). History doesn’t often provide comparative case studies but the recent political embroilment of the National Basketball Association and the Hearthstone Grandmasters with the politics of Hong Kong’s proposed “Fugitive Offenders and Mutual Legal Assistance in Criminal Matters Legislation (Amendment) Bill 2019” in October 2019 will likely be a case study that helps define the nature and future of sports and esports going forward (Serrels, 2019; Silver, 2019). Esports institutions and participants must strongly consider the way forward for the values they espouse and how this is rectified with the economic capital they must seek if they are to grow and diffuse. As corporate esports institutions extend into university campuses in France, Australia, the United States, and China (Martin and Song, 2019; Taylor, 2019; Witkowski and Kow, 2019) and begin negotiation with national esports associations

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(Besombes, 2019; Taylor et al., 2019; Witkowski, 2019), a more global market may run into problems concerning how social and economic values meet. There is no doubt at this point that esports demonstrate a legitimate sporting culture but what kind of culture is this and what are its values? Throughout the comparative analyses here and by Summerley (2019), an institution’s philosophy, and how this is negotiated with the community, continually informs how a sport develops. Esports largest advocates still frame esports through a lens that mimics the masculine, televisual nature of traditional sports of the United States. The most popular esports have, as Taylor (2012) has noted, demonstrated a masculine identity which may be more reflective of its early investors than of its potential audience. Esports, like all other sports, is communal in nature. EVO (and the fighting game community broadly) stands as an example of the community valuing not only play and spectatorship of the various games in its domain but also the gathering and peripheral community activity that gives fighting games (as an esport) their distinct flavor (Evo2kvids, 2017). Ethnographic studies by Taylor (2012), Witkowski (2012a, 2012b), Cumming (2019), and Law (2016) certainly support this omnipresent, social aspect of esports. Likewise, there are those who see a lack of support for minority voices in esports (Caetano, 2019; Gray and Kamuneola, 2019; Peterson, 2018). Many have noted the need for new approaches to sport (electronic or not) in order to foster a more inclusive community, especially for female players (Weaving, 2014, 133; Taylor, 2018, 199; Young, 2005, 2010). Given their influence and power, the way forward could be spearheaded most effectively by institutions. It is clear from Blizzard’s development of its esports that control of the development of the community is a motive in managing the development of esports in an official capacity (Bago, 2016; Sacco, 2017; Blizzard Entertainment, 2017a; Liquipedia, 2018). Starcraft 2, Heroes of the Storm (Blizzard Entertainment, 2015), Hearthstone (2014), and Overwatch (2016) were all transformed and managed into esports by Blizzard shortly after their release (Hill, 2017). This is understandable given Blizzard’s troubled history negotiating broadcast rights with KeSPA (Rea, 2016, 24; Taylor, 2012) but the direct ownership of games and institutions by a developer requires examining. The sports institution must negotiate a symbiotic relationship between the economic capital required to fund and propagate them and the social capital that makes the widespread play and enjoyment of universalized competition socially and culturally legitimate. This is how the UFC prospered but also how the X-Games created a split in the skateboarding community. Corporations that directly own and manage the development of sports may eventually be at odds with community interests if those interests do not align to profitable growth of the corporation’s product. To summarize, there are two main conclusions of this chapter. First, the existing narrative of the comparison of sports is often optimistic due to a disregard for sports history. Late sports are somewhat more useful to compare to esports since they share more historical similarities but also feature big differences that mean a comparison is still difficult. Secondly, political and legal issues will bring to the fore the need for economic capital to balance with social capital. This is difficult given the commercial aspirations of publisher-developers and the Blitzchung case has already shown how

 The Future of Esports Institutions 29 this may develop. The influence of esports institutions might be used to outline a new political philosophy on sports rather than retread sports’ dominant masculine frame that sees competition as the only option. The need for a distinct and clear impression of what esports is and can be will be instrumental in determining whether esports institutions will be another department within developer-publishers, an advocate for the communities that play them or something else. If ever there was a need for an esports manifesto, it is now. Will esports amount to a marketing vehicle for publishers to wield, faux-institutions that regulate play without input from a dedicated community or will they aspire to compete with or even surpass traditional sports in terms of the social, cultural, and economic values they stand for? Or will esports become a haven for gambling as suggested by Newzoo, (2019, 19)? History shows many similarities between late sports and esports but it may not necessarily indicate that they will arrive at the same fate. Grassroots, niche, mainstream, or other esports must be individually considered within the context of sports history so that they may be scrutinized for what they are and can be.

Notes 1 While there are many things related to sports that could be called institutions (sponsors, broadcasters, etc.), this chapter is primarily concerned with those institutions that regulate and organize competitive play of a game itself. 2 This is similar to how esports were labeled and defined in the early twenty-first century, institutionally by the Online Gamers Association (OGA) (Gestalt, 1999) and then academically by Wagner (2006). Like “extreme sports”, “esports” is arguably an institutional label that acts as shorthand for a genre of sports that unintentionally glosses over many of the important differences between individual games. 3 MOBAs are sometimes referred to by the genre label of “action-real-time-strategy” or ARTS. 4 Videogames are not commercially available in every country in the same way that traditional sports freely are in almost all of them. 5 Only the ninth (and arguably seventh) do not describe characteristics of esports (Wheaton, 2004, 11–12).

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O’Hara, B. S. (2008). The Evolution of Dramatic Storylines in the Packaging, Selling and Legitimizing of Ultimate Fighting Championship (Master’s Thesis, University of Nevada, Las Vegas). Retrieved from https​:/​/di​​gital​​schol​​arshi​​p​.unl​​v​.edu​​/rt​ds​​/2311​/ Partin, W. (2018). “StarCraft II“: How Blizzard Brought the King of Esports Back from the Dead. Retrieved from https​:/​/va​​riety​​.com/​​2018/​​gamin​​g​/fea​​tures​​/star​​craft​​-i​i​-e​​sport​​shistory-1202873246/ Peterson, L. (2018). “Why Aren’t More Black Kids Going Pro in Esports?” Retrieved from https​:/​/th​​eunde​​feate​​d​.com​​/feat​​ures/​​why​-a​​rent-​​more-​​black​​-kids​​-goin​​g​-p​ro​​-in​-e​​sport​​s/ Petzall, G. (2009). “StarCraft II Developers Talk.” Retrieved from https​:/​/we​​b​.arc​​hive.​​org​/ w​​eb​/20​​09080​​51920​​40​/ht​​tp://​www​.incgamers​​.com​/Interviews/1 90/St​arCra​ftIID​evelo​ persI​nterv​iewed​?gr_i​_ni Polley, M. (2007). Sports History: A Practical Guide. New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan. Prescott, S. (2019). Blitzchung Removed from Hearthstone Grandmasters for “Liberate Hong Kong” Comments. Retrieved from https​:/​/ww​​w​.pcg​​amer.​​com​/b​​litzc​​hung-​​​remov​​ ed- from-​heart​hston​e-gra​ndmas​ters-​for-l​ibera​te-ho​ng-ko​ng-co​mment​s/ Rambusch, J., Jakobsson, P. and Pargman, D. (2007). “Exploring E-Sports: A Case Study of Gameplay in Counter-Strike.” In DiGRA’07 – Proceedings of the 2007 DiGRA International Conference: Situated Play. The University of Tokyo, September, 2007. Volume 4, http:​/​/www​​.digr​​a​.org​​/digi​​tal​-l​​ibrar​​y​/pub​​licat​​ions/​​explo​​ring-​​e​-spo​​rts​-a​​-case​​ -stud​​y​-of-​​gamep​​lay​​-i​​n​-cou​​nter-​​strik​​e/. Rea, S. C. (2016). “Crafting Stars: South Korean E-sports and the Emergence of a Digital Gaming Culture.” Education about ASIA, 21(2), 22–7. Sacco, D. (2017). “Blizzard Quietly Makes Changes to Overwatch Community Tournament Requirements.” Retrieved from http:​/​/www​​.espo​​rts​-n​​ews​.c​​o​.uk/​​2017/​​12​/30​​​/bliz​​zard-​ overwatch-community-tournament-changes/ Schreier, J. (2019, August 8). A couple of months ago, we reported that Blizzard had canceled a planned StarCraft first-person shooter. Today’s Activision Blizzard financial report makes it clear that they have lost all interest in StarCraft [Tweet]. Retrieved from https​:/​/tw​​itter​​.com/​​jason​​schre​​ier​/s​​tatus​​/1159​​55892​​​74802​​29893​ Serrels, M. (2019). “Blizzard Pulls Blitzchung from Hearthstone Esports Tournament over Support for Hong Kong Protests.” Retrieved from https://www​.cnet​.com​/news​/ blizzard- pulls​-blit​zchun​g-fro​m-hea​rthst​one-e​sport​s-tou​rname​nt-ov​er-su​pport​-for-​ hong-​kong-​ protests/ Silver, A. (2019). “Adam Silver’s Statement on NBA and China.” Retrieved from https​:/​/ww​​ w​.nba​​.com/​​artic​​le​/20​​19​/10​​/08​/a​​dam​-s​​ilver​​-stat​​​ement​​-chin​​a​-nba​ Smith, J. T. (2010). “Fighting for Regulation: Mixed Martial Arts Legislation in the United States.” Drake Law Review, 58, 617–55 Suits, B. (1988). “On McBride on the Definition of Games.” In W. Morgan, and K. Meier (Eds.), Philosophic Inquiry in Sport. Champaign, IL: Human Kinetics Publishers Inc. Summerley, R. K. (2019). “The Development of Sports: A Comparative Analysis of the Early Institutionalisation of Traditional Sports and E-sports.” Games and Culture Journal, 15(1), 51–72. Tassi, P. (2019). “No More ‘StarCraft’ from Activision Blizzard Feels Like The End of an Era.” Retrieved from https​:/​/ww​​w​.for​​bes​.c​​om​/si​​tes​/p​​aulta​​ssi​/2​​019​/0​​​8​/10/​​no​-mo​​restarc​raft-​from-​activ​ision​-bliz​zard-​feels​-like​-the-​end-o​f-an-​era/ Taylor, T. L. (2012). Raising the Stakes: Esports and the Professionalization of Computer Gaming. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press.

 The Future of Esports Institutions 33 Taylor, T. L. (2018). Watch Me Play: Twitch and the Rise of Game Live Streaming. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Taylor, T. L. (2019). Esports in the Age of Networked Broadcast. Keynote speech presented at DiGRA Japan, Ritsumeikan University, Kyoto, Japan, August 6–10, 2019. Taylor, T. L., Besombes, N., and Witkowski, E. (2019). “E-Sports Associationalism.” Panel presented at DiGRA Japan, Ritsumeikan University, Kyoto, Japan, August 6–10, 2019. TheScore Esports. (2018). “The Story of EVO: Part 1.” Retrieved from https​:/​/ww​​w​.you​​ tube.​​com​/w​​atch?​​v​=qpp​​​cyLgF​​uK0 Thornton, A. (2004). “‘Anyone Can Play This Game’ Ultimate Frisbee, Identity and Difference.” In B. Wheaton (Ed.), Understanding Lifestyle Sports: Consumption, Identity and Difference. New York, NY, USA: Routledge. UKIE (2019). Member Session: Esports. Presented at UKIE Member’s day, London, UK. September 4, 2019. Valentine, R. (2019). “Games Industry International Trade Bodies Unite on Universal Esports Principles.” Retrieved from https​:/​/ww​​w​.gam​​esind​​ustry​​.biz/​​artic​​les​/2​​019​-1​​​ 1​-05-​​games​- indus​try-i​ntern​ation​al-tr​ade-b​odies​-unit​e-on-​unive​rsal-​espor​tspr​incip​les Villar, J. (2018). “Esports Makes Debut in 2019 SEA Games.” Retrieved from https​:/​/ww​​w​ .phi​​lstar​​.com/​​sport​​s​/201​​8​/11/​​29​/18​​72656​​/espo​​rts​-m​​akes-​​​debut​​-2019​​-sea-​ games. Voorhees, G. (2015). “Neoliberal Masculinity: The Government of Play and Masculinity in E- Sports.” In R. A. Brookey and T. P. Oates (Eds.), Playing to Win: Sports, Video Games and the Culture of Play. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Wagner, M. G. (2006.) “On the Scientific Relevance of eSports.” 2006 International Conference on Internet Computing and Conference on Computer Game Development (pp. 437–40). Las Vegas: CSREA. Weaving, C. (2014). “Cage Fighting Like a Girl: Exploring Gender Constructions in the Ultimate Fighting Championship (UFC).” Journal of the Philosophy of Sport, 41(1), 129–42. Wertheim, L. J. (2007, May 22). “The New Main Event.” Sports Illustrated, p. 54. Wheaton, B. (2004). “Mapping the Lifestyle Sport-Scape.” In B. Wheaton (Ed.), Understanding Lifestyle Sports: Consumption, Identity and Difference. New York, NY, USA: Routledge. Witkowski, E. (2012a). Inside the Huddle: The Phenomenology and Sociology of Team Play in Networked Computer Games (PhD dissertation, IT University of Copenhagen, Denmark). Retrieved from https​:/​/co​​re​.ac​​.uk​/d​​ownlo​​ad​/pd​​f​/505​​​27450​​.pdf Witkowski, E. (2012b). “On the Digital Playing Field: How We “Do Sport” with Networked Computer Games.” Games and Culture, 7(5), 349–74. Witkowski, E. (2019). E-Sports Associationalism: Australian Esports Associations. Paper presented at DiGRA Japan, Ritsumeikan University, Kyoto, Japan, August 6–10, 2019. Witkowski, E. and Y. M. Know. (2019). Schoolyard Riot: Lol and Highschool Esports. Paper presented at DiGRA Japan, Ritsumeikan University, Kyoto, Japan, August 6–10, 2019. Young, I. M. (2005). On Female Body Experience: Throwing Like a Girl and Other Essays. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Young, I. M. (2010). The Exclusion of Women from Sport: Conceptual and Existential Dimensions. In P. Davis and C. Weaving (Eds.), Philosophical Perspectives on Gender in Sport and Physical Activity (pp. 13–21). London, UK: Routledge.

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Ludography Blizzard Entertainment. (1998). Starcraft. [video game]. Microsoft Windows. Blizzard Entertainment. (1998). Starcraft: Brood War. [video game expansion]. Microsoft Windows. Blizzard Entertainment. (2010). Starcraft 2: Wings of Liberty. [video game]. Microsoft Windows. Blizzard Entertainment. (2014). Hearthstone. [video game]. Windows and MacOS. Blizzard Entertainment. (2015). Heroes of the Storm. [video game]. Microsoft Windows. Blizzard Entertainment. (2016). Overwatch. [video game]. Windows, PlayStation 4 and Xbox One. HAL Laboratory. (2001). Super Smash Bros. Melee. [video game]. GameCube.

3

Sports versus Esports A Comparison of Industry Size, Viewer Friendliness, and Game Competitiveness William Campbell, Amanda Goss, Kyle Trottier, and Mark Claypool

Introduction Traditional sports, such as Taekwondo, handball, cricket, and soccer, are popular and well understood around the world. Over the last couple decades, a new phenomenon is emerging: electronic sports, or esports, which could redefine the meaning of the word “sport.” Esports are the professional, competitive play of computer games for a spectator audience. Esports are growing in popularity, with both increased participation and increased viewership in recent years and will likely have many of the same societal and cultural impacts as do traditional sports. The goal of this chapter is to analyze esports along three important axes: industry size (revenue, salaries/prizes, viewers), viewer friendliness (game complexity, broadcast action), and game competitiveness (based on team points during a game). Researching the size of the esports industry allows for observation of potential economic impact. Examining the viewer friendliness of esports can help better understand the appeal to spectators. Analysis of game competitiveness can show potential engagement by audiences. We analyze esports by comparing them to traditional sports in order to provide for a relatively well-understood frame of reference. That said, some of our comparative analysis of sports leagues is novel, too. In order to compare the industry sizes of the professional sports and esports, we gathered data on revenue, player salaries, team sizes, viewership, and growth in viewers over time, concentrating on the North American sports and esports industries. To compare viewer friendliness, we designed and deployed surveys assessing complexity and viewer friendliness of a sport or esport and combined that with data gathered on viewer friendliness, including gameplay per broadcast, and rule complexity. To compare game competitiveness, we analyzed how often a team leads in a game and the likelihood of relinquishing a lead at various stages in the game. In all cases, analysis of the data is primarily in the form of visual aids (e.g., graphs and timelines) to compare and visualize the data collected.

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Overall, sports are larger than esports in terms of industry size, with the exception of prize pools for tournaments where esports are comparable. However, esports are on par with Major League Soccer in terms of industry size. Sports have the two events with the most number of viewers by far—the FIFA World Cup and the NFL Super Bowl— but esports have the third most—the League of Legends World Championships— which itself is far larger than any other esports event in terms of viewers. Esports are somewhat more complex and somewhat less understandable to viewers than sports based on rule complexity and game action, but esports broadcasts are more viewer-friendly than sports broadcasts since the former are shorter (about one to two hours compared to two to three hours) and have a large percentage of broadcast time showing live gameplay (about 50%). Esports tend to be more competitive than sports since for much of their game time, the outcomes of esports are not known and/or the team that is leading can change several times during a match. In contrast, the least competitive sports (based on our metrics of lead changes)—the NBA basketball and MLB baseball—have the leading team win over two-thirds of the time, compared to about only one-third for esports. The rest of this chapter is organized as follows: the “Background” section provides relevant information on the professional sports and esports analyzed in this chapter; the “Industry” section compares industry sizes for sports and esports; the “Viewer Friendliness” section analyzes aspects of sports and esports rules and broadcasting that suggest general appeal to viewers; the “Game Competitiveness” section compares the competitiveness of sports to esports; and the “Conclusion” section summarizes our findings.

Background Table 3.1 summarizes the professional sports and esports analyzed and compared in this chapter.

Table 3.1  Professional Sports and Esports Analyzed and Compared Acronym

Name

Primary Region

Sport/Genre

EPL MLB MLS NBA NFL NHL CS:GO DOTA 2 LCS OWL

English Premier League Major League Baseball Major League Soccer National Basketball Association National Football League National Hockey League Counter Strike: Global Offensive Defense of the Ancients 2 League Championship Series Overwatch League

Global NA NA NA NA NA Global Global Global Global

Soccer Baseball Soccer Basketball Football Hockey First Person Shooter Multiplayer Online Battle Arena Multiplayer Online Battle Arena Hero Shooter

 Sports versus Esports 37 For representative sports, we analyzed major professional sports in North America (NA): the National Football League (NFL), the National Hockey League (NHL), the National Basketball Association (NBA), Major League Baseball (MLB), and Major League Soccer (MLS), with the English Premier League (EPL) added for an international comparison (based in the UK, but with global following). For comparative esports, we primarily analyzed two major professional esports: the League of Legends Championship Series (LCS) and the Overwatch League (OWL). The LCS is a professional esports league founded in 2013 featuring the multiplayer online battle arena (MOBA) game League of Legends (LoL) (Riot Games, 2009). The LCS has the highest level of professional LoL players in North America. The OWL is a professional esports league founded in 2017 featuring the hero shooter Overwatch (Blizzard Entertainment, 2016). In addition, we include some analysis of professional tournaments featuring the first person shooter (FPS) game Counter Strike Global Offensive (CS:GO) (Valve Corporation, 2012) and the MOBA game Defense of the Ancients 2 (Valve Corporation, 2013) where data is available and comparisons are appropriate.

League and Team Sizes Figure 3.1 compares the sizes of the leagues and teams for each sports and esports league and tournament studied and Figure 3.2 compares the number of simultaneously active players (i.e., engaged in play, not on the bench) per team for each game. For Figure 3.1, the x-axis is the league/tournament, for Figure 3.2, the x-axis is the sport or game, and for both graphs, the y-axis is the number of teams/players.

Figure 3.1 Number of Teams per League for Sports (solid black) versus Esports (hashed gray).

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Figure 3.2  Number of Players per Team for each League for Sports (solid black) versus Esports (hashed gray). From Figure 3.1, sports generally have more teams in competitions than esports, with the exception of the Overwatch World Cup and the League of Legends World Championships. From Figure 3.2, sports generally have larger teams, too, with about 2x as many players per team as the esports teams, with the exception of the NHL hockey and the NBA basketball sports teams.

Brief History While sports themselves are quite old, the six professional sports leagues studied in this chapter are relatively new. The National League of Professional Baseball Clubs (which became the National League in Major League Baseball) was founded in 1876, the American League (AL) in 1901, and the first World Series by Major League Baseball (MLB) in 1903 (History.com Editors, 2019). The National Hockey League (NHL) was founded in 1917, and the American Professional Football Association in 1920, later changing its name to the National Football League (NFL) in 1922 (Reiss, 2017). Professional basketball started as the Basketball Association of America in 1946, but changed to today’s National Basketball Association (NBA) in 1949. Professional soccer was most recently established in the United States with the founding of Major League Soccer (MLS) in 1996 (Pyne, 2019). Internationally, soccer has been popular since the World Cup started in 1930 (World Cup, 2018), but the English Premiere League (EPL) is relatively new, too, founded in 1992 (Premier League, 2018). The first recorded esports event was a game tournament sponsored by Rolling Stone magazine at Stanford University in 1972 (Brand, 1972). The tournament featured college students competing in the game Spacewar for a subscription to the magazine.

 Sports versus Esports 39 The first large multiplayer esports event was the Space Invaders championship in 1980, sponsored by Atari, with over 10,000 players (editor, 1982). Shortly after, a US national team was created to promote gaming and break world gaming records, making them the first recorded esports team in history. The popular first person shooter Quake (id Software, 1996) led rise to the first US-wide online video game competition, the Red Annihilation tournament in 1997, with about 2,000 players competing for the first esports prize pool (Lawrence, 2018). The real-time strategy game Starcraft: Brood War (Blizzard Entertainment, 1998) in 1998 had a tremendous viewer appeal, particularly for the South Korean audience and led to Korea’s first professional gaming league (Lawrence, 2018; Jin, 2010). Two more esports competitions launched in 2000: the World Cyber Games and the Electronic Sports World Cup (Lawrence, 2018; Taylor, 2012). In 2002, the Major League Gaming organization was formed and began awarding prize pools exceeding $200,000 (Fantastic Esports, 2018; Taylor, 2012). In 2013, the US government began recognizing esports athletes as professional athletes (LeJacq, 2013; Tassi, 2013), and as of 2015, esports had been recognized by the Korea esports Association (KeSPA) as a 2nd-level Olympic Sport, alongside chess and polo (Bago, 2015).

Industry This section compares industry sizes for sports and esports, with data analyzed for revenue, salaries, prize pools, and viewership.

Revenue The amount of money an industry makes is typically the metric by which industry sizes are measured. As revenue reporting often lags a given calendar year, we gathered data for sports and esports organizations for the year 2017. Data was obtained primarily from Forbes (Brown, 2017),1 Statista (Statista, 2018),2 and NewZoo (Pannekeet, 2018).3 While individual sports leagues often report yearly revenue, esports leagues do not, and only an aggregate esports revenue for 2018 was available. Figure 3.3 compares the most recently available sports and esports revenues. The x-axis is the sport or esport (with corresponding year) and the y-axis the revenue in billions of US dollars. From the graph, sports occupy the highest and lowest spots—the NFL at $13.6 and the MLS at $0.6 billion, respectively. Even aggregated, esports are relatively low compared with sports, only just above the MLS at $0.9 billion.

Salaries Player salaries are often correlated with revenue, are an indication of how attractive and viable a player’s career is, and can help attract the top talent. We gathered salary data from Spotrac (Spotrac, 2019)4 and Forbes (Heitner, 2018).

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Figure 3.3  League Revenue for Sports (solid black) versus Esports (hashed gray).

Figure 3.4  Average Player Salary for Sports (solid black) versus Esports (hashed gray). Figure 3.4 compares the average sports and esports salaries for 2018. The x-axis is the sport or esport and the y-axis the average salary in millions of US dollars. From the graph, most sports have higher average salaries than esports, with the average NBA salary of $7.2 million being 25x more than the average LCS salary. However, the average salaries in the sports league MLS is on-par with the average salaries in the LCS and OWL esports leagues.

Prize Pools Another monetary measure of industry size is the amount of money in prize pools and similar awards in major sports and esports tournaments. In such cases, teams that win receive large payments, often dividing this up among the players. Data from Esports

 Sports versus Esports 41

Figure 3.5  Championship Prize Pools for Sports (solid black) versus Esports (hashed gray). Esport OWL Has Prize Pools Greater Than the EPL and MLS, Too. Earnings (Esports Earnings, 2019) provided data on the tournament prize pools and CNBC-Money (Martin, 2018) provided data on player winnings for the major sporting championships. Figure 3.5 compares the prize pools for championship events for sports and esports salaries for 2018. The x-axis is the sport or esport and the y-axis the prize pool in millions of US dollars. MLB has the World Series (note, data is from 2017), the NFL has the Super Bowl, and the NHL has the Stanley Cup. From the graph, while sports occupy four of the largest five spots, the largest prize pool is for the esport Dota 2, at $25.5 million. The esport OWL has prize pools greater than the EPL and MLS, too.

Viewers The number of viewers of sports or esports events usually directly affects league revenue through advertising and indirectly impacts player salaries. Figure 3.6 shows the average viewers for the championship event for each sport or esport. The x-axis is the sport or esport event and the y-axis the average concurrent viewers (CCV) in millions. Note, the y-axis is shown in log scale. From the graph, the number of viewers of the FIFA (international soccer) World Cup5 dwarfs all other events, except for the NFL Superbowl which had over 1 million concurrent viewers. For other championship events, sports generally has more viewers, with the exception of the LCS Worlds championship and the MLS Cup. Note, the EPL does not have a final championship event but rather plays simultaneous games on the last day of play. Figure 3.7 shows the change in viewers over time (since 1970) for some of the sports and esports championships. The x-axis is years, and the y-axis the average concurrent viewers (CCV) in millions. The FIFA World Cup is not included since it is only once

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Figure 3.6  Average Concurrent Viewers for Championship Events for Sports (solid black) versus Esports (hashed gray). Note, y-axis in Log Scale.

Figure 3.7  Average Concurrent Viewers for Championship Events Over Time. every four years. The OWL is not included because at the time data was gathered for this chapter there has been only one season. The MLB and NHL have small gaps in their timelines due to strikes when the season or championship was canceled. In the case of Dota 2, the year 2016 had no viewership data reported that corresponded to concurrent viewership.

 Sports versus Esports 43 From the graph, while the NFL championship (i.e., the Super Bowl) still dominates in terms of viewer numbers, esports, specifically LoL and Dota 2, have viewerships comparable to other professional sports with LoL having a sharp upward trajectory.

Summary Overall, sports still generally dominate esports in terms of revenue and viewers, but esports has a significant presence in both, and some esports have larger prize pools than sports. Sports dwarf esports in terms of revenue, with the NFL alone making $12.7 billion USD more than the entire esports industry. Player salaries show a similar difference, with the largest sports salary around $7 million USD, while the largest esports salary is only $0.3 million USD. However, some esports have larger prize pools than sports. The 2018 DOTA 2 International tournament had a prize pool of $25.5 million USD, larger than the largest sport prize pool (the MLB World Series) of $22.5 million USD. (See sections "Industry” and “Revenue")

The largest two events with the most viewers are for sports—the FIFA World Cup and the NFL Super Bowl have 562 and 103 million viewers, respectively. An esport event is third in this list, however—the LCS World Championships at 43 million viewers—and is more than double the number of viewers of any other sports leagues.

Viewer Friendliness A core element of professional sports and esports is the audience. In essence, the appeal to viewers is what makes sports and esports professionally viable. While aficionados can be found for almost all sports and even most computer games, a sport or esport needs broad viewer appeal for industry growth. This section analyzes the main aspects of sports and esports that suggest general appeal to viewers—game complexity and broadcast action.

Game Complexity While some amount of complexity to a sport or esport can add nuance and depth for viewers, in general, events that have mass appeal are often simple. This is particularly true for first time or casual fans that help establish an industry and then grow. We compared the complexity of the largest sport and esport leagues—the NFL and the LCS, respectively—by analyzing the rules of the game for each. Since the intent is to compare the game rules as needed for a viewer to understand the game, the “Rules of Sport” site was used for football (RulesofSport.com, 2016) instead of the official NFL rules (Roger Goodell, 2018)—the latter has many specifications not needed for viewers, such as the maximum diameter of the goalposts and dimensions of painted yard numbers. The official rules published by Riot Games were used for LoL (Riot Games, 2019b).

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We compared the word count and reading level6 for each ruleset as a broad measure of complexity. We also quantified the different roles and positions for players in football (Dick’s Pro Tips, 2019) and LoL (Riot Games, 2019c). Roles provide a specific context for watching teams (e.g., offense versus defense). Positions provide a specific context for watching individual players (e.g., throwing the ball as a quarterback) in support of the role (e.g., scoring points on offense). The more roles and positions a game has, the more specific player goals the viewer has to understand. We also compared the number of “special cases” that are helpful in understanding the game and appreciating nuance. For NFL football, these are the various penalties for rule infractions (National Football League, 2018) and for LoL these are the different champion abilities wielded by individual players (Riot Games, 2019a). While NFL infractions and LoL champion abilities may not seem comparable on the surface, they both provide a quantifiable measure of depth of the knowledge a viewer may need to understand how and why the observed gameplay is unfolding. As of February 2019, there are 143 LoL champions, each with five unique abilities—one passive, three basic, and one ultimate.7 Each LoL game has only ten unique champions, with a total of about fifty unique abilities. The results are summarized in Table 3.2.

Table 3.2  Rule Complexity Attribute

NFL/Football

LCS/LoL

Basic Rules Word Count Reading Level Game Roles Game Positions Special Cases

753 9th-10th grade 3 14 56 penalties

689 College 6 5 715 abilities

Table 3.3  Football Roles and Positions Role

Positions

Offense

Quarterback, Running Back, Fullback, Offensive Line, Wide Receiver, and Tight End Linebacker, Cornerback, Safety, Defensive Line Kicker, Punter, Return Specialist, Long Snapper

Defense Special Teams

Table 3.4  League of Legends Roles and Positions Role

Position

Tank Fighter Assassin Mage Marksman Support

Top, Jungle, Support Top, Jungle Jungle, Middle Middle, Support Bottom Support

 Sports versus Esports 45 Table 3.5  Video Clips Used in Surveys Game

Event

Baseball Football LoL Overwatch

2014 World Series 2017 Super Bowl 2018 World Championships 2018 Stage 1 Finals

Duration 3m 9s 2m 50s 2m 48s 3m 11s

URL https://youtu​.be​/QrN9kiefrQY https://youtu​.be​/bUNl30SL​_PU https://youtu​.be​/n74JT59mOC0 https://youtu​.be​/Hw58NDx7VD0

Football and League of Legends have a comparable number of words (753 versus 689), but the football rules are written at a slightly lower reading level (9th/10th versus college). There are three different roles for football with fourteen total positions (linemen are counted as one position, here), detailed in Tables 3.3 and six different roles for LoL but only five different positions, detailed in Table 3.4. For special cases, NFL has 56 different penalties while LoL has a corresponding 715 different abilities for viewers to understand, although only 50 for a given game (ten unique champions play in a game at a time). Note, that LoL may have additional complexity in that combinations of champions can have synergies beyond those of their individual abilities, and NFL football can have also have combinations of players and positions that provide for team capabilities. These are not easily identifiable, however, so we do not report them further. We also created two online surveys where users watched a clip from a professional sports broadcast and then watched a clip from a professional esports broadcast and answered survey questions about the content and their experience. One survey compared NFL football and LCS League of Legends and the other compared MLB baseball and OWL Overwatch where users (1) rated their experience with the specific sport and esport in the study, (2) watched a short video clip from each game (two to three minutes each, chosen so as to have some game “action” with a bit of professional commentary), (3) answered basic comprehension questions to be sure they watched the clip (e.g., “what number was displayed on the screen”), and (4) rated their understanding of the clip, the complexity of the clip, and the complexity of the game as a whole. Step (3) allowed us to filter out users that did not actually watch the clips yet still completed the survey. Details on the video clips used in the surveys are summarized in Table 3.5. The full text of the survey is available in our report (Campbell, Goss, and Trottier, 2019). Participants were eligible for a raffle for a $25 Amazon gift card. Users were solicited through online forums (e.g., Reddit) and on-campus mailing lists. The survey took about ten to fifteen minutes to complete. For the NFL football and LCS League of Legends surveys, we had fifty-six responses, but discarded seven due to incomplete surveys or incorrect answers in step (3) (i.e., it was obvious they did not watch the clip(s)). Of the forty-nine remaining responses, forty-five were eighteen to twenty-four years old and four were above twenty-five years old. Ten identified as female and forty-nine as male. For the MLB Baseball and OWL Overwatch survey, we had forty-two responses, but discarded of the thirty-six remaining responses, thirty-three were eighteen to twenty-four years old and three were above twenty-five years old. Eight identified as female, twenty-six as male, and two declined to answer.

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Figure 3.8  Box Plots of User Ratings (1-Low, 7-High).

Figure 3.9  Complexity Rating and Understanding (1-Low, 7-High). Figure 3.8 shows box plots of the user survey responses, with Figure 3.8a the complexity and Figure 3.8b the understanding. Figure 3.9 shows a scatter plot of the same data, shown with the mean rating for each of the four games. The error bars in each direction depict the standard error. From the figures, baseball is the least complex and most understandable. Football is about as complex as Overwatch, but more understandable. League of Legends is the most complex and least understandable. Additional analysis, available in our report (Campbell et al., 2019), of clusters of users based on prior knowledge of the sport/game (e.g., beginner or expert) did not show significant difference in complexity ratings nor understanding.

Broadcast Action Another aspect that can affect the appeal of watching a sporting event for viewers is the broadcast time (the consecutive duration of a single game plus commentary)

 Sports versus Esports 47 for an event—large blocks of time are more difficult to fit into a busy schedule, so a shorter broadcast is likely more accessible to viewers. Moreover, the amount of game action (i.e., players actually engaged in the sport/esport) compared to the amount of broadcast time can impact appeal—in general, it seems reasonable to assume that the larger the fraction of the broadcast time spent showing actual sport/game play, the more appealing to viewers. We consider live action in a broadcast to be footage showing players in a position capable of scoring. For sports, live action is only when the ball is in play and for esports, live action is only when the players are actively pursuing the objective (e.g., in League of Legends, minions have spawned and players are pushing their lanes and in Overwatch, when the spawn doors are open and the players are trying to take an

Figure 3.10  Average Broadcast Time for Sports (solid black) and Esports (hashed gray).

Figure 3.11  Average Broadcast Time Breakdown for Sports and Esports.

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objective). For example, in an NFL broadcast, there are replays, gameplay analyses, commercials, shots of the fans, and so on—none of this would count as live action. We apply this same idea equally to both sports and esports. Data on the amount of action in professional sports was reported by the Wall Street Journal (Biderman, 2010; Moyer, 2013). For esports, we manually inspected professional broadcasts for the LCS (LoL Esports, 2018) and the OWL (Overwatch League, 2018), recording the amount of time spent in live action and the total broadcast time. Figure 3.10 depicts the average broadcast times for sports and esports. All the sports broadcasts are longer than the two esports studied. The OWL Overwatch broadcasts are

Figure 3.12  Action for Sports (solid black) versus Esports (hashed gray).

 Sports versus Esports 49 comparable to the MLS soccer and the EPL soccer broadcasts, but the NFL football and the MLB baseball broadcasts are nearly an hour longer on average. The LCS League of Legends broadcasts are much shorter than those of all sports, averaging just over one hour. Figure 3.11 depicts a breakdown of the average broadcast times for sports and esports. We break broadcast time into the average time of action (from our definition of live action stated earlier), and game time recorded from the official game clock (e.g., one hour for NFL football games). Most esports do not have a fixed-length game clock, so we manually tallied the observed variable-length game clocks and averaged them across the videos we watched. The MLB baseball does not have a game clock. From the graph, the average time showing live action (the green bars) are noticeably longer for the NHL hockey, the NBA basketball, and the MLS/EPL soccer sports broadcasts, while the NFL football, the MLB baseball and both the esports broadcasts have noticeably shorter green bars. The NFL and the MLS/EPL have significantly longer game times compared to the action times, while the esports have game times comparable to their action times. Figure 3.12a and Figure 3.12b depict the percentage of action per broadcast and action per game, respectively. In general, the esports percentages of action for both broadcast and game are around 50 percent, in the middle of sports, with far higher percentages of action than the lowest (NFL broadcasts), but significantly lower percentages than the highest (MLS/EPL broadcasts). Figure 3.13 provides combined analysis, showing the percentage of action per broadcast on the y-axis versus the broadcast length. The average for sport and esport is depicted as a dot (solid black for the sports, grey for the esports). Generally, areas in the top left (high action percent, relatively short broadcasts) are likely more viewer friendly than areas in bottom right (low action percent, relatively long broadcasts). From the graph, MLB and NFL broadcasts stand out as long (about three hours) and with relatively low percentages of action (under 10%). Based on this broadcast analysis alone, esports tend to be more viewer friendly with higher percentages of action and lower broadcast lengths.

Figure 3.13  Action per Broadcast versus Broadcast Length.

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Summary In summary, for viewer friendliness, esports are somewhat more complex than sports, evidenced by (1) the League of Legends rules being at a college reading level compared to NFL football’s early high school level, and (2) survey results that show the LCS League of Legends and the OWL Overwatch viewers find their games 1-2 points (out of 7) more complex and less understandable than NFL football and MLB baseball, respectively. However, esports broadcasts (LCS and OWL) are more viewer friendly than sports broadcasts given that the former have about 40 to 45 percent of the time showing live gameplay, while broadcasts for NFL football and MLB baseball only have 10 to 20 percent time with live gameplay.

Game Competitiveness For viewers, the competitiveness of a game is important to its appeal. When the outcome of a game is known early on, it can be less interesting to watch than one where the outcome is uncertain for longer. A non-competitive game may cause fans to lose interest and stop watching the game early, instead finding another activity to do. This section applies metrics that have been applied to assess the competitiveness of sports to esports, allowing for a head-to-head comparison.

Methodology A part of the excitement of competitive games is not knowing which team will win. Games where the outcome is known early in the game tend to be viewed less. For example, point spreads play a key role in television ratings where viewership is higher for games where covering the spread is in doubt (Salaga and Tainsky, 2015). The competitiveness of a game can be conceptualized by how uncertain the game outcome is in terms of which team wins or loses. There are potentially many ways to quantify competitiveness including, for example, the probability of winning or the likelihood of an “upset” based on prior ranking. In order to allow for direct comparison with prior analysis of sport competitiveness, we use competitiveness metrics developed for sports (Wills, 2017), allowing for a comparison across individual games and also across professional sports and esports leagues. This approach provides insights on the relative competitiveness of sports versus esports. Specifically, we analyzed how often a team is in the lead, how often a team that is currently ahead goes on to win, and how often a team is ahead for good (meaning the team never loses the lead and wins). The idea is that matches that have more lead changes are more competitive (and fun to watch) than a match that has fewer lead changes. Put another way, a match where the lead changes many times has an unknown outcome, and is likely more interesting to watch, than a match that has one team leading the whole time and then winning.

 Sports versus Esports 51 In order to compare across different sports and esports, games are normalized by percentage of game time (we divided the esport matches into 2.5% increments), so that different length games can be directly compared. For the sports data, we obtained the data sets from Wills (2017). For esports data, we gathered data manually by watching recorded games on the official leagues’ YouTube channels (LoL Esports, 2018; Overwatch League, 2018), manually scoring thirty LCS League of Legends and 31 OWL Overwatch games. For each game, we recorded the start and end time, as well as each time a given team took the lead or tied the score. What team was in the lead was recorded, whether or not that team would lose the lead, and what team would eventually win the game. In LCS, there is about a fifteen second time at the game start where both teams are unable to leave the spawn area, so this time was disregarded for our competitive analysis. Similarly in OWL, there is an initial time where the offensive team cannot move about the map and interact with the defensive team, so this time was disregarded for our analysis. LoL does not have points or any other type of game score as do most sports. For LoL scoring, the goal is to destroy the opponent’s base. However, before doing so, defense towers placed in front of the Nexus must be destroyed. Hence, we count towers destroyed as points—whenever a team had more towers destroyed than the other team, that team was considered in the lead. We acknowledge that there are many other metrics that can be factored into a score, such as the number of champion kills/ deaths or amount of “gold” a team has earned, but leave additional game scoring and subsequent competitiveness analysis as future work. For Overwatch scoring, there are different game modes, each with a different scoring mechanism from which we created scoring metrics. In Escort mode, the attacking team must push a payload object down a set track to the end. The track has three checkpoints which we count as the points needed for scoring. Assault mode focuses combat around two marked zones that the offensive team must capture, each with three checkpoints. We count each checkpoint as a point for scoring. Hybrid mode is a mix of the Escort and Assault and we count scoring in Hybrid the same as in the two previous modes. The teams alternate between offense and defense to complete the objective of the game mode. If the first team is unable to fully complete that objective, the second team only needs to beat the first team’s progress in order to win. Otherwise, the first team wins. If the second team is unable to beat the first team but reaches the same checkpoints, then the resulting match is a draw. If the first team is able to fully complete the objective, and the second team is also able to complete the objective, the map is replayed, with each team’s remaining time on the game clock. The team with less time goes first, and the match is replayed with the same rules. Lastly, if both teams use all of their time and complete the objective, then the game is a draw.

Results A game with the score tied is a competitive game since the outcome is not known and a game with one team in the lead is less competitive. Figure 3.14 shows the distribution of

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game timelines where there is a team in the lead. The x-axis is the timeline percentage, where 50 percent is halfway through a game, and the y-axis is the percentage of games where a team is leading. The figure shows that NBA basketball games are the least competitive by this metric, as more than 90 percent of NBA games have a team in the lead less than 10 percent of the time into the game, and maintain that value for a majority of the game’s timeline. The OWL games reach similar values around 25 percent into the game, making them the next least competitive. The MLS soccer and the EPL soccer games have very similar lines, and by this team-is-leading metric are the most competitive. However, the LCS games are the most competitive early, as no game has a leader until around the 20 percent time mark (when the first tower is finally destroyed), but rises quickly to have around 90 percent of games with a leader 80 percent into a game. The results at the right edge of the figure show that the OWL and the LCS always have a winner at the end of a game (the trendlines go to 100%), whereas other professional sports can be tied (e.g., about 25% of the MLS and EPL games end in a tie). We next analyze the frequency by which a team is currently in the lead and goes on to win. The idea that if a team in the lead usually wins that makes for a less competitive game. Figure 3.15 features a similar graph to Figure 3.14 with the same axes, but the y-axis is whether the team that is leading goes on to win the game. For example, the LCS at the midpoint of games has the lowest percentage (about 40%) of games where a team is in the lead and goes on to win, and the NBA has the highest (about 70%). The OWL is similarly low at the midpoint and, in fact, the outcome is not known for about half of all games until the very end. Figure 3.16 summarizes the data from Figure 3.15 with averages. The y-axis is the percentage of all games (shown with standard error bars), and the x-axis is the different

Figure 3.14  Distribution of Timeline (Percent) a Team Is Leading.

 Sports versus Esports 53

Figure 3.15  Distribution of Team with Lead and Wins.

Figure 3.16  Percentage of Time Team with Lead and Wins. leagues. From the graph, 72 percent of NBA games are spent with the team that wins in the lead. On the other end, the EPL and the MLS are at 45 percent and 44 percent, respectively. For esports, the OWL and the LCS have the lowest values, 43 percent and 38 percent, respectively, making them the most competitive. However, the above metric does not account for a team that has an early lead, may trail for much of the game and still win—that type of game can seem quite competitive

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for viewers. For example, in the 51st NFL Super Bowl, the New England Patriots played the Atlanta Falcons. The Falcons led for the entire game, but the Patriots won, only pulling ahead in points on the final play of the game. A number of media outlets proclaimed this game the greatest Super Bowl of all time (Carpenter, 2017; Steele, 2017; Gagnon, 2017). As such, we analyzed when a team scores whether they keep the lead and win (i.e., they are “ahead for good”). Figure 3.17 depicts the results, with the same axes as for previous figures. From this graph, the MLB is the least competitive, with around 56 percent of games at the halfway point being led by a team that does not lose the lead. The OWL maintains a flat line that slowly goes up with a large spike, with just over 40 percent of games having a team ahead for good at a game’s midpoint. The LCS has the lowest percentage (is the most competitive) at only 20 percent at a game’s midpoint, but rises up to be similar with the NBA and MLB, making it less competitive by the game’s end. Figure 3.18 summarizes the data from Figure 3.17 with averages, similar to Figure 3.16. From the graph, the MLB is the least competitive with 55 percent of game time having the winning team never lose the lead. On the other end, esports tend to be the most competitive, with the OWL and the LCS games only having about 38 percent and 30 percent of games, respectively, with the leading team winning. The final graph in Figure 3.19 compares the summary percentage of game time with the lead for good against the percentage of game time where the team in the lead goes on to win. The graph is augmented with explanatory arrows indicating leagues that are closer to the upper-right corner are relatively less competitive while those closer to the lower-left corner are relatively more competitive. Results from these two metrics indicate that games in the NBA basketball and the MLB baseball leagues are

Figure 3.17  Distribution of Team with Lead for Good.

 Sports versus Esports 55

Figure 3.18  Percentage of Time Team with Lead for Good.

Figure 3.19  Percentage of Game Time with Lead for Good versus with Lead and Win (Sports solid black, Esports light gray).

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relatively less competitive while those in the MLS soccer and the EPL soccer leagues are relatively more competitive. These same metrics show esports OWL Overwatch is as competitive as the most competitive sports, MLS and EPL, while the esport’s LCS League of Legends is slightly more competitive than all.

Summary In summary, based on games with teams in the lead, the OWL Overwatch and the NBA baseball leagues are the least competitive while the LCS League of Legends, MLS soccer, and EPL soccer leagues are the most. Based on the amount of time a team in the lead wins, the NBA is still the least competitive, while the OWL and LCS leagues are the most competitive. For leagues with teams ahead for good, the MLB baseball league is the least competitive (the NBA is second), while the OWL and LCS leagues remain the most competitive. Overall, esports are somewhat more competitive than most sports.

Conclusion Sports are prevalent and pervasive, not only as a hobby for leisure and fitness, but also as a profession. Professional sports employ highly paid professional athletes, competing in yearly leagues and championships events, fueled largely by the massive audiences that are interested in watching. The relatively more recent esports—multiplayer computer games played competitively by professionals—have a lot in common with traditional sports, providing a platform for professional players and millions of viewers. Analyzing esports with sports as a reference can help better understand the size of the industry, and hence economic impact, as well as the scope of appeal to viewers. This chapter provides a comparison of sports to esports for professional sports leagues and major esports leagues along three key dimensions: industry size, viewer friendliness, and game competitiveness. We compare industry sizes through player salaries, tournament prize pools, and audience sizes. We assess viewer friendliness through rule analysis and a 50+ person survey that subjectively measures viewer understanding. We analyze game competitiveness by applying and comparing a competition metric from sports to esports. For industry size, sports are considerably larger than esports, with the National Football League (NFL) having about 15x more revenue and the National Basketball Association having about 20x higher player salaries than the largest esports. However, the largest tournament prize pool is for the esport Defense Of The Ancients 2 (in 2018), being about 15 percent larger than the largest sports tournament prize (the Major League Baseball World Series in 2017). For viewers, sports’ championship FIFA World Cup and the NFL Super Bowl dwarf all others for viewers, but the esport League of Legends World championship has about 3x more viewers than any other sporting event.

 Sports versus Esports 57 For viewer friendliness, esport’s League of Legends is slightly more complex than football, although both have a comparable number of roles, positions, and special cases. Viewers subjectively indicated the same, with esports League Challenger Series (LCS) and OWL being about 20 percent more complex and one-third less understandable than baseball and football, respectively. However, the LCS and OWL broadcasts are more viewer friendly, being somewhat shorter than all sports broadcasts and having a comparable amount of action per broadcast as the top sports (hockey and soccer). For competitiveness, esports are more competitive than all sports considering pointbased metrics that account for team leads over the course of a game. The outcome of the LCS and OWL games are typically not known until well past the half-way point and both feature many more lead changes than the least competitive sports (baseball and football). Overall, professional sports are still larger than the biggest esports, generally commanding larger revenues, player salaries, and viewers. However, esport’s viewer numbers are growing, potentially fueled by appealing aspects of broadcast lengths and game competitiveness that will likely continue to drive industry growth and social impact.

Notes 1 Forbes is a global media company, focusing on business, investing, technology, and entrepreneurship. 2 Statista aggregates consumer survey results and industry studies from about 22,000 sources on about 60,000 topics on the internet. 3 Newzoo provides market research on games and esports analytics. 4 See: sport/rankings/average where sport is one of: (eps, mlb, mls, nba, nfl, nhl). 5 Data from 2014 is shown since data from 2018 was not available. The tournament is every four years. 6 Reading level refers to the education level a person would need in order to understand the words, obtained from WordCounter (https://wordcounter​.net/). 7 There are only a few champions that have more than five abilities (e.g., Nidalee and Jayce).

References Bago, J. (2015, January 29). “eSports Now Recognized as 2nd Level Olympic Sport.” Inquirier​.net​. Biderman, D. (2010, January 15). “11 Minutes of Action.” The Wall Street Journal. Brand, S. (1972, December 7). “Spacewar—Fanatic Life and Symbolic Death among the Computer Bums.” Rolling Stone Magazine, 123. Brown, M. (2017, August 25). “Exclusive Infographics Show NFL, MLB, NBA and NHL Sponsorship Growth Over Last Decade.” Forbes. Campbell, W., Goss, A., and Trottier, K. (2019, May). Sports vs Esports: A Comparison Study of Industry Size, Viewer Friendliness, and Competitiveness. Interactive Qualifying Project IQP-MLC-SS18 . (Advisor Mark Claypool).

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Carpenter, L. (2017, February 6). “Simply, the Best Super Bowl Ever.” The Guardian. Dick’s Pro Tips. (2019). Football Positions for Beginners. Online: https:// proti​​ps​.di​​ckssp​​ ortin​​ggood​​s​.com​​/spor​​ts​-an​​d​-act​​iviti​​es​/fo​​otbal​​l​/foo​​tball​​-101-​​footb​​all​-p​​osit​i​​ons​-a​​nd​-th​​ eir​-r​​oles.​ (Accessed June 2019) Esports Earnings. (2019). “Prize Money, Results, History.” Statistics. Online: https:// www​.esportsearnings​.com/. (Accessed June 2019). Fantastic Esports. (2018, April 26). Esports History from Beginning to 2018. Online: https​:/​/ fa​​ntast​​icesp​​orts.​​com​/e​​sport​​s​-his​​tory-​​from-​​begin​​n​ing-​​to​-20​​18/ (Accessed June 2019). Gagnon, B. (2017, February 6). “Super Bowl Li Was the Best Ever.” Bleacher Report. Heitner, D. (2018, May 2). “A Look Inside Riot Games, from $320,000 Player Salaries to Using Esports as a Catalyst for Sales.” Forbes. History.com Editors. (2019, Updated on June 7). “National League of Baseball is Founded.” History. Online: https​:/​/ww​​w​.his​​tory.​​com​/t​​his​-d​​ay​-in​​-hist​​ory​/n​​ation​​al​-le​​ague-​​of​-ba​​se​ bal​​l​-is-​​found​​ed. (Accessed June 2019). Jin, D. Y. (2010). Korea’s Online Gaming Empire. The MIT Press, Cambridge, MA, USA. Kunkel, Bill (author), Arnie Katz (editor), (1982). “Player’s Guide to Electronic Science Fiction Games.” Electronic Games, 1(2), 35–45. Lawrence, H. (2018, April 4). A Primer on Esports and Its Growing History. Online: https​:/​/ga​​meana​​lytic​​s​.com​​/blog​​/espo​​rts​-p​​rime​r​​.html​. (Accessed June 2019). LeJacq, Y. (2013, July 19). “Score! Professional Video Gamers Awarded Athletic Visas.” NBC Tech News. LoL Esports. (2018, September 2). NA LCS Summer Split VODs. [Video file]: https​:/​/ww​​w​ .you​​tube.​​com​/p​​layli​​st​?li​​st​=PL​​PZ7h6​​L6LC7​​VDHdk​​xvfU​A​​DBLel​​PfU9T​​0m (Accessed June 2019). Martin, E. (2018, February 3). “Super Bowl Champs Will Win Thousands - but They’d Earn 130 Percent More If They Played Baseball.” CNBC - Money. Moyer, S. (2013, July 16). “In America’s Pastime, Baseball Players Pass a Lot of Time.” The Wall street Journal. National Football League. (2018). Table of Foul Codes. Online: https​:/​/op​​erati​​ons​.n​​fl​.co​​m​/ the​​-rule​​s​/201​​8​-nfl​​-rule​​book/​​#tabl​​​e​-of​-foul​-codes. (Accessed June 2019). Overwatch League. (2018, October 4). Full Matches | Inaugural Season. [Video file]: https​:/​/ww​​w​.you​​tube.​​com​/p​​layli​​st​?li​​st​=PL​​wnBEh​​ITAFh​​h​JPLE​​j​-XcJ​​BAgM _ yMaQpKs. (Accessed June 2019). Pannekeet, J. (2018, February 21). “Global Esports Economy Will Reach $905.6 Million in 2018 as Brand Investment Grows by 48%.” Forbes. Premier league. (2018, August). Encyclopedia Britannica. Pyne, S. (2019). A Short History of the MLS. Online: https​:/​/ml​​sgb​.c​​om​/a-​​short​​-hist​​ory​-o​​​f​ -mls​/. (Accessed June 2019). Reiss, S. A. (2017). Professional Team Sports in the United States. Oxford Research Encyclopedias. DOI: 10.1093/acrefore/9780199329175.013.198. Riot Games. (2019a). Game Info - Champions. Online: https​:/​/na​​.leag​​ueofl​​egend​​s​.com​​/en​ /g​​ame​-i​​nfo​/c​​​hampi​​ons/. (Accessed June 2019). Riot Games. (2019b). “Welcome to League of Legends.” Online: https​:/​/na​​.leag​​ueofl​​egend​​s​ .com​​/en​/f​​eatur​​ed​/ne​​w​-pla​​​yer​-g​​uide. (Accessed June 2019). Riot Games. (2019c). Who to Play - Roles. Online: https​:/​/ti​​nyurl​​.com/​​na​-le​​agueo​​flege​​nds​ -c​​o​m​-ro​​les. (Accessed June 2019)

 Sports versus Esports 59 Roger Goodell. (2018). Official Playing Rules of the National Football League. Online: https​:/​/op​​erati​​ons​.n​​fl​.co​​m​/med​​ia​/32​​77​/20​​18​-nf​​l​-rul​​ebook​​_fina​​​l​-ver​​sion.​​pdf. (Accessed June 2019). RulesofSport.com​. (2016). American Football Rules. Online: http:​/​/www​​.rule​​sofsp​​ort​.c​​om​/ sp​​orts/​​ameri​​can​-f​​ootb​a​​ll​.ht​​ml. (Accessed June 2019). Salaga, S., and Tainsky, S. (2015, July). “Betting Lines and College Football Television Ratings.” Economics Letters, 132, 112–16. Sport. (2019). The Oxford English Dictionary. Online: http:​/​/www​​.oxfo​​rddic​​tiona​​ries.​​com​/ d​​efini​​tion/​​engli​​​sh​/sp​​ort. (Accessed June 2019). Spotrac. (2019). Spotrac​.com​: Sports Contracts, Salaries, Caps, Bonuses, & Transactions. Online: https://www​.spotrac​.com/. (Accessed February 2019). Statista. (2018). eSports Market Worldwide. Online: https://tinyurl​.com​/y5g9b6qw. (Accessed June 2019). Steele, D. (2017, February 6). “Seeing Is believing: Patriots’ Comeback Made for Best Super Bowl Ever.” Sporting News. Tassi, P. (2013, July 14). “The U.S. Now Recognizes eSports Players as Professional Athletes.” Forbes. Taylor, T. (2012). Raising the Stakes: E-Sports and the Professionalization of Computer Gaming. The MIT Press, Cambridge, MA, USA. Wills, C. (2017, July). “The Competitiveness of Games in Professional Sports Leagues.” Journal of Sports Analytics, 3(2), 103–17. DOI: 10.3233/JSA-160122. World cup. (2018, August). Encyclopedia Britannica.

4

Esports A Chinese Sport? Milan Ismangil and Anthony Fung

Introduction In 2016, Foreign policy (Liu, 2016) published an article titled “China Rules Esports.” China was held up as an example of esports developments in terms of codification, legalization, the development of infrastructure, and the size of its fan base. Three years later in 2019 an esports report by Newzoo stated that China is set to become the second largest esports market, boasting $210 million in revenue and leading the world in the number of esports fans and viewers (Pannekeet, 2019). Does China indeed rule esports as this article states? This chapter will discuss whether China can become the global leader for esports, it argues that while China is well set up to benefit from the esports boom it still faces many challenges with regard to truly creating an esports environment that is globally enabled and not only concerned with the domestic market. We will provide an overview of the Chinese perspectives on esports to argue that while China is a strong player in terms of numbers (i.e., population and investment size), its actual influence is constrained by typical factors such as the isolation of its community, the lack of export of its domestic video games, and the tension that exists between the governments need for information control and a global sport that traverses borders. This chapter will trace the recent development of esports in China. Esports for China is uniquely situated as it can capitalize on a culture of esports existing within the country. Unlike football, an already fully developed global sport on which the government has set its eyes on, esports is still in its infancy allowing the Chinese government to stake their claim as the sport is still in its early days. By moving fast in this field esports can not only contribute to the economy but also project an image of China as a digital, capable, and competitive nation. For China to truly solidify its image as an esports hegemon, however, there are several obstacles which will become apparent in the chapter. We start with outlining esports in China, after which current issues of esports development in China will be discussed. We then go to some of the growing pains that China experiences in developing a global esports industry in a country whose internet is defined by the degree of government control. In an authoritarian country like China,

 Esports 61 private and public organization of gaming can only operate with the support or consent of the government. We will touch upon the issue of internet addiction and esports, the former seen by the government as a major public health risk (Jiang, 2014) while the latter has been imbued with ideas of glory, optimism, and (economic) growth. Finally, in the conclusion we argue that reputation management and domestic innovation might form bigger challenges than those of infrastructure, as managing the intangible aspects of the esports industry might prove harder to be overcome. China might rule esports in terms of pure numbers but growing a foreign, global fan base will prove to be difficult given the current circumstances.

Esports as Opportunity The Chinese government, following in the footprints of South Korea has arrived early on the scene in esports. Esports was recognized by the government as an official sport in 2003 by the General Administration of Sports which in 2010 started to host national and international esports competitions and in 2015 it recruited its first national esports team. The word for esports in the Chinese academic and government discourse is opportunity. It is an industry that went from around $200 million in revenue in 2014 to more than a billion today with an audience of around 500 million people, and an annual growth of more than 10 percent being the norm rather than the exception (Newzoo, 2020). How to capture, develop, and exploit this market has been a source of discussion among Chinese academics since the late 1990s. Esports can boost China’s digital economy and the question of which policies might make it bloom has been a fierce source of discussion (Tian, 2000). Esports is regarded as a golden goose with near unlimited growth potential and an industry in which China cannot lag behind others (Lei and Xia, 2005). It can boost the economy in a time where the digital economy is receiving much attention from the government (Yu, 2018), and could invigorate its cultural policy by using tournaments as opportunities for city and nation brand building using esports as a form of public diplomacy. The idea is that one simply builds the infrastructure and the tournaments, and tourists and money will start pouring in (Tian, 2000; Liu and Zhu, 2007). As an industry it not only provides work for more skilled labor in terms of technical staff, marketing of events, and event creation and management but also contributes to side industries such as tourism and hospitality. The need for esports to have a fast and stable internet would be a boom for other (creative) industries that benefit from fast internet. As tournaments can last for multiple days, the increase in tourism and city marketing can also be a large boon to the local economy. Especially for areas in which higher quality jobs are in demand, esports is purportedly set up to be a relatively easy method to create new jobs. In contrast to regular sports the ingredients for all esports are the same, fast, and stable internet, a large screen, and a suitable viewing environment which means that a one-size-fits-all approach is particularly suitable. In addition, it’s potential as a spectacle can boost nationalist and empowerment narratives among a young, male audience which has been framed as disillusioned and cynical (Rosen, 2009).

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An audience for which traditional forms of nationalism might appear outdated or worthy of parody. Stimulating grassroot forms of nationalism through esports can serve to further embed narratives of the (nationalist) state (Ismangil, 2018). As the Chinese government has been touting its “from made in China to created in China” plans now for more than a decade (Keane, 2006) esports would give it a much needed jolt and provide global Chinese representation in an industry that provides both economic opportunities and a new way for China to show off its digital capabilities and dazzle global and domestic audience with its esports spectacles.

Government, Industry, Media In Chinese traditional (or older) media esports is something of a novelty. In this regard it is similar to other countries where it might only appear in extraordinary cases. One such case is the 2016 international victory by Wings gaming, a team consisting of five mainland Chinese players that won the, at the time, largest first prize in history ($9.1 million). This was reported on by government outlets such as China Daily, CGTN, as well as other international and domestic outlets. Esports is separated by both the media and the government from the discourse of internet and video game addiction: for example by praising “Chinese victories” when a team wins, or by using esports to “promote Chinese culture” (China Daily, 2019). To quote the (English) news articles about Wings gaming: “thanks to strong government support and a flood of investment in the gaming industry, Chinese eSports teams can now access the best equipment and coaches.” The story of esports is similar to that of the economy in its ties to optimism and growth. More recently in 2018, when the Chinese organization Invictus gaming won the League of Legends world championship Guangming Daily framed it as an alternate path toward the national sports dream (GuangMing Daily, 2018; Liao, 2018). A sports dream that is becoming recognized, as Chinese national esports teams are already a reality (Sina, 2015). In esports the focus of the Chinese policy makers is on the end product of esports as a fully formed sport with athletes who have been recruited and trained by professional teams and organizations, ignoring the thousands if not millions of aspiring esports professionals1 who grind their respective video game daily in order to achieve their dream of becoming renowned esports athlete. In China esports is growth, opportunity, and a chance for a younger generation to give meaning to their own type of Chinese dream. The development of esports in China is not a centralized affair as local government plays a large role in organizing esports events. Cities or provinces such as Shanghai, Chongqing, Hangzhou, and Zhuhai, to name the major ones, all put in bids to host international annual events for multiple tournaments and are actively developing infrastructure for (international) events. Large investments and the largest esports fan base in the world provide it with a strong base from which to create a domestic esports industry with international aspirations (Pannekeet, 2019). In 2018 Hangzhou received worldwide attention as it opened its “esports town,” comparable to a university campus but solely focused on esports, including facilities such as training sites for esports

 Esports 63 teams, esports stadiums, hotels a esports academy (Hangzhou government, 2018; People’s Daily, 2018b). Hangzhou will host the 2022 Asian games (Fitch, 2018), of which esports are slated to be an official component. It is also host to PSG.LGD’s2 League of Legends team, one of China” most well-known teams. Other regions such as in Beijing a $1.5 million fund has been created to stimulate the development of local esports businesses (Chen, 2019). Aside from Hangzhou another up and coming esports city is Shanghai, whose esports plan falls more in line with a general restructuring of the economy as part of transforming the economy from a manufacturing to a service one (Jing, 2018; Ashton, 2018). In cooperation with Tencent, the city is investing in a major esports park which is meant to house hundreds of different companies relating to game development, tournament organization but also education, animation, and other industries that do not directly relate to esports. Shanghai already has a strong tradition of hosting esports tournaments in for example the repurposed Mercedes Benz Arena,3 which will also host the upcoming International 2019, slated to be one of the highest prize pool tournaments in esports history. An article published by Sixth Tone in 2018 notes that Shanghai is plotting to be the “worlds eSports capital,” citing a strong culture of gaming, good infrastructure and a cooperative and willing government that could set up Shanghai as the world’s esport hub. Shanghai is already host to several esport teams (Vici Gaming, CDEC, PSG-LGD, OMG Esports) and in combination with their status as a world city and international allure might just succeed in marketing itself as Asia’s if not the world’s esports capital. As esports is growing it is capturing the attention of many different companies, some content with simply sponsoring esports teams and others even going as far as creating their own branded esports teams. Of the companies investing in esports Tencent is by far the most important one. It is a dominant player on the market and their size is hard to overstate, as they branch out from video game properties, development, streaming services, esports developments, not to mention hosting its own video game service platform (Wegame). Tencent therefore is able to control most aspects of the esports experience in China. From the esport game in question down to the streaming platform as it is a major stakeholder in some of the most popular Chinese streaming services available (e.g., Douyu and Huya (Huang, 2019)). Tencent through acquisitions owns League of Legends, one of the most popular (esports) games in the world. Tencent is not the only major player as other companies such as Alibaba, NetEase, and others are all investing in esports. The popular video streaming website BiliBili and Suning, a major retail company, both own esports teams for example (iResearch, 2018). The picture might not be as rosy as described, however. The question is as to what extent the Chinese government is open in creating a global esports culture within China. Due to its habit of strictly controlling the information environment of its citizens and the particularities of the “Chinese internet,” it seems more apparent that the government opts for a two-way strategy: on the one hand, catering to the international market, while on the other hand, providing for its domestic one. This “Chinese internet” (Yang, 2011) allows the government better control of content as

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domestically operated and owned websites, in theory it should be easier to control than foreign ones. China has separate streaming websites, separate forums and esports communities, news sites, and so on leading to a segregated audience which puts into question to what regard the government wants it to be international. Rather it seems China is being framed as a spectacle (Szablewicz, 2016) for foreign observers to dazzle at, while the domestic market is strictly controlled. A spectacle which serves the domestic audience in terms of nationalism and a foreign one with narratives of China’s rise. Information control and its consequences for esports will be discussed next.

“Chinese” Internet and Global Esports: Managing Domestic Information Flows Scholz in Esports Is Business characterizes esports as “born digital, born global, and born agile” (Scholz, 2019). Esports has grown up amid global flows of information in an industry that is quick to change and innovate toward consumer demands. This section discusses the issues China faces in juggling an environment where information is highly controlled by the government with an industry that is “digital, global, and agile.” Integrating the online watching environment would mean exposing the domestic Chinese audience to a barrage of information which will prove hard to filter in-real time. Being familiar with Twitch culture for example, it is almost certain that nonChinese audiences would spam items that are extremely sensitive to the Chinese government such as those relating to the Tiananmen movement, independence of Taiwan and Hong Kong, and other matters. In the case that such a controlled digital environment is possible then it might do more harm than good as China’s reputation would drop due to the frustration fans would feel in being unable to have a full range of expression. Lastly and perhaps most importantly it also makes economic sense to maintain two separate products as the mandarin-speaking market is the largest one next to the English-speaking one. Catering to these two makes businesses sense and as a side effect solves any tricky issues of information control. Another major point of contention is the fact that most if not at all internationally popular esports games are created and maintained by non-Chinese studios. Even Tencent’s League of Legends is maintained by Riot Games which operates in the United States. This means that if China wishes to grow its international esports it is by proxy promoting foreign content which it might not always agree with. It undermines the nationalist narrative and plays into stereotypes of an uncreative China, one who can only gain success in its domestic esports games by acquiring or copying existing (foreign) games. This is problematized by the tensions that exist between various government institutions. In 2019 the mobile version of the global hit Player’s Unknown Battlegrounds (PUBG), seen as a major up-and-coming esports game, was promptly banned in China and replaced with a copycat called Game for Peace, developed by Tencent (Reuters, 2019). A major reason for this change was monetization, as Tencent

 Esports 65 was unable to apply for a license to monetize the game leading it to release their own sanitized version.4 This form of protectionism under the guise of protecting the public morals draws makes the development of esports games with violent content difficult as arbitrary intervention by the government is a constant threat. The fact that a game, of which its developer is heavily investing in esports can be barred from one of the largest esports markets highlights the tensions between esports promotion and the Chinese information control apparatus. Another game is Fortnite, which exploded in popularity in 2018, but like PUBG enjoys uncertain status in China due to government scrutiny. These two games are not isolated cases. In 2018 an internal document was leaked (Sina Technology, 2018) which gave censorship guidelines for twenty popular video games that ranged from “withdraw” to “corrective” actions, with reasons such as “vulgar content,”” inharmonious chat,” or “too revealing women.” This list made the rounds among English esports media as a ban would have ramifications for the global developments of the respective esports communities (Fox Sports, 2018). News like this as well as tournaments which are organized improperly continuously fuel negative stereotypes about China and undermine the government project of image management toward an international audience, which will be discussed later. The tension between a global creative endeavor such as esports and operating within a strict authoritarian environment is difficult to solve (Keane, 2006). If it truly wishes to be a global player then the ruleset regarding which video games are allowed must be clear. Otherwise China is left out of a large number of esports games. This brings with it a risk of isolation where it might only end up participating in esports games which enjoy circulation mostly China. Honor of Kings, or Arena of Valor as the English version is called, is another example that shows the difficulties of Chinese games in breaking through into the international market and developing its esports component while also dealing with government control. This game, by and large a mobile version of League of Legends has, was criticized by the government for being a negative influence termed toxic and a harm for teenagers, with Tencent having to limit young players time in the game. On the other hand, the game was featured in the 2018 Asian Games and the Chinese national team was given a feature in an issue of People’s Daily (People’s Daily, 2018a). Of note here is the complicated discourse China has with internet and video game addiction. There is a natural tension where the government promotes esports on the one hand while “fighting” addictive behaviors on the other hand (Szablewicz, 2011; Yue, 2018). To become a professional esports player, however, one has to first become good enough, which naturally involves hours and hours of playing video games and being online. As there are still few institutionalized methods in terms of becoming professional (e.g., talent scouting), the reality is that for many players becoming noticed and potentially being recruited into a team means playing video games as a fulltime job. However, like traditional sports only a few are able to perform at the top level, meaning that many (mostly young males) would see their efforts are in vain. Aside from information control an oft touted issue is the clash between the promotion of esports on the one hand and China’s firm position on (online) video game and internet addiction on the other hand. The tension between the Chinese government firm stance toward internet addiction, and the fostering of what they see

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as productive internet activities and esports which requires large time investments in playing video games will be discussed in the following section.

Esports, Addiction, and the Narrative of Growth The dividing line between diehard esports gamers and prospective professionals is one that appears difficult to distinguish. While in English academia the contradictions between China’s discourse of internet addiction and esports are frequently made (e.g., Synder, 2018; Szablewics, 2011; Yue, 2018; Yu, 2018) this does not exist according to the government. In fact esports is construed as a part of the solution as it channels (young) people’s energy into “positive” outlets in terms of consumer nationalism and spending. Szablewicsz (2011, 2016) for example discussing the development of esports in China states that esports serves as a viable alternative to the discourse of internet addiction for the Chinese government. Esports form part of the “Chinese dream” (Liu, 2016), in which Chinese people through hard work and talent gather wealth and (inter)national fame. It is characterized as a “civilized” form of gaming which, if successful, can lead to serving ones country as a representative athlete. Esports is used as a spectacle through which cities (governments) (re)brand themselves as modern, hybrid, and capable (Szablewics, 2016). Reports of the creation of esports hotels, stadiums, and other infrastructure all serve to create a narrative of growth underlying the supposed unstoppable momentum of China’s global rise. While internet and video game addiction conjures up images of loneliness, esports rejects this image as it focuses on community elements and the spirit of participation. While in reality there might not be much difference on the outside for most (would be) esports athletes with the average internet café enthusiast there is a qualitative difference as one presumably contributes to a profession while (internet) video game addiction on the other is framed as a dangerous activity classified as harmful and unproductive (see also Lu, 2016). The government frames esports as having economic and social benefits while in contrast internet, or (online) video game, addiction is paired with loneliness and unproductiveness (Liu, 2016). Esports is a space of opportunity, growth, and hope and dreams (Cheong, 2019). Academic articles in Chinese are in general concerned with the challenges and opportunities for this new industry. It is a site of opportunity for which a new (legal, economical) framework has to be created (e.g., Cui, 2006; Dai and Hu, 2013; Gao, Zhao and Du, 2015, Liu, 2010). Only recently have esport investors become wary of the over-optimism and bubbling esport market as a report came out that 90 percent of the esport teams supported by angel investors faced serious financial problems (Sing Tao Daily, 2019). This attitude is exemplified in a piece published by China Global Times about five traditional athletes that tried esports. Titled “Five Chinese Sports Champions Try League of Legends, Praising Esports,” different sports heroes are used to legitimize esports as a activity worth doing, to quote: “I felt this is a healthy sport instead of video game addiction” (Zhe, 2018). If one is pursuing esports, one is supporting one’s

 Esports 67 country economically and emotionally, it is an activity that is promoted as a “healthy alternative to harmful internet games” (Szablewicsz, 2011, 264). Another example of this discursive reframing of esports is a China Daily piece titled “Time to End Prejudice against Esports” (Zhang, 2018). This move from unproductive internet addiction to sites of productivity can be seen in how internet cafés have dealt with a scrutinizing government. Internet cafés in China are using esports to rebrand themselves. Linked to internet addiction and wasting time before many internet cafés are now rebranding themselves as hip offline esports sites, meant as places where the next generation of China’s esports athletes can meet and train together (Economic Daily, 2018). Emphasizing the social, productive role of esports allows companies to follow the government’s narrative and benefit from beneficial policies and subsidies. From isolated to social, online to offline, and inside to outside as companies are organizing esports camps meant as a kind of team building environment combining typical (summer) camp outdoor activities (usually to build teamwork) with esports elements. In this regard it makes sense to separate them from each other. This might be regarded as contradictory, as it could be argued for example that esports fandom will fuel more video game addiction in young people who desire to become the next esports superstar. As Nielsen and Karhulati (2018) conclude in a discussion of “internet gaming disorder” and esports: “dedication might be mistaken for addiction.” Administratively it makes sense to separate these issues as one relates to the growth and subsequent exploitation of a new industry while the other falls under health and social issues. Having discussed the current trends in Chinese esports we now turn to the future. Which challenges does China face in its desire to become the global esports leader. In particular we discuss esports as public diplomacy and the difficulties China has in exporting its own “Chinese” esports games.

Into the Future As Pun, Yin, and Fung (2019) have emphasized, with the changing cultural policy of China, and hence the public discourse, the public perception of esport has changed from a form of “digital heroin harming the lives of youth” to “a professional avenue with a bright future.” The year 2018 was a milestone for esport as the Chinese authorities have changed their policy from suppressing to supporting the industries (Sigmaintell, 2018). Local authorities and companies are investing large sums of money into creating a physical space for esports in major regions in China. The Chinese government declared its intentions to develop esports in the twenty-seventh article of “Notice on Printing and Distributing the Action Plan for Promoting Consumption to Transform and Upgrade in 2016” (Government of China, 2016) did the situation improve. Creating this legal and public framework for esport competition is important as clear guidelines from the government create clarity for new investors willing to join the industry. For China to become the world leading esports country there are several hurdles that

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have to be overcome. First there is the issue of reputation management as Chinese esports tournaments, at least in several video game communities, have acquired a bad reputation due to its (mis)management of large esports events. Nationalism also plays a factor in how China balances the domestic and international reputation of its esports communities. Second there is the general development of infrastructure and expertise in terms of tournament management. For the latter point investment should solve this issue but the question remains if a consistent quality of spectacle can be produced in the many cities in China that have esports aspirations. Inconsistent quality across Chinese cities might have a blanket effect on Chinese reputation as a whole. Third, as discussed there is the issue of information management in an authoritarian country and the by and large online separation of the domestic and international audience. Lastly, there is the fact that there are no globally popular esports games that have been created from the ground up in China.

Managing Reputation, Esports as Public Diplomacy For China to be truly successful internationally it needs to be regarded positively by both audience and esports professionals to make a successful bid as a global, leading esports country. Due to the bad organization of a number of high-profile tournaments held in China their national reputation as a tournament and esports host is less than stellar. A less than stellar reputation as a tournament host affects not only the audience but also the players and crew for which people flock to a tournament. A common complaint for tournaments held in China is the bad stream quality and production values which is often only focused on the Chinese (mandarin speaking). Two famous examples from the video game Defense of the Ancients are the Shanghai Major in 2016 and the Chongqing Major in 2019. The first is notorious for its huge delays, bad image quality, and bad treatment of staff and players visiting Shanghai (Thursten, 2016). Both from the audience and the players’ perspective the tournament was badly organized as many reported things missing from their hotel rooms, or lacking facilities in general. The second example can be found two years in the “Chongqing major.” This major, while technically sound, was nicknamed the “hospital major” due to many cases of food poisoning among (foreign) staff and players (Mtera, 2019). While these tournaments represent a worst case scenario for China it is emblematic for the stereotypical image that exists for many tournaments and events hosted in or organized by Chinese organizations. It can boost its reputation not only by hosting domestic tournaments but also through proving the capabilities of its domestic organizers in hosting successful tournaments overseas. The 2019 “Disney major” held in Disneyland Paris is an example of this, as this was the first international tournament organized by the Mars Dota League, which, some complaints about overt Chinese or French focus from the English-speaking community notwithstanding, went off without a hitch. This complaint of being “too focused” on the Chinese side of things ties in with a stereotypical discourse of the Chinese esports organizers and community as being

 Esports 69 overly nationalistic. Nationalism, its utilization by the government and its potential impact on foreign investment and reputation esports, can be a potent tool for the reinforcement and maintenance of nationalist sentiment as it involves continuous engagement of teams identified as Chinese versus non-Chinese teams (Ismangil, 2018). Nationalism can also work to alienate foreigners, however, potentially dissuading international investment. The balancing of nationalism by esports stakeholders will prove to be crucial if Chinese esports is to become global, international esports. Esports can serve as a tool for the government to imbue a young generation with new dreams and a nationalist sentiment. It can be an effective vehicle for nationalism (Ismangil, 2018). While, to paraphrase Scholz (2019), esports “grew up in the global, connected internet” this does not make it immune to forms of (digital) tribalism and politicization. Due to its decentralized nature and the fact that there are many “Chinese” teams, as well as different tournament matches of different games being played on a daily basis, esports offers an easy, nearly on-demand space for nationalist sentiment. Nationalism can be both a boon for Chinese esports as it creates strong emotions in its viewers, creating narratives of clashing nations and an emotional payoff when the “Chinese team” emerges victorious (see Si and Jing, 2016; Techweb China, 2018; Ye, 2018; Ismangil, 2018). It can also, however, alienate an international audience, as especially in the online environment interactions between fans can quickly become toxic. Nationalistic framing by Chinese esports can also lead to alienation among an international fan base (why should a Belgium fan care if the team is Chinese). In this sense organizers and teams have to carefully balance their twin audiences, on the one hand playing with narratives of nations and a confrontation with the foreigners while on the other hand not alienating the non-Chinese fan base through use of English language social media, for example, engaging the international audience on their own terms. The negative reputation and stereotypes of esports events organized in China or by Chinese organizations is a painful point. For a spectacle to be delivered properly it has to be perfect, the fact that subpar events have been delivered weakens both the nationalist narrative as well the modernist narrative of a capable China. Nevertheless if Chinese organizers are successful in retrieving their image and boosting their reputation esports can serve as a tool for public diplomacy for the Chinese government. Esports can serve as a neutral space, separating the Chinese and the non-Chinese audience serving spectacle to both. As broadcasting for foreign audience is done on non-Chinese platforms this means that non-Chinese observers have the benefit or appearance of freedom of expression on the one hand while on the other hand witnessing a carefully orchestrated piece of marketing. More and more tournaments serve double as city marketing, overlaying shots of touristic highlights in between games as well as showing pre-recorded vignettes that showcase cultural or touristic highlights. In this regard it falls in line with China’s public diplomacy aims (Rawnsley, 2015), which mean to increase “understanding” of China through public outreach and news outlets. It can help to undermine narratives of state oppression and authoritarianism by bringing foreign (Western?) viewers in contact with carefully contracted images of a “normal” China that embraces esports.

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Chinese Esports Games In an authoritarian country like China, private gaming organizations can only operate with the support or consent of the government. Currently, Western game developers have to rely on Chinese game companies to publish video games in the Chinese market and operate servers for online play in China. This means that the central government in China can retain their influence over video game content through the domestic game companies, for example banning games if they violate certain principles, for example overly excessive violent content. Similarly, esport competitions are organized only legally with the collaboration of local Chinese gaming companies, this results in only few games having a formal competitive arena. Despite the size of the investment and the scale of companies such as Alibaba and Tencent, China has so far not been successful in exporting its own, domestically produced esports games to an international audience. A true, from the ground up esports games created by China, and adopted globally, has yet to be made. How and why certain esports games gain popularity seem impossible to predict. There are many games released each year which feature sizeable esports components and promotion budgets but fall flat quickly. There are many pathways to global esports success. Games like Player’s Unknown Battleground and Fortnite for example enjoy sudden worldwide success, while Dota 2 or Starcraft 2’s success has been built through many years of sustained effort. Domestic (esport) games share difficulties with China’s other creative industries in terms of exporting their products. As has been discussed by many (see Cai, Ting and Pang, 2009), the move from “ made in China” to “ created in China” is one that has still not manifested itself properly. This does not mean that there is cause for too much pessimism in the Chinese camp as industry giants such as Tencent, NetEase, and more recently Alibaba have made substantial investments in both domestic video game creation, esport development, and foreign game acquirement. The broader question, however, is if this investment into domestic development will result in esports games that will gain a foothold outside of China. Closest to a Chinese esports game would be the Tencent’s Honor of Kings, or Arena of Valor as it is known internationally, which enjoys huge domestic popularity but internationally, has not hit the same heights by any margin (Snyder, 2018). Honor of Kings can be regarded as a mobile version of Tencent-owned League of Legends. It has been argued that the game is too reliant on Chinese cultural idioms and might be confusing for a non-Chinese audience (Sue, 2018). This is a similar problem that other creative industries also face in China. If Chinese companies succeed in creating a successful global esports game it will be a great boon to the nationalist narrative and legitimize an up and upcoming video game market that internationally has not had the best reputation due to the perception of China as a copycat nation, as made evident by many popular games today being eerily similar to earlier released games. While companies such as Tencent due to its sheer size is able to buy out many non-Chinese companies and influence game design from that angle (i.e., League of Legends), the fact remains that China does not have one homegrown game among most, if not all internationally popular esports. Many video game companies such

 Esports 71 as Blizzard (of which Tencent owns shares) or Valve recognize the opportunities present in the Chinese market and openly cater to by, for example, creating Chinesethemed video game content and hosting of major tournaments in Chinese locales. Nevertheless, the lack of a global Chinese sourced esports game might prove to be a lacuna in the ideological argument of nationalism as it underlines the narrative of an “uncreative China.”

Conclusion Esports can be a great boon to China. It can not only provide economic benefits in terms of high skill jobs, tourism, and the transformation to a digital economy but also be of great value in terms of projecting Chinese tournament hosts as modern, capable, open, and international. For the domestic audience it provides the government with a powerful channel in which nearly daily international encounters can be framed in nationalist terms. The frequency and scope of esports potentially provide a near endless stream of consumer nationalism, which further enables the esports economy. The manner in which major media such as China Daily or CCTV further pick up China’s international esports successes further amplifies the recognition of esports as a legitimate means of national representation as well as folding it under the umbrella of the Chinese dream. Time spent on pursuing esports in this regard is constructed as young people who pursue their own version of the Chinese dream. Chinese esports has seen a positive turn in recent years with many large international events being hosted all around China, as well as winning major victories in prestigious tournaments. These opportunities not only provide Chinese organizers with chances to boost their international reputation but also give Chinese teams to earn worldwide respect for their skill. While it is President Xi’s ambition to win the football world cup, perhaps it is, at least currently, more realistic to look at the Chinese esports tradition seriously and see how, in stark difference to football, their teams are often respected and admired for their skill, tenacity, and tradition in many esports games For esports to blossom, Chinese companies and government have to carefully balance its engagement with both the local and foreign audiences, engaging with nationalism while simultaneously projecting an image of an international and welcoming China to its international audience. Reputation management will prove to be a key issue in the coming years for Chinese esports as it has to battle both a stigma due to mismanagement of several high-profile tournaments and the more general issue of bad reputation due to their closed off, authoritarian nature. Relying on the strength of the domestic market has so far proven to be a successful strategy as China’s esports economy will or has already surpassed Western Europe’s but in the long term the development of an international fan base and reputation will be paramount to secure both a healthy esports economy and maintain the nationalist tradition. China needs both talent and infrastructure, and developing both will be key in becoming an esports frontrunner. Especially in the light of the professionalization of esport and the combination alongside regular sporting events such as the 2022 Asian Games in

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Hangzhou. This event might prove to be a litmus test for China to show to the world its capabilities similar to the Olympic Games in 2008. China is well positioned to be a global leader in esports development. They are rapidly developing their infrastructure and industry, and perhaps more importantly have a burgeoning esports culture among their youth. This culture if harnessed probably can set up China to dominate esports on the competitive level, which might mean the respect of a growing audience worldwide. Chinese esports versions of Ronaldo or Federer admired worldwide might be a possibility in the near future. A boon for both the economy and the potential for image projection in the hearts and minds of a large mostly young international audience.

Acknowledgments This research project was funded by a grant from the Research Grant Council of HKSAR (Project no. GRF 14617716) and the Key Fund of the National Social Science Foundation of China: Arts category (18ZD12).

Notes 1 See Yue (2018) for a summary of the negative health aspects. 2 LGD is one of the major esports brands in China (and the world), recently partnering with the football TEAM PSG (Murray, 2018). 3 Originally utilized for the 2010 world expo. 4 The mobile version of PUBG has also been banned in India citing similar reasons of “promoting violence” and propagating “addiction” (Jones, 2019).

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Keane, M. (2006). “From Made in China to Created in China.” International Journal of Cultural Studies, 9(3), 285–96. https://doi​.org​/10​.1177​/1367877906066875 Lei, X., and Xia, S. (2005). “Dui woguo dianzijingji tiyuchanye fazhan xianzhaung ji duice sikao [Research on the Current Situation and Strategy Consideration on the Development Way of E-Sports Games Industry in China].” Journal of Beijing Sport University, 28(8), 1033–5. Liu, L., and Zhu, T. (2007). “Woguo dianzijingjitiuchanyehua de fazhandaolu [Development of E-Sports Games Industry in China].” Journal of Shandong Institute of Physical Education and Sports, 23(6), 32–4. Liu, L. (2016). “China Rules E-Sports.” Retrieved June 24, 2019, from https​:/​/fo​​reign​​polic​​y​. com​​/2016​​/08​/2​​6​/chi​​na​-ru​​les​-e​​-spor​​ts​-ti​​6​-dot​​a​2​-wh​​at​-th​​at​-me​​ans- for-future-e-sportsmarket/ Liu, Q. (2010). “Lun woguo dianzijingjitiyuchanye de fazhan jiyu tiaozhan yu duice. [eSports Games Industry in China Opportunity Challenge and Counter Measures].” Journal of Eastern Liaoning University, 12(4), 60–4. Lu, Z. (2016). “E-sports in China: History, Issues and Challenges.” Retrieved June 24, 2019, from https​:/​/th​​easia​​dialo​​gue​.c​​om​/20​​16​/11​​/10​/e​​-spor​​ts​-in​​-chin​​a​-​his​​tory-​​issue​​ s- and-challenges/ Mtera. (2019). “The Hospital Major: All the People Who Got Sick in Chongqing.” Retrieved June 24, 2019, from https​:/​/we​​play.​​tv​/ne​​ws​/th​​e​-hos​​pital​​-majo​​r​-all​​-the-​​peopl​​ e​​-who​​-got-​​sick-​ in-chongqing-12599 Murray, T. (2018). “Paris Saint-Germain Expands to China, Partners with LGD Gaming.” Retrieved June 28, 2019, from https​:/​/es​​ports​​obser​​ver​.c​​om​/pa​​ris​-s​​aint-​​germa​​in​-ex​​ pands​​-chin​​a​-par​​t​ners​​-lgd-​​gamin​​g/ Newzoo (2020). “Newzoo Global Esports Market Report 2020.” Retrieved March 27, 2019, from https​:/​/ne​​wzoo.​​com​/i​​nsigh​​ts​/tr​​end​-r​​eport​​s​/new​​zoo​-g​​lobal​​-espo​​rts​-m​​arket​​-repo​​ rt​-​20​​20​-li​​ght​-v​​ersio​​n/ Nielsen, R. K. L., and Karhulahti, V. M. (2017, August). “The Problematic Coexistence of ‘Internet Gaming Disorder’ and Esports.” In Proceedings of the 12th International Conference on the Foundations of Digital Games (pp. 1–4). Hyannis Massachusetts (https://dl.acm.org/doi/proceedings/10.1145/3102071). Pannekeet, J. (2019). “Newzoo: Global Esports Economy Will Top $1 Billion for the First Time in 2019.” Retrieved June 24, 2019, from https​:/​/ne​​wzoo.​​com​/i​​nsigh​​ts​/ar​​ticle​​s​/new​​ zoo​-g​​lobal​​-espo​​rts​-e​​con​om​​y​-wil​​l​-top​​-1- billion-for-the-first-time-in-2019/ People’s Daily. (2018a). “Zhe zhi ‘Guojiadui,’ ye xiang na jinpay. [This ‘National Team’ Wants to Grab Gold].” Retrieved March 27, 2020, from http:​/​/pap​​er​.pe​​ople.​​com​.c​​n​/rmr​​ bhwb/​​html/​​2018-​​08​/15​​/cont​​e​nt​_1​​87476​​7​.htm​ People’s Daily. (2018b). “Hangzhou dazao Zhongguo diangjing xinlanghai dianjing shule zhongxin zhengshi kaiyuan [Hangzhou to Build China’s e-Sports New Blue Sea e-Sports Entertainment Center Officially Opened].” Retrieved June 24, 2019, from http:​/​/gam​​e​.peo​​ple​.c​​om​.cn​​/n1​/2​​018​/1​​119​/c​​40130​​​-3040​​9010.​​html Pun, B., Yin, Y., and Fung, A. (2019). “eSports Gamers in China: Career Lifestyle and Public Discourse Among Professional League of Legends Competitors.” In P. PenixTadsen (Ed.), Video Games in the global South (pp. 183–96). Pittsburgh, PA: Carnegie Mellon University: ETC Press. Rawnsley, G. D. (2015). “To Know Us is to Love Us: Public Diplomacy and International Broadcasting in Contemporary Russia and China.” Politics, 35(3–4): 273–86. doi:10.1111/1467-9256.12104

 Esports 75 Reuters. (2019). “Tencent Shuts ‘PUBG’ in China, Shifts Users to a Patriotic Video Game.” Retrieved June 24, 2019, from https​:/​/ww​​w​.bus​​iness​​today​​.in​/t​​op​-st​​ory​/t​​en​cen​​t​-shu​​tspubg-​in-ch​ina-s​hifts​-user​s-to-​a-pat​rioti​c-vid​eo-ga​me/st​ory/3​​44613​​.h​tml​ Rosen, S. (2009). “Contemporary Chinese Youth and the State.” The Journal of Asian Studies, 68(2), 359–69. https​:/​/do​​i​.org​​/10​.1​​017​/S​​00219​​118​09​​00063​1 Scholz, T. (2019). Esports Is Business: Management in the World of Competitive Gaming. New York, US: Springer. Si, Ma and Jing, M. (2016). “Chinese e-Sports Team Wins $9.1 M.” Retrieved June 24, 2019, from http:​/​/usa​​.chin​​adail​​y​.com​​.cn​/2​​016​-0​​8​/15/​​conte​​nt​_2​6​​48066​​7​.htm​l Sigmaintell. (2019). “2018 nian zhongguodalu dianjingchanyefenxi yu 2019 nian zhan wang [An Analysis of China’s eSport Market in 2018 and a Forecast in 2019].” Retrieved June 29, 2019 from https​:/​/di​​splay​​.ofwe​​ek​.co​​m​/201​​9​-01/​​ART​-8​​3​2130​​5​-842​​ 0- 30295335​.ht​ml Sina. (2015). “Tiyu zongju dianjingbumen: jiang zuojian dianjingguoneidui [Sports General Administration e-Sports Department: Will Set Up a National eSports Team].” Retrieved June 26, 2019, from http:​/​/lol​​.dj​.s​​ina​.c​​om​.cn​​/2015​​-11​-1​​2​/fxk​​sqiu1​​​53249​​7​. sht​​ml Sina Technology. (2018). “Wangyoudaode weiyuanhui pingyi xu xiugai youxi yi puguang yinggonglianmeng zailie [Online Game Ethics Committee Comments Need to Modify the Indecent Exposure of League of Legends in the Column].” Retrieved June 24, 2019, from https​:/​/te​​ch​.si​​na​.co​​m​.cn/​​i​/201​​8​-12-​​12​/do​​c​-ihq​​acka​a​​62666​​68​.sh​​tml Sing Tao Daily (2019). “Jiucheng zhangdui Shiben. Dianjing shichangxianpaomo [Ninety Percent of the Team Faces Loss. There Are Bubbles in the eSport Market].” Retrieved June 30, 2019, from https​:/​/hd​​.sthe​​adlin​​e​.com​​/news​​/real​​time/​​hk​​/15​​31656​/即時-港​ 聞-九成戰​隊蝕本-電​競市場現泡​沫 Snyder, M. (2018). China’s Digital Game Sector (p. 31). United States of America: U.S.China Economic and Security Review Commission. Sue, J. (2018). “Culture Clash: Why Arena of Valor Is Struggling in America.” Retrieved June 25, 2019, from https​:/​/ww​​w​.gam​​esind​​ustry​​.biz/​​artic​​les​/2​​018​-0​​8​-10-​​cultu​​​re​-cl​​ash​ -w​​hy- arena-of-valor-is-struggling-in-america Szablewicz, M. (2011). From Addicts to Athletes: Participation in the Discursive Construction of Digital Games in Urban China. Association of Internet Researchers, 21. Seattle, United Status: Association for Internet Researchers. Szablewicz, M. (2016). “A Realm of Mere Representation? ‘Live’ e-Sports Spectacles and the Crafting of China’s Digital Gaming Image.” Games and Culture, 11(3), 256–74. https://doi​.org​/10​.1177​/1555412015595298 Techweb China. (2018). “Zhongguo xuanshou huo huo Esport Superstars lu shi chuanshuo ‘quanqiu zong guangjun’ [Chinese Athletes Won 2018heartstone’s Global eSport Superstars Championship].” Retrieved June 24, 2019, from http:​/​/www​​.tech​​web​ .c​​om​.cn​​/onli​​negam​​eespo​​rts​/2​​018​-1​​2​-17/​​​27172​​03​.sh​​tml Thursten, C. (2016). “The Comedy and Tragedy of the Dota 2 Shanghai Major.” Retrieved June 24, 2019, from https​:/​/ww​​w​.pcg​​amer.​​com​/t​​he​-co​​medy-​​and​-t​​raged​​y​-of​-​​the​-d​​ota​2​- shanghai-major/ Tian, K. (2000). “Woguo tiyuchanye de fazhan jiqi kenengxing fenxi [Analysis of Development and Feasibility of Chinese Sports Industry].” Journal of Beijing University of Physical Education, 23(3), 308–10. Yang, G. (2011). “Technology and Its Contents: Issues in the Study of the Chinese Internet.” The Journal of Asian Studies, 70(4), 1043–50.

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5

Historiography of Korean Esports Perspectives on Spectatorship Dal Yong Jin

Introduction In the late 2010s, millions of global youth participated in esports as gamers and viewers every day. With the rapid growth of various game platforms, in particular, online and mobile, people around the world enjoy these new cultural activities. From elementary school students to college students, to people in their early careers, global youth are deeply involved in esports, referring to an electronic sport and the leagues in which players compete through networked games and related activities, including the broadcasting of game leagues (Jin, 2010; T. L. Taylor, 2012). As esports attract crowds of millions more through online video streaming services like Twitch, the activity’s popularity as one of the most enjoyable sports and business products continues to soar. With that said, there were several game competitions before this boom period, as far back as several decades ago. Already in the 1950s the foundation stone of digital games “was laid and with it the competition on PC or console” (Larch, 2019b, para. 1). When Tennis for Two—known as the first video game, created by William Higinbotham, in 1958, in the United States—came out, it had esports potential. The game design allowed for spectating, as it was possible to follow the match between two players, leading to a public spectacle. At that time, people were already watching other people play video games (Kalning, 2008; Scholz, 2019). In the 1970s and the 1980s, arcade games were popular, and several major competitions attracted many game players and fans (Borowy and Jin, 2013). Of course, although some people watched game competitions, this did not mean that mass spectatorship (the increasing involvement of mass media in mass competition events like esports, with people not only playing but also watching other players’ games and sharing their opinions for fun) occurred immediately, nor was it televised on screens. Back then, computers were also expensive, and most people could not enjoy this particular entertainment medium (Scholz, 2019; T. L. Taylor, 2018).

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It was during the 1990s that people started to compete with each other offline, which means that esports in our contemporary terms has had such a short history and exploded like a cornucopia. In other words, in the 1990s, it became clear that the future of competitive gaming would be found in PCs and networks. As hardware became more and more affordable and more powerful, PCs became interesting for private households and thus also for the gaming industry. In the mid-1990s, the first big LAN parties were held at which gamers could compete with each other. However, not only on a large scale, but above all on a small scale, gaming over the network exerted an ever-increasing fascination. More and more gamers met at small network sessions and gambled their favorite games. (Larch, 2019b, para. 16)

Several countries, including the United States, Germany, and Australia, developed the early form of esports. Two gaming leagues that formed in the United States in 1997 are attributed to jump-starting the contemporary history of esports: the Professional Gamers League (PGL) and the Cyberathlete Professional League (CPL). The PGL—a LAN-based tournament organization—was one of the first professional computer gaming leagues. It was run by Total Entertainment Network, partnered with Advanced Micro Devices (AMD), and was one of the first online professional organizations for computer game players (“Short Take,” 1997). The CPL was formed in the United States with the goal of regulating gaming competitions (T. L. Taylor, 2012). However, in no other country did esports become more popular than in South Korea (henceforth, Korea) in the late 1990s, which established Seoul as the home of esports (Larch, 2019a). Although Korea is not the first country to have developed esports, Korea has been known as the capital of esports (Yu, 2015), a mecca of esports (“Seoul Is a Mecca,” 2019), a juggernaut of esports (Barrett, 2016), and a suzerain of esports (Han, 2008) by both national and international media and game players. When Blizzard Entertainment (2018) offered Seoul the opportunity to host the Hearthstone Championship Tour in May 2018, it called Seoul the unofficial capital of esports as well. As Rea (2016) aptly observes, “not only have esports had a significant impact on Korean popular culture, Korea has also influenced the development of global esports” (p. 22). The New York Times (Mozur, 2014) also indicates that for Korea, esports is a national pastime, although this was a bit of an exaggeration because digital gaming was mainly for those in their late teens and their twenties during the early stage of development. Nevertheless, there is no serious academic discourse on the early history of Korean esports and spectatorship, whether targeting the entire public or narrowing the scope to those in their teens and twenties. As a historiography of esports in Korea, this chapter documents the very early esports era, which played a major role in developing Korea’s esports scene, between the late 1990s and the early 2000s. It articulates the historical backgrounds for the emergence of esports in tandem with Korea’s unique sociocultural milieu. In so doing, it attempts to identify the major players and events that contributed to the formation of

 Historiography of Korean Esports 79 esports culture, in particular mass spectatorship. It periodizes the early Korean esports scene into three major periods—namely, the introduction of PC communications like Hitel until 1998, the introduction of StarCraft and PC bang, and the emergence of esports broadcasting and the institutionalization of spectatorship in the Korean context until 2002. To discuss the early esports scene, this chapter interprets several underused trade magazines and popular media articles, including game magazines like Kyunghyang Games and Game Donga, mainly between the late 1990s and the early 2000s. Online blogs and discussion boards of the late 1990s on PC communications like Chollian were also identified and examined. These data were sporadically found in several online sources, and I carefully checked them in comparison with newspapers and weekly magazines of the same period to guarantee credibility.

Spectatorship in Esports Esports has grown and evolved over the past twenty years. Unlike previous game competitions in the 1970s and the 1980s, one distinctive dimension for the recent growth of esports is mass spectatorship, which means that the involvement of mass competition events and broadcasting channels became a turning point for esports. Again, there were several early game competitions in several countries; however, esports was first popularized in Korea. Korea created the early boom of esports, both nationally and globally, as internet cafés, known as PC bangs, fostered an environment of competition and spectatorship as early as 1998. As time progressed, friendly competitions grew into tournaments, and professional leagues, professional game teams, and superstars were rapidly formed. In particular, spectators became fans, and new web communities were established (Cheung and Huang, 2011). Consequently, it has become a twenty-firstcentury spectator sport (Hutchins, 2008), which is even more popular than other sports such as baseball and basketball, as hundreds of thousands of fans turn up at esports arenas to support their favorite players while enjoying games together. The esports industry heavily relies on mass audiences to grow; however, little critical attention has been paid to the activities and perspectives of spectators—to those who attend esports events in person and watch esports online or through traditional media (N. Taylor, 2016). As N. Taylor (2016) points out, “there has been little attempt thus far in studies of esports to attend to the embodied work of watching” (p. 294). As briefly discussed, esports mainly refers to an electronic sport and the leagues in which players compete through networked games and related activities, including broadcasting of game leagues, which means that it is crucial to analyze esports comprehensively—not only the professional gamers but also broadcasting, including online streaming services and audiences in terms of their spectatorship. In particular, Paradise (2018) points out, “for any particular game to become a sport, it needs three core components: competition, tournaments, and spectators” (para. 3) core elements contribute to the esports industry’s rise as a new major spectator sport: “streamed competitions with organized leagues, professional players that can be viewed anywhere, and live events in major offline sports venues” (Paradise, 2018, para. 8). As

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Gibbs, Carter, Cumming, Fordyce, and Witkowski (2018) point out with the case of esports spectatorship in Australia, a significant body of academic research into esports practice, such as the performance, play, professionalization, and appeal of competitive digital gaming, has been established over the past decade (e.g.,  N. Taylor, 2016, cited in Gibbs et al., 2018; T. L. Taylor, 2012). These scholars focused on the major role of players, professionalization, game tournaments, and the industry (Gibbs et al., 2018). However, the study of spectatorship should also be conducted as a significant component of research in the esports area. Spectatorship is one of the most significant and valuable assets of esports as it is the foundation for the growth of esports. Without fans and audiences, esports cannot grow. Here, the spectator refers to the person who follows the in-game experience, but who is not a direct participant in the game. People watch esports for the entertainment value it provides, and therefore entertainment is at the heart of every spectator sport (Cheung and Huang, 2011). In this regard, Jonathan Beales, an esports organizer and commentator, says the crowd is part of the experience. They [the crowd] get behind their teams in the same way people do at football games. The crowd will roar when a map or level is completed, there is a sigh of disappointment for a mistake. Make no mistake, this is a spectator sport. The demographic is aged between 12 to 45, some with ambitions of making it as a pro player. Then when a team comes offstage there is a clamber for selfies and signatures as fans look to get their shirts and posters signed by the pro players. The players love the adoration, and the fans get to see and talk to their heroes close up. (Arthur and Stuart, 2014, para. 8)

The spectatorship of esports has rapidly grown over the past ten years. For example, the total Dota 2 championship audience of 2018 was similar in size to the total number tuning into the Kentucky Derby, and larger than Tour de France audiences, underscoring the global dimension of competitive gaming: Given esports’ popularity among younger [Americans], growth appears to be a given in the U.S. as well. A 2018 Washington Post–University of Massachusetts Lowell poll found, for instance, that 58% of 14-to-21-year-olds said they watched live or recorded video of people playing competitive video games, with a similar percentage reporting that they played such games themselves. Among adults overall, just 16% said they watched competitive video gaming. (Ingraham, 2018, para. 12)

Though it remains to be seen whether competitive gaming will ever be bigger than the NFL in revenue, the two are running neck and neck on a potentially even more important metric: popularity among younger fans. The Washington Post poll found that 38 percent of young Americans identified as fans of esports or competitive gaming, similar to the 40 percent who said they were fans of the NFL (Ingraham, 2018).

 Historiography of Korean Esports 81 As such, esports has a close relationship with spectatorship, which means that both broadcasting and online streaming services are significant in esports as audiences now become an even more integral part of esports. Because of the significance of the role of media, it is critical to understand the history of esports in conjunction with media, both old and new, and spectatorship.

Role of PC Communication in the Pre-Esports Era The first kind of esports, consisting of professional gamers, leagues, and spectatorship, started in Korea in the late 1990s. In the 1990s, the public also witnessed the rise of the indispensable internet and the World Wide Web (WWW). The internet connected video gamers through the web so that online competitive gaming was made possible. Internet connectivity also gave rise to the growth in popularity of online games, instead of just console games. In Korea, more than anywhere else, esports already oozed into mainstream culture. Korea provided glimpses of technology-related transformations before they expanded globally, including widespread, high-speed internet availability and smartphone adoption. Korea also led in esports, creating organized leagues, training well-financed pro-teams and filling giant game stadiums with frenzied fans as spectators to cheer on their favorite teams and players (Mozur, 2014). In the early stage of Korean esports, several factors created the environment for the activity to thrive, almost at the same time: When Koreans embraced the concept of esports in the late 90s, they went all in. Rallying behind StarCraft: Brood War, Korea would build the esports culture it is today around the Blizzard game, naturally making it the most popular esport game of all time in Korea. In 2000, a governing esports body, called the Korea e-Sports Association (KeSPA) was formed. Tournaments were hosted with money on the line. Teams were created, filled with players, managers, and coaches. Esports started being shown on TV which led to the biggest bump to esports development—the inclusion of big sponsors such as Samsung, Korean Air, and Asiana who played huge roles in the booming esports scene. From here onwards, Korea emerge as the esports haven of the world. Only in the mid-2000s did the West start to slowly catch on to the esports wave and Korea was miles ahead. (Yu, 2015, paras 12–13)

As expected, when esports became a popular event in Korea, it was at first not a televised event, but a small game community event in tandem with fan activities on personal computers. In the late 1990s, two major technological breakthroughs played key roles for the formation of esports. One was the growth of PC communications, and the other was the growth of PC bang (internet cafés). Early digital game culture as part of people’s activities and their online communities was not on the internet itself, but on personal computer (PC) communications developed in the 1980s and the 1990s (Jo, 2017). A new type of network service—PC communications—was developed in 1984 when

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DACOM’s Hangul Mail was invented, and then was consolidated in 1986 as Chollian— the largest PC communications system at that time. Meanwhile, the KETEL (Korea Electronic Economic Daily TELepress) service that began in 1988 was reorganized as Hitel and soon became the most prominent PC communications service. This type of online communication using PC communications operated as a separate service, independent from the internet, until 1995, when regular PC network users were able to connect to the internet using commercial networks. The most notable significance of PC communications is that they contributed to the development of the concept of online communities, including game communities (Chun, Park, Kang, and Lee, 2005). Before the invention of the WWW, people used only text to communicate with each other. In the late 1990s, there were 100 game-related communities at Hitel, and around 400‒500 game communities with 35,000 people who were members at the game communities at Chollian (Chae, 2000). PC communications certainly helped people, in particular Korean youth, to organize online forums to discuss and exchange information, as well as to establish clubs among people with similar hobbies. Many Korean youth began to communicate with one another through boards, and game communities were among the most popular online communities. PC communications, followed by the rapid growth of PC bangs, greatly contributed to the growth of the early stage of esports. As discussed earlier, there were many online community members who played and enjoyed digital games. Based on the growth of game communities and PC bangs, the first professional game league (Korea Pro Gamers League; KPGL) was started by Hitel in December 1997. The development of this early esports league had been made possible by the information technology revolution and rapid expansion in the availability, capabilities, and popularity of interactive digital communications technologies, which Korea developed enormously (Hutchins, 2008). Hitel held the KPGL competition four times in 1998. During the same year, IPac Net and PC bang chains together established another game league titled StarCraft-KPGL. The Korean game world considers 1998 as the first year of esports due to the competition between these two game leagues, which attracted many gamers to become part of esports (Yoo, 1999). Of course, these game leagues were different from esports leagues in the early twenty-first century, as they mainly focused on offline competition at PC bangs while excluding online game competitions. Although StarCraft was one of the major games for these early esports leagues, there were several more games, like Rainbow Six, Quake, and FIFA series games. As discussed in the next section, the shift of the major venue to online gaming, from PC communications to PC bang, became a turning point in developing spectatorship culture.

StarCraft, PC Bangs, and the Emergence of the Esports Era in the Late 1990s When StarCraft, a game released by Blizzard Entertainment in 1998, made its way to Korea, it quickly became a mainstay of Korean esports. With investment and

 Historiography of Korean Esports 83 organizational help from Blizzard itself, professional tournaments in Korea outgrew the cramped PC bangs, first moving to hotel ballrooms and later stadiums (Mozur, 2014). It is not inaccurate to claim that a full-swing esports phenomenon started with StarCraft. As Stephen Rea (2019) points out, the release of StarCraft, a sci-fi-themed online strategy game, was “a boon for Korean digital gaming culture, arriving as it did at the height of PC bang expansion. StarCraft became a pop culture sensation in Korean seemingly overnight” (p. 120). During the IMF (International Monetary Fund) financial crisis era right after 1997, which was the worst economic recession in Korean history, many people were unable to buy their own copies of StarCraft, but they were able to enjoy games at PC bang. Luckily for them, the first internet connections were already introduced in 1994 with the name of BNC (Bit Communication Café) in Seoul. People connected to the internet via dial-up modems. At that time, uses for networks mainly consisted of text-based bulletin board systems or services (BBS), not the internet we know it today, with graphical web browsers. The internet was limited to the concerns of enthusiasts. In 1995, the first commercial examples of internet cafés, providing faster connections, began to emerge (Huhh, 2007; S. H. Lee, 2016). These internet cafés were called such as Model Café, Network Café, and Cyber Café, and people could play simple games like Go. Koreans who did not have internet connections at home came to check emails or printed out documents at these PC bangs. However, as people mainly used these cafés to meet with friends, like at coffee shops, the contemporary form of PC bang, with PCs installed on a large scale, therefore made revenues from hourly rental fees from the users starting in 1996, and this kind of PC bang exploded in popularity with the introduction of high-speed internet service and StarCraft in 1998 (S. H. Lee, 2016). The hourly fees at PC bang were less than $1, which was cheaper than that of a billiards room. People especially poured into PC bangs to play StarCraft. The convergence of PC bang as a new physical place and StarCraft as a game that people could play against each other through the internet brought a culture shock, becoming a social sensation in Korean society (Im, 2009). Here, a common misunderstanding is the relationship between the rapid growth of PC bang and the Korean government’s information and communication technology (ICT) policy. Some popular magazines and newspapers, including The New York Times (Mozur, 2014), and academic works (e.g., Li, 2016) claimed that the Korean government focused on telecommunications and internet infrastructure in response to the 1997 financial crisis; however, this is a far cry from the truth, as the sudden growth of PC bang was made possible because people who left big corporations in the middle of the crisis started to open PC bangs. The Korean government developed its ICT policy in the late 1990s to build national infrastructure like broadband (Li, 2016), which eventually helped the boom of PC bang. However, the swift growth of PC bang itself was not the result of the government’s ICT policy. Once StarCraft was released, many gamers became interested in this new game, and on a large scale participated in various competitions. PC bang rapidly became a venue for esports. Early Korean (pro) gamers participated in game competitions on Blizzard’s Battle​.ne​t, which was launched on December 31, 1996.

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Battle​.n​et was the first online gaming service of its kind, and game players could connect to the service remotely to play Diablo. As popularity of this service increased, features such as ladder rankings and game filters were added. The release of StarCraft in 1998 increased usage of the Battle​.n​et service significantly (Chaves, 2011). Several Korean game players achieved huge success through competitive play on Battle​.ne​t, and they consequently became the first generation of Korean professional gamers in the late 1990s and the early 2000s. More specifically, in 1998 the number of PCs and internet-equipped houses was very low, so most gamers had to go to play at PC bang. Through word-of-mouth advertising, teens and people in their early twenties started to learn about StarCraft and created so-called PC bang culture. In fact, StarCraft in conjunction with PC bang changed Korean youth’s life patterns. Until the mid-1990s, young people used to get together at billiards room and electronic game room (bang in Korea); however, in the late 1990s, they started to go to PC bang to play StarCraft. For them, it was a culture shock to know that they could compete with people through networks anytime and anyplace, which triggered the growth of PC bang. Recognizing StarCraft’s appeal among their customers, “PC bang owners began organizing informal tournaments that laid the groundwork for a televised, professional StarCraft league with sponsorship from companies like Korea Telecom and Samsung, as well as the Ministry of Culture, Sports and Tourism” (Rea, 2019, 120). Korean esports traces its origins to informal tournaments that PC bang managers organized among their patrons. Customers, mainly Korean youth, flocked to PC bang not only to play games but also to watch PC bang regulars go head to head, which evidenced video gaming’s value position as a spectator sport (Rea, 2019): PC bang owners began to observe a strange phenomenon among their customers. Not only were people flocking to PC bang to play StarCraft, they were also coming to watch others play. Soon, PC bang began organizing informal competitions in which the best players built their reputations in the community, developed rivalries, and even cultivated fan followings. Before long, PC bang franchises realized that they could use these competitions as marketing tools, and began sponsoring individual players and teams, marking the beginning of professional Korean esports. (Rea, 2016, 23)

A typical case would have been small-scale local StarCraft contests that were popular. Before the official establishment of the esports industry, PC bangs often sponsored StarCraft contests of their own: While Battle​.n​et—a service provided by the developer [of StarCraft] to make online matches among players—was a reliable large-scale scoring board for the competition, players often wanted to contend and compete directly in the same offline space. These early local contests founded what would become the burgeoning esports industry in Korea. Aside from competitions in Battle​.ne​t, Korean players derived much pleasure in playing StarCraft with players whilst

 Historiography of Korean Esports 85 sharing the same physical environment. Even today, professional league players (“pro-leagues”) of the game still conduct preliminary elimination contests in PC bangs. A PC bang is still the ground for aspiring esports superstars. (Huhh, 2007, 6)

Under this circumstance, the introduction of the notion of professional gamers (or pro-gamers) started in 1998. Although Korean youth played on PC communications, there was no concept of professional gamers in the realm of digital games. Some game players seemed to compete against each other, and their major goal was to play for fun and recognition by peers, but not for money. The awards for winning in some PC bang-hosted competitions included discount coupons or free admission to PC bangs, for example. The early game leagues provided small money rewards or eliminated their fees at PC bang. In December 1998, Shin Ju-young won the Blizzard Ladder Tournament, became the first registered Korean in the PGL, and was introduced as a professional gamer in Korea for the first time in game history. Shin often played games at PC bang. In 1999, he regularly went to PC bang around 2:00 p.m. daily and connected to Battle​.n​et for StarCraft—Blizzard’s online matchmaking service. Shin Ju-young would regularly play until 8:00 a.m. the next day, which means that he used to play games for more than fifteen hours per day. Through these game tournaments, he started to earn money, as he received around $2,000–$10,000 when he won the championship game. He also made some extra money by participating in exhibition games at newly opening PC bangs. New PC bangs around the country wanted to attract young gamers, so they invited a few famous gamers and offered exhibition games. People’s interests, in particular young people’s interests, in esports started around that time, as they believed that they could also become world champions with games while making money. However, because there were no regular game leagues, nor pro-game teams that paid salaries, the income of these early pro-gamers was still marginal (“World Champion,” 1999). Several offline competition events also started, and the first esports league in the field of online gaming started in 1997 in Korea. In December 1997, PC bang chains offered the first national online gaming league, the KPGL. The KPGL organized as an offline game league. Players competed against each other in many PC bangs, and the best few were selected for its final offline games. Two of the first offline game leagues, NetClub and KPGL, were born. Shin won the first NetClub league to earn $10,000, and Lee Gi-suk won the first two KPGL leagues. Lee Gi-suk—known by his ID SSamjang— won the first and second KPGL championship games and became a national star. This was the time when the first game team, SG—supported by PC bang chain company Chung Oh Information and Telecommunication—started (“Esports 10 Years,” 2010). As such, the use of PC communications and Battle​.n​et played major roles in the formation of professional gamers and esports in the late 1990s. Lee Gi-suk seized one of the only championships that mattered—Blizzard’s official Ladder Tournament. StarCraft was at the apex of its popularity in Korea, and the victory made him an instant celebrity. He also earned a starring role in a national television advertisement for internet provider KORNET (Korea Internet), giving him a

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level of mainstream recognition that may not have been matched even to this date. His yearly salary at its peak was approximately $44,000, dropping to only $2,600 several years later as he did not win any championship games (J. H. Cho and Woo, 2017). In October 2000, the Ministry of Culture, Sports, and Tourism and Samsung partnered to host the first World Cyber Games, “a global esports competition modeled after the Olympics” (Rea, 2019, 120). In other words, thanks to developments in Korea, the first global esports league was held in Seoul in 2000. “StarCraft’s intricate depth became an escape from the real world for players like Lim Yo-Hwan” (Li, 2016, 39). In 2002, progaming was recognized as an official job category in Korea, further legitimizing the world of esports (Jin, 2010; Rea, 2016, 23). As a reflection of the sudden popularity of esports, professional gamer became the most popular job category for elementary school students. For example, according to a survey conducted by the Korea Research Institute for Vocational Education and Training in 2001, pro-gamer was the most popular future job for the first time in history, followed by sport athletics, computer technicians, scientists, and developers. The influences of pro-gamers were compared with famous sport stars and talents (“Changing History,” 2016; Han, 2008). With the expansion of PC bangs in tandem with the soaring popularity of StarCraft, the number of esports games also rapidly increased. In 1999, there were twenty-five esports games in Korea, but it increased to fifty-one in 2000 even before the esports broadcasting era. As a reflection of esports’ growing role as youth culture and a potential tool for boosting corporate and institutional images, several agencies, including telecom companies like Hanaro Telecom and KORNET; big corporations like Samsung and Hyundai Securities Co.; media like Sport Seoul, Tooniverse, Sport Today, Digital Chosun, and SBS; and universities like Hoseo University hosted esports games. The success of StarCraft and esports in Korea drove local game developers to create new online games as well. For example, NCSoft’s Lineage I, an MMORPG (massively multiplayer online role-play game) made in 1998, immediately became a big hit, which helped to start Korea’s golden age of online game development and early spectatorship.

From Participation to Observation: Growing Esports Spectatorship Digital game competition finally met with media to form esports when Tooniverse broadcasted a FIFA series World Cup 98 game, which also became a turning point toward mass spectatorship. When StarCraft syndrome swept Korea, Hwang Hyun Joon, a television producer at Tooniverse, who also broadcasted the FIFA World Cup 98 video game, proposed to create video game programming. What he planned was to create a broadcasting program based on the boom of StarCraft by making a game league. In the late 1990s, however, he was not able to easily find a studio for the game league, as digital games were looked on disparagingly by many Koreans, and nobody

 Historiography of Korean Esports 87 wanted to lend space for gaming. Alternatively, he established a ministudio on top of a table tennis table on the ground level of Tooniverse. Producer Hwang recruited Jung Il Hoon, a sportscaster, and later Lim Chae Kyung, who worked as an animation producer. They started to broadcast Hitel KPGL in March 1999—the first esports league televised in Korea—and they became key members in establishing OnGameNet (OGN), the first ever game-dedicated television channel (J. Y. Kim, 2013). OGN became the first online game specialty channel in the world and opened the world’s first esports-dedicated stadium (Jin, 2010). Esports and mass spectatorship grew with the live broadcasting of competitions on cable channels, followed by networks, which expedited the growth of esports and spectatorship among young Korean people. As T. L. Taylor (2012) correctly observes, the power of computer games is seen first and foremost as located in the way they ask us to interact with them, to be engaged. The classic formulation of engagement within game studies says it is direct action upon the game that signifies the heart of the play experience. (181)

However, with the involvement of television, the concept of watching computer game matches by spectators was popularized, which fundamentally changed the nature of computer games. Hitel and Tooniverse, again, established a game-only channel named OnGameNet in 2000. OGN (formerly OnGameNet) is a cable television channel that specializes in broadcasting video game-related content and esports matches. OGN was previously a subsidiary of On Media, the parent company of several other cable channels. After a corporate merger in 2010, it is now owned by CJ E&M—the largest media company in Korea. OGN (Chung, 2000) planned to develop a two-way broadcasting system to reflect the increasing demand by gamers and players, while developing the cable channel’s competitiveness. It broadcasted game-related content for twelve hours per day starting in July 2000. Originally starting out as a television program to follow the rising popularity of StarCraft, the successful growth of broadcast gaming allowed the Starleague in 2000 to become its own dedicated channel on OGN. Starting out with a small prize sum and very few followers, Starleague grew tremendously. It helped to catapult electronic gaming into a major competitive and watchable sport. Interestingly enough, during the first Starleague, Guillaume Patry, known as “Grrrr . . .” from Canada became the first and only non-Korean to win an individual Starleague. After dominating the first few online leagues arranged by Blizzard Entertainment and AMD Professional Gamers League in the United States, he turned his eyes to Korea and moved to Seoul in 2000. During the same period, the term “esports” was established in Korea. In the 1990s, several countries, including the United States, already used the term “electronic sports”; however, Koreans used cyber athletics, digital athletics, or pro-gaming to explain esports. With the rapid growth of online gaming and game competitions, Korea needed a proper term. Timely enough, the term “esports” was presented by Ji-Won Park, minister of the Department of Culture and Tourism, in February 2000, when

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he first used the term at the inaugural meeting of the KeSPA. It immediately became an official term indicating online game competitions and related activities, including pro-game teams, broadcasting, and fan community activities ever since (Ministry of Culture, Sports, and Tourism, 2008; Samsung Economic Research Institute, 2005). Back to the early game television channel, OGN technically opened the watchable esports market by developing its camera techniques. Korea’s esports world especially claimed that OGN’s “observing technique” was the most significant point for the growth of esports on screen. Observing means that television cameras go into the games so that they could zoom in and zoom out to select some major game scenes that the audiences must see. For example, in the case of League of Legends, a team consists of five players, and therefore ten players play at the same time. The broadcaster must select the best scenes of any particular players to be watched (W. C. Jang, 2018). Mass spectatorship continued to grow as a few game channels also jumped on the bandwagon. MBC Game—a subsidiary cable channel of MBC Plus—began its 24-hour game broadcasting in 2001, although it was replaced by MBC Music in 2012. MBC Game was the Korean non-free-to-air television station, which was well known for being the esports broadcaster. Alongside OGN, it specialized in broadcasting video game-related information and matches. It covered StarCraft, Warcraft III, FIFA Series, Counter-Strike, Winning Eleven, Age of Empires III, and Dead or Alive. MBC started its game cable channel by acquiring Look TV, a fashion specialty channel owned by CJ Cable, and opened in the name of Gembc to become MBC Game in 2003 (“Esports, 10-Year Vestige,” 2009). Gembc was the combination of game and MBC and attempted to develop a more beautiful community through games (S. Y. Kim, 2002). There were a few more channels, like GGTV; however, only OGN and MBC Game became major players (Yoon et al., 2012). The creation of game television channels expedited the growth of esports and fundamentally shifted the trend of esports. Because of the financial crisis of 1997, Korean esports leagues struggled in the late 1990s; however, with the introduction of two game specialty channels and esports leagues organized by these two channels, Korean people and corporations started to pay attention to esports. Several big corporations like Samsung, SKT, and KT also began to support esports game teams (“Esports, 10-Year Vestige,” 2009). In other words, several chaebol (big conglomerates) started to have their own professional game teams to boost their corporate images as esports spectatorship soared, which greatly helped the boom of esports in the 2000s. Meanwhile, the Pro League, which was formerly hosted on OGN and MBC Game, then became solely hosted on OGN after MBC closed down its gaming venture. The Pro League allows for fans to follow their favorite team or player. It also allowed up and coming amateurs to participate in a televised setting. A total of thirty-one Pro League events for StarCraft: Brood War, existed from March 2003 to September 2012. The increasing rise of mass spectatorship can be exemplified with a particular event at the Pro League final—which attracted as many as 120,000 spectators to an outdoor stadium at the Gwangalli beach in Busan—a southern city in Korea, in 2004 and 2005 (J. H. Jang, 2006).

 Historiography of Korean Esports 89 Another major development in the Korean esports world was the establishment of the 21st Century Pro-Game Association in 2000 (later changed to Korea e-Sports Association in October 2003; see Korea e-Sports Association, 2019) permitted by the Ministry of Culture, Sports and Tourism. This was the first national-level esports association around the world, and it helped the growth of esports as it developed several necessary regulations and principles, as well as hosting esports leagues. As such, compared with other parts of Asia and Europe, Korea had several key advantages in developing esports, including widespread high-speed internet, PC bang, and the institutionalization of spectatorship, which meant huge numbers of people could watch the action without video dropouts in the initial stage of esports. With the rapid growth of digital technologies and their convergence with several primary sociocultural elements, emphasizing dynamism and mass play culture, Korea has developed its unique spectatorship model in the realm of digital games.

Sociocultural Elements for the Early Growth of Esports Spectatorship While the rapid growth of infrastructure like PC bang and high-speed internet in the IMF era of the late 1990s played key roles for the Korean esports scene, several sociocultural dimensions also greatly influenced the formation of early esports and mass spectatorship. Cultural specificities embedded in Korean history should be emphasized as significant factors that prompted the rapid deployment of esports. There are a few distinctive cultural characteristics, based on the mentality of the people, rooted in Korean society and its historical context that are unique contributing elements to the swift deployment of esports, including enthusiasm for “edutainment,” and developing dual personalities of two competing forces, social solidarity, and individualism (Jin, 2010). To begin with, most Koreans would certainly agree that Korea is nothing if not dynamic. This relentless drive, which has led Korea to chalk up a number of significant achievements, including its economic growth, has driven the rapid spread of broadband internet connections. Korea’s dynamism has played a role for the growth of esports, as many Koreans are good at immersion and competition. In modern Korea, until the late 1990s, han (the Korean sentiment of grievance or grudge) was one of the most significant national characteristics that portrayed Koreans’ passive desire for redemption after enduring pain, including the Japanese occupation for several decades until 1945 and the Korean War (1950–3). Over the past two decades or so, Korea’s han has rapidly been changing into heung (excitement), which is one of the most significant parts of dynamism, as economic development and democratization has resulted in growing self-confidence among its people. Since then, dynamism has mostly become synonymous with Koreans (Chang, 2011; Jin, 2016). Dynamism indeed represents the vibrant spirit, which embodies the unshakable moral strength that has overcome so much hardship, as well as a vision that proactively explores the future. Dynamism is

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especially based on Koreans’ unique attitudes in that they prefer working together and playing together as opposed to working and playing independently, as seen in many Western countries (K. I. Y. Lee, 2015). As dynamism is one of the major characteristics in playing and enjoying online games like StarCraft, it is natural for Koreans to adore it most (W. J. Cho, 2017). Young people enjoy both playing and spectating popular online games sometimes with friends and other times with nobody, but through high-speed internet. This also shows social solidarity (Chee, 2006), which means that Koreans not only play together but also watch and enjoy games together more than people in other countries. In fact, Korea has been proud of its tradition of social solidarity (Crotty and Lee, 2002). As The New York Times stated, while reporting on booming online games, “Korea is a group-oriented society, where socializing in bunches is the preferred form of interaction, and Western-style individualism is frowned upon” (French, 2002, 8). After conducting a case study of online games in Korea, Chee (2006) also emphasizes the importance of social solidarity of teens and people in their twenties in the process of growing online game communities. Korea has certainly developed several collective play cultures, like farm music, Yut no ri—a folk game, and Gut—an elaborate type of shaman ritual. These traditional collective play cultures appeared as forms of Cyworld, Karaoke bang, PC bang, and jjimjilbang (Korean sauna), and eventually expedited esports as these collective cultures are embedded in game culture as well. Unlike North Americans and Europeans who like to play with computer and/or console, Koreans like online games to play games collectively between human players through networks, and this cultural characteristic is a reflection of Korea’s traditional collective culture (W. J. Cho, 2017). In tandem with social solidarity, a relevant aspect of the Korean culture is “mass play culture,” which has become a critical element for the growth of esports. People do not want to be left out by not working and/or playing together. In the realm of digital games, unlike young people in the United States, who mainly want to play alone, in a single player with/without computers, young Korean people do not like to play with a computer alone; instead they prefer to be part of teams to defeat other teams. The mass play culture characterizing Korean society has been a major factor for the popularity of Lineage I, for example. Sociocultural aspects are significant factors for the growth of both esports and mass spectatorship as amateur gamers sometimes go to game arenas to cheer up their favorite players together, while at other times watch digital games online or on broadcasting (Jin, 2010). Meanwhile, Korea is also a society driven by competition. While Olympians would become national heroes in most countries when they receive any medals, a Korea’s athlete who wins a silver medal at the Olympics would often hang their head in shame and apologize to the public for not achieving gold. Koreans just love “to make rankings and compare, and if you are not first, you are nothing” (Li, 2016, 43), as John Park, who worked at the StarCraft broadcaster GOMTV, stated. Several mobile games developed in Korea, such as Anipang and Candipang in the early 2010s, certainly showed that these mobile games became popular based on Koreans’ strong competitive nature. Anipang as a mobile game strategically fits into

 Historiography of Korean Esports 91 KaTalk’s social networking platform, and Anipang added in a ranking system where players compete with their friends on KaTalk—an instant mobile messenger. Through encouraging competition with other users that they seem to know, Anipang has become entrenched in the lives of smartphone users. It is the rankings between friends that drive people to keep playing Anipang. When someone ranks lower than a friend or learns that a friend just scored higher, they are compelled to play until they achieve a better score, at which point an automated message is sent that states, “I beat your score by scoring 000” through KaTalk (“Four Reasons,” 2012). Anipang can be played alone, but its allure is that it is community-based, which has been a very important feature for mobile gamers in Korea. Anipang players pointed to the push notifications and pressure they felt to attend to this particular mobile game from others (Jin, Chee, and Kim, 2015). In sum, the growth of esports and spectatorship in Korea has been possible due in large part to various cultural factors, rooted deeply in Korean society and its historical context. Korean esports has achieved its tremendous growth mainly because of the convergence of infrastructural growth and cultural elements. On the one hand, highspeed internet and PC bang, and later game specialty channels were significant as infrastructure, and on the other hand, people’s mentalities, wanting to play together with dynamic spirit while enjoying competition and immersion, played a role. As Aizu (2002) pointed out, several social and cultural elements, including so-called me-too culture, the aggressive mentality of the Korean people, high awareness of the challenges of globalization, and political and historical contexts embedded in contemporary Korean society played the decisive roles in its dynamic acceptance of internet and the acceleration of esports (see Jin, 2010). These sociocultural elements, including dynamism, enthusiastic competition, and mass play culture are major elements of spectatorship, uniquely embedded in Korean society. As Borowy and Jin (2013) point out, “there is no better example of the combination of media as sport than esport, and by examining its origins we see how this competitive play activity grew” (p. 2270) alongside the developments of both event marketing and spectatorship.

Conclusion This chapter has explored a historical understanding of esports and the initial formation of esports spectatorship in the Korean context. Korean esports became a model for global esports since its inception. Korea has not only institutionalized its esports in that it developed esports leagues, professional gamers and teams, and a national esports association but also established the direction of esports spectatorship as the country developed esports ICT infrastructure and specialty channels for the public to watch and enjoy games together. Korea has had these dimensions in place since the beginning. In other words, the rapid growth of IT infrastructure, the IMF crisis and the consequent growth of PC bang, and the development of esports channels all played key roles in the early esports scene.

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Among these, several local cultures and characteristics embedded in digital games and esports, such as Korea’s dynamism, competitive mentalities, social sodality, and mass play culture, worked as the foundations of early esports spectatorship. Increasing spectatorship by both esports fans and general audiences in tandem with sociocultural milieu surrounding the growth of digital games has expedited the popularity of esports. In the early 2020s, there is no doubt that esports is one of the major sporting events and youth cultures; however, twenty years ago, Korea already developed the early stage of esports, which played a significant role for the growth of global esports. As T. L. Taylor (2012) points out, the story of South Korea holds an interesting place in North American and European pro gaming because it is regularly held up as a model for the future of esports worldwide The story of South Korean esports highlight the ways culture, larger infrastructural developments, policy decisions, and economic activities have intersected in a fortuitous way at particular historical moment to support the formation of a new form of leisure and sport. (p. 18)

What is missing in this interpretation is the significant role of spectators. As game players and fans, the general public, in particular youth in their teens and twenties, fundamentally shifted their interests toward digital games in the early 2000s: They played games together, and they watched games together. Consequently, Korea not only developed the esports leagues but also advanced the first game broadcasting channels, and therefore substantially contributed to the growth of esports spectatorship.

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Ingraham, C. (2018, August 27). “The Massive Popularity of Esports, in Charts.” The Washington Post. Retrieved from https​:/​/ww​​w​.was​​hingt​​onpos​​t​.com​​/busi​​ness/​​2018/​​08​/​ 27​​/mass​​ive- popularity-esports-charts/ Jang, J. H. (2006, July 31). “40,000 Were Gathered to Watch Esports in Busan.” JoongAng Ilbo. Retrieved from https://news​.joins​.com​/article​/2370585 Jang, W. C. (2018, August 13). “OGN Made a Spectacle Game.” Weekly Chosun, 262. Retrieved from http:​/​/eco​​nomy.​​chosu​​n​.com​​/clie​​nt​/ne​​ws​/vi​​ew​.ph​​p​?boa​​rdNam​​e​=C00​​​ &t​_nu​​m​=136​​05533​ Jin, D. Y. (2010). Korea’s Online Gaming Empire. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Jin, D. Y. (2016). New Korean Wave: Transnational Cultural Power in the Age of Social Media. Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press. Jin, D. Y., Chee, F., and Kim, S. A. (2015). “Transformative Mobile Game Culture: Sociocultural Analysis of the Korean Mobile Gaming in the Smartphone Era.” International Journal of Cultural Studies, 18(4), 413–29. Jo, D. W. (2017). “H-mail and the Early Configuration of Online User Culture in Korea.” In G. Goggin and M. Mark (Eds.), The Routledge Companion to Global Internet Histories (pp. 197–208). London, UK: Routledge. Kalning, K. (2008, October 23). “The Anatomy of the First Video Game.” NBC News. Retrieved from http:​/​/www​​.nbcn​​ews​.c​​om​/id​​/2732​​8345/​​ns​/te​​chnol​​ogy​_a​​nd​_sc​​ience​​-g​ ame​​s​/t​/a​​natom​​y- first-video-game/#.XJo4qlVKiUk Kim, J. Y. (2013, November 24).“Players Are Not Entertainers: Become Esports to Provide Impression Instead of Fun.” InVen. Retrieved from http:​/​/www​​.inve​​n​.co.​​kr​/we​​bzine​​/ news​/​?new​​s​=668​​39​&si​​te​=we​​bzine​​#csid​​​xb49d​​2376a​​ac02d​ 4bf939a3c6185bd66 Kim, S. Y. (2002, June 26). “The Game Industry Rival History—Game Broadcasters.” Kyunghyang Games. Retrieved from http:​/​/www​​.khga​​mes​.c​​o​.kr/​​news/​​artic​​leVie​​w​.htm​​l​​ ?idx​​no​=23​​19 Korea e-Sports Association. (2019). History. Seoul, Korea: Korea e-Sports Association. Larch, F. (2019a, January 10). The Emergence of Gaming Culture in South Korea. Retrieved from https​:/​/ww​​w​.isp​​o​.com​​/en​/m​​arket​​s​/seo​​ul​-ho​​w​-cit​​y​-ad​d​​icted​​-espo​​rts Larch, F. (2019b, January 11). “In 70 Years: The Evolution of Esports into a Market Worth Billions: The History of the Origin of Esports.” Retrieved from https​:/​/ww​​w​.isp​​o​.com​​/ en​/m​​arket​​s​/his​​tory-​​ori​gi​​n​-esp​​orts Lee, K. I. Y. (2015). “Dynamic Korea: Amplifying Sonic Registers in a Nation Branding Campaign.” Journal of Korean Studies, 20(1), 113–47. Lee, S. H. (2016, June 17). ”The Reminder of PC Bang in the Establishment of the Paper.” I Love PC Bang. Retrieved from http:​/​/www​​.ilov​​epcba​​ng​.co​​m/​?mo​​d​=new​​s​&act​​=arti​​ cleVi​​ew​&id​​xno​=4​​9​385&​​sc​_co​​de=​&p​​ag e=&total Li, R. (2016). Good Luck Have Fun: The Rise of Esports. New York, NY: Skyhorse Publishing. Ministry of Culture, Sports, and Tourism. (2008). 2008 Korean Game White Paper. Seoul, Korea: Author. Mozur, P. (2014, October 19). “For South Korea, Esports Is National Pastime.” The New York Times. Retrieved from https​:/​/ww​​w​.nyt​​imes.​​com​/2​​014​/1​​0​/20/​​techn​​ology​​​/leag​​ue​ -of​- legen​​ds​-so​​uth​-k​​orea-​​epice​​nter-​​espor​​​ts​.ht​​ml Paradise, A. (2018, November 30). “The Rise of Esports as a Spectator Phenomenon.” Retrieved from https​:/​/ve​​nture​​beat.​​com​/2​​018​/1​​1​/30/​​the​-r​​ise​-o​​f​-esp​​orts-​​as​-a-​​spect​​​ ator-​​pheno​​menon​/

 Historiography of Korean Esports 95 Rea, S. (2016). “Crafting Stars: South Korean Esports and the Emergence of a Digital Gaming Culture.” Education About Asia, 21(2), 22–7. Rea, S. (2019). “Chronotopes and Social Types in South Korean Digital Games.” Signs and Society, 7(1), 115–36. Samsung Economic Research Institute. (2005). Issue Paper: The Current Status of Esport and Its Development Strategy. Seoul, Korea: Author. Scholz, T. (2019). Esports Is Business: Management in the World of Competitive Gaming. Heidelberg, Germany: Palgrave. Seoul Is a Mecca of Esports. (2019, January 9). Smartlaunch. Retrieved from https​:/​/ww​​w​ .sma​​rtlau​​nch​.c​​om​/se​​oul​-a​​-mecc​​a​​-of-​​espor​​ts/ Short Take: TEN, AMD form Professional Gamers’ League. (1997, October 15). CNET. Retrieved from https​:/​/ww​​w​.cne​​t​.com​​/au​/n​​ews​/s​​hort-​​take-​​ten​-a​​md​-fo​​rm​-pr​​ofess​​ion​al​​ -game​​rs​-le​​ague/​ Taylor, N. (2016). “Now You’re Playing with Audience Power: The Work of Watching Games.” Critical Studies in Media Communication, 33(4), 293–307. Taylor, T. L. (2012). Raising the Stakes: Esports and the Professionalization of Computer Gaming. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Taylor, T. L. (2018). Watch Me Play: Twitch and the Rise of Game Live Streaming. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. World Champion Shin Ju Young; Park Chan Ho Is Not the Only Pro. (1999, May 11). “Chosun Ilbo.” Retrieved from http:​/​/m​.c​​hosun​​.com/​​svc​/a​​rticl​​e​.htm​​l​?sna​​me​=ne​​ws​&co​​ ntid=​​1999​0​​51170​​304​#R​​edyh Yoo, H. O. (1999, February 5). “Hitel-iPACNET, Game Leagues Dispute the Origins.” Etnews. Retrieved from http://www​.etnews​.com​/199902050105 Yoon, H. S., Kang, J. W., Park, S. Y., Oh, Y. W., Chun, H. S., and Choi, K. H. (2012). The History of Korean Games. Sung Nam, Korea: Book Korea. Yu, J. (2015, September 3). “How Korea Embraced Esports and Haven’t Looked Back.” IGN. Retrieved from https​:/​/se​​a​.ign​​.com/​​espor​​ts​/92​​089​/f​​eatur​​e​/how​​-kore​​a​-emb​​​raced​​espo​​rts- and-havent-looked-back

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Part 2

Money, Data Power, and Network

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6

The Business Model Network of Esports The Convergence of Overwatch Tobias M. Scholz

Introduction The world of esports or competitive gaming has grown exponentially in recent years (Taylor, 2012; Scholz, 2019). This rapid success gathered interest from a variety of new outside actors. Companies like Amazon bought the live streaming platform Twitch for $970 million (Amazon, 2014) as well as sports organizations like the Kraft Group (owner of the New England Patriots) got into the esports business. This development in the recent years is striking as esports evolved mostly in isolation without interference from outside actors for nearly two decades. Consequently, the esports industry had the chance to develop a unique cultural environment in terms of business context due to the lack of traditional business intervention as well as governmental regulation. From an evolutionary perspective, this led to a certain degree of self-regulation as well as to a distinct network composition involved in esports. Furthermore, these actors had the freedom to choose the fitting rules for their industry based on trial and error. The esports industry mimicked strategies from the media industry, the sports industry, and the general business world, but, also, developed unique strategies that fit the needs. Therefore, esports is more than just a subcategory of sports, media, or entertainment, but rather a unique composition of these various business contexts (Scholz, 2020). With the absence of a standardized governance structure, esports is predominantly self-organizing. Furthermore, it is mostly business-driven, as the organizations in esports could not rely on governmental support or other ways of funding, therefore, they had to rely on creating a working business model to survive (Scholz, 2020). In addition due to the young audience, the global approach, and the digitized environment, this industry indeed follows the rule “survival of the fittest” (Spencer, 1875) There is no one best way how to create a successful business model and, especially, a successful and sustainable business model. Even games like Counter-Strike that is a crucial pillar had several iterations in its twenty-year history and were near to collapse several times (Zacny, 2016).

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Subsequently, there is an ongoing evolution and innovation for creating a successful business model. This situation has become increasingly more dynamic due to the exponential rise in popularity. A variety of other industry actors are keen to invest, going beyond entrepreneurs, media companies, and sports organizations toward, for example, insurance companies in desperate need to reach a younger audience. Consequently, there is an observable clash of business models, leading to an even higher degree of dynamism. Furthermore, we hear discussions about a bubble (D’Anastasio, 2019), and despite highlighting crucial aspects, esports had experienced several bubble-like events (e.g., the downfall of the Championship Gaming Series). This chatter is adding even more fuel to the actors in the esports industry to be innovative and be prepared to survive the impending doom. We are, potentially, at the height of a hype cycle, but that is the excellent news, historically every downfall led to more growth for the industry. However, some companies will vanish, and we already see it with OpTic Gaming (Immortals Gaming Club, 2019). This environment of growth and risk can influence the actors involved and how they will adapt to this new situation. Rooted in the organizational ecology theory (Aldrich, McKelvey, and Ulrich, 1984), companies have to decide strategically where to adapt and where to innovate. This approach can lead to an inevitable convergence and divergence in strategies. In general, companies tend isomorphism and, thereby, mimic successful companies (DiMaggio and Powell, 1983; Haveman, 1993). However, in esports, a variety of vastly different companies are seemingly successful as there are no standardized key performance indicators to benchmark them: therefore, making it difficult to adapt to a specific, proven strategy. Especially as every actor in the esports industry are interwoven in a so-called business model network (Scholz, 2019) and, similar to nature, it is essential to establish a stable environment in which a precise balance is achieved. In this chapter, the goal is to research these mechanisms of understanding the evolution of a business model network on the example of the video game Overwatch how it evolved and describe the tendencies of convergence within the video game and most importantly the convergence within the business model network. The case of Overwatch and the Overwatch League is compelling as the publisher Activision Blizzard shows isomorphic tendencies in mimicking traditional sports leagues like the US-American concept of creating leagues. Leagues like the MLB, NBA, NFL, or NHL are strikingly similar and are incredibly successful in North America, therefore, it seems a risk-minimizing approach to copy these structures for an esports league under the premise that esports functions like a sport. Furthermore, the Overwatch League was prepared on the drawing board, diverging from the majority of video games that grew into an esports league, for example, League of Legends. The Overwatch league diverges from the “standard” esports approach and converges to the “standard” sports approach of creating an esports league. This case reveals the potential benefits as well as risks of following this unique strategy of mimicking traditional sports structures. Finally, specific strategies will be presented that describes the future of the business model network Overwatch in the esports industry.

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Convergence and Divergence Creating an esports league is influenced by the existing work of other leagues in esports as well as traditional sports. As the video game developers are the gatekeeper due to being the creators of the video game (Scholz, 2019) they have the choice to follow a convergent or divergent strategy (Gentry and Sparks, 2012). This decision triggers other organizations in the business model network to change their strategy as well. However, convergence and divergence are more than a binary construct. Convergence and divergence are instead processes that describe a tendency of organizations to each other. Over time companies could converge or diverge from another. As stated earlier in the business context, there is a certain tendency toward convergence. This is described in the neoinstitutionalism in which companies tend to converge due to an institutional isomorphism (DiMaggio and Powell, 1983). There are various ways this convergence can happen. For one the coercive isomorphism, where the organization is pressured by the cultural expectations from society or other organizations. In our case Activision Blizzard has, as being a gatekeeper, the power to enforce certain behavior of the other organizations in the business model network. The mimetic isomorphism describes the belief of an organization that other organizations have structures and strategies that are superior to their own. Activision Blizzard is mimicking the US-American league structures. Finally, the normative isomorphism describes the convergence driven by the people in the organization. In esports, there is an ongoing debate if esports is a sports, depending on the definition an organization is following, there is a convergence or divergence observable. Activision Blizzard hired various sports executives for the Overwatch league, due to this selection, they have a convergent tendency toward traditional sports structures for their league. The concept of convergence and divergence can be divided in various tendencies (see Heichel et al. 2005), for this case study, it is more relevant to discuss the target of convergence or divergence. The esports industry has many influences and any esports leagues could converge or diverge toward other esports leagues, sports leagues, media/entertainment concepts, or other influences. Understanding the underlying convergence logic in an esports league helps to explain the composition of the business model network and the dynamics between the different actors of the network.

The Business Model Network of Esports In recent years, the concept of business models has received significant attention (Klang, Wallnöfer, and Hacklin, 2014). Despite the significance of the term for strategic management (Zott, Amit, and Massa, 2011), there is no shared consensus on the use of this term in the business context (e.g., DaSilva and Trkman, 2014). The general idea of a business model is essential for creating a sustainable business (Foss and Saebi, 2017), establishing a “design or architecture of the value-creating, delivery, and capture mechanisms” (Teece, 2010, 172). To categorize the process of business

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model creation strategically, Chesbrough and Rosenbloom (2002, 533–4) derived the following functions of a business model: ●●

●●

●●

●●

●●

●●

“articulate the value proposition, i.e., the value created for users by the offering based on the technology; identify a market segment comprised of the users to whom the technology is useful and for what purpose, and specify the revenue generation mechanism(s) for the firm; define the structure of the value chain within the firm required to create and distribute the offering, and determine the complementary assets needed to support the firm’s position in this chain; estimate the cost structure and profit potential of producing the offering, given the value proposition and value chain structure chosen; describe the position of the firm within the value network linking suppliers and customers, including identification of potential complementors and competitors; formulate the competitive strategy by which the innovating firm will gain and hold advantage over rivals.” (2002, 533)

It is essential to highlight that business model is always linked with the strategy of a company. A business model is often seen as the formulation of the short focus, and the strategy is the general long-term direction of a successful and professional company (DaSilva and Trkman 2014). Therefore, the statement “every organization has some business model” but “not every organization has a strategy” (Casadesus-Masanell and Ricart, 2010, 206) seems fitting. The business model of one company is always intertwined with the surrounding of the company (Zott and Amit, 2009). Consequently, any business model is linked with a network of actors (or in that case, stakeholders), and, therefore, any business model is connected to a business model network (Scholz, 2019). Especially in the context of the esports industry, it becomes evident that every stakeholder plays a crucial role. If the business model network survives, every individual actor increases its survivability. The esports industry is driven by innovations and technologies, but also by the interconnection of creative people trying to exploit technologies to the fullest. This unique setting, aligned with the start-up mentality and an understanding of interconnectedness, led to a distinct network of stakeholders (Scholz and Stein, 2017). Still, most of the successful business model networks having the player audience in the core of their network as depicted in the following figure. This focus on the core strengthens the network, leading to an increase in profitability throughout the system (Scholz, 2019). The business model network focuses on value integration with an emphasis on cooperation rather than competition. Every single business model is linked with other business models in the network, creating one combined business model network. Although Figure 6.1 depicts the general logic of a business model network with various stakeholders, the business model network will vary from esports-title to esports-title. For example, the role of the game developer in Overwatch is exceptionally dominant, but the part of the game developer in Counter-Strike is less dominant. The Overwatch league is in this case unique, as they are enforcing their Gatekeeper role

 The Business Model Network of Esports 103

Figure 6.1  The Business Model Network of Esports (Scholz, 2019). into the business model network and maximized their potential power in the network. Based on their isomorphic tendencies toward traditional US-sports leagues, they are forcing the other stakeholders in the network to con-verge toward their strategy for the Overwatch league. It is essential to highlight, that the basis for any long-term success of an esports-title is to find a sustainable balance in which every stakeholder can find their spot in the eco-system. It is, however, not predetermined if the best approach is to foster convergence or divergence, still, the Overwatch league is a novel approach in exerting so much convergence to the business model network, an approach that might be successful but could also lead to undiscovered risks.

The Potential Blind Alley of Overwatch In the case of Overwatch, the dominant force in the business model network is the game developer Activision Blizzard. Not only are they the game developer, they are the

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sole tournament organizer, they are creating the media content, they negotiate with the sponsors, they decide which teams participate, they stipulate the rules for the players, and essentially Activision Blizzard is the governing body of Overwatch League. With this product, Activision Blizzard is trying to become the next big US-American styled league—although being a global league—and, by that, mimic a vast portion of the strategies, that seem to work in these leagues. Interestingly Activision Blizzard is not only mimicking existing and succeeding sport leagues, certain convergence tendencies toward a league called Championship Gaming Series are observable. This league was backed by the satellite broadcast provider DirecTV in 2007 and was one of the biggest esports leagues based on a franchise model with geolocalization. However, the CGS was the biggest failure in the young esports history. Jason Lake (owner of CompLexity) summarized the downfall as follows: It all went to hell in a hand basket when some well intentioned but corporate suit type people tried to change gaming, the spirit of gaming and it crashed and burned during a bad economy. That was really hard on me, man. I’m quoted on video saying, “if this doesn’t work, eSports is dead” and, unfortunately, I wasn’t that far from the truth at the time. When CGS crashed and burned, the scene in North America especially was just a train wreck. That took a lot of emotional energy from me and just sucked it out. (O’Neill, 2012)

It is debatable, if Activision Blizzard still remembers the CGS or experienced as historical amnesia (Scholz, 2019) as they are promoting the Overwatch league as something unique and completely new. Although the similarities may be coincidental, as the CGS also tried to copy the US-centric sports league concept toward esports, but the similarities are striking. Especially as Activision Blizzard is not only copying the structure, they are also trying to enforce their regulations on the business model network and exerting their power in regulating every bit of the league. This strategy may seem appropriate as leagues like the NFL are enforcing their power throughout the league and any organization involved in the league. Such leagues are highly profitable and behave, due to some antitrust exemptions, like monopolies (Vrooman, 2009). For any business organizations creating a new NFL seems alluring and, therefore, trying to mimic a business model network with such a strong focus on power at the “top” (Lee and McFarlin, 2016). This type of convergence is not necessarily the typical case in the esports industry, as mentioned earlier, Counter-Strike is the contrast to that with a more laissez-faire strategy. Due to that power-move the strategy and structure of the league is stipulated by Activision Blizzard leading to a self-selection in the business model network. This self-selection can be observed that some professional teams shut down their operations in Overwatch with the announcement of the Overwatch League. Activision Blizzard is focusing on geolocalization as well as franchising, thereby creating a seemingly attractive product. The Overwatch League is sold as an innovative evolution for an esports league. The sales team of Activision Blizzard did an extraordinary job in selling the franchise slots for an unbelievable price. Furthermore, they achieved to generate interest from outsiders of the esports industry. That led to

 The Business Model Network of Esports 105 franchise prices ranging from supposedly $10 up to $60 million as well as many big players like the Kraft Group. It is striking to observe how many investors chose this league for their first endeavor in esports. In addition, Twitch is paying at least $90 million for streaming rights (Baccellieri, 2018). It becomes evident that Activision Blizzard sold a vision, and many bought this vision. The vision of becoming the next big thing was convincing enough to buy-in for many different organizations. However, as the former commissioner told: “We didn’t know what we didn’t know before we launched the season” (Valentine, 2018)—saying that as a company that played an integral role in the esports evolution with StarCraft and Warcraft this can be already seen as a confession of failure. Nevertheless, the Overwatch League transformed the business model network fundamentally and centralized all power toward Activision Blizzard. Although the game developer has the potential to have all rights to make such a strategic move, it is essential to highlight, that this is only one way to interact with the business model network of a specific esports title. Esports is business and, consequently, any stakeholder is part of the value creation. Therefore, any individual business model and strategic decision influence the business model of any other linked stakeholder. There are threats of new entries, buyer power, and supplier power, a risk of substitution, and competitive rivalry, but there is also a need for cooperation to utilize synergies. The core of this business model network is the audience and the monetization of the customer. Following general market rules, some balance is achieved in this business model network over time based on legitimated stakeholders, negotiations, power, and, subsequently, successful strategic decisions. There is a substantial need for coopetition (cooperation and competition) (Walley, 2007) as well as an underlying co-destiny (Davidow and Malone, 1992; Scholz, 2000) that is shared with everybody in this business model network. Coopetition and co-destiny usually are negotiated between the stakeholders. This negotiation can be a source of risk for the success of an esports ecosystem as the interest might diverge, furthermore, it might be a significant risk for the game developer. The approach of Activision Blizzard to deal with the potential risks is to exert power and enforce coopetition of any stakeholder as well as demand co-destiny. It is essential to highlight the unique position of the game developer in esports and any esports ecosystem. The role of the game developer is often discussed as the gatekeeper of esports (Scholz, 2019), and this potential power is one of the main criticisms of traditional sports (DOSB, 2018). Nobody owns Football, but the game developer owns Overwatch. However, this comparison is wrong, as nobody owns the genre Team Shooter and Activision Blizzard cannot forbid anybody creating a Team Shooter. This can be seen with the announcement of Riot Valorant, a game that can be seen as a direct competition to Overwatch. However, what is correct, within Overwatch Activision Blizzard can regulate everything. In this case, Activision Blizzard chose to overregulate Overwatch: ●● ●●

They create the game and they create the rules. They choose the franchise and dictate the regulations.

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They enforce the player rules and transfer system. They create the content and stream the broadcast.

In management theory, this strategy can still be successful, but any organizations should evaluate any potential risks that could harm this strategy. Activision Blizzard makes a high profit if Overwatch League turns out successful, but if it fails Activision Blizzard will have destroyed the whole business model network for this distinct esports title. Having to decide everything on their own, they also have to deal with every risk. Ironically Activision Blizzard has a history in trying to overregulate their games and nearly fail with that approach. In the case of StarCraft (Scholz, 2019) they created the most prestigious tournament with the World Championship Series and allowed that players could choose their region in which they play. It is important to highlight that South Korea is dominant in that game, so players from South Korea moved around the world and played there. Subsequently, the WCS became nearly Korean-exclusive and the viewership dwindled. The game developer tried to counteract, but the game nearly died (Partin, 2018). For the game Heroes of the Storm, most of the league was organized by Activision Blizzard, but the game did not gain momentum and was lagging behind League of Legends and Dota 2. Still, it had a solid fan base, but it seemed it was not viable in business terms, so Activision Blizzard pulled the plug and the whole esports ecosystem died (McWhertor, 2018). Both examples reveal that Activision Blizzard has a tendency to monopolize and centralize the power in an esports ecosystem, but, thereby, increase the risk of failure for the whole ecosystem, if they fail. All responsibility lies upon Activision Blizzard rather than spread throughout the ecosystem. Consequently, there is extreme pressure to succeed, and as Nate Nanzer, Activision Blizzard knew they are playing high stakes (Valentine, 2018). Maybe that is the reason why the Overwatch League is nearly an exact copy of the typical North American franchise system down to the Overwatch logo that resembles the MLB logo. Although Activision Blizzard is overregulating, in general, the strategy is consistent. However, there are several predetermined breaking points that may lead to the situation that Overwatch may be led to a dying business model network for Activision Blizzard. First, we should take a look at the game itself. There are problems with the game itself. In general, the game is not easy to watch, and with the current GOATS meta (three tanks and three support) it is becoming less entertaining to watch. Furthermore, with characters like Lucio and Brigitte with knockback abilities, it can be even harder to watch. Interestingly as game developer, everything could be fixable from the game development perspective, but it seems that Activision Blizzard is not trying to fix it, but rather enforce a 2-2-2 rule (2 tanks, 2 DPS and 2 support) (Heinisch, 2019). Overall in the game there is too much happening for the viewership and there is a certain unease throughout the game. It is difficult to understand for the viewers what is actually happening. Even though the game may be easy to learn and hard to master, the game is not easy to watch. By enforcing such regulations this problem of chaos for the viewer is not addressed as these are fundamental game design problems. However, this approach is going against the general tendency in the esports scene, that games are constantly patched to be more watchable (Taylor, 2012), especially as the idea of

 The Business Model Network of Esports 107 patching the game imposes the concept of constant shift in the meta-game (Scholz, 2019). Activision Blizzard is moving against the general and underlying tendency in the esports scene, by regulating the players and enforcing rules to strangle change. That is a significant sign for the organizational culture within Activision Blizzard, rather than solve a game design problem to make their game more esports friendly, they regulate the teams. They do not search for a solution in their capacity, but rather enforce their power through regulation. Second, the imbalance between geolocalization and regional unlocking. This topic is probably the most striking one for Activision Blizzard and it is the main selling argument for investors from traditional sports. Teams have a hometown, and they have a home crowd, especially in North America. This development may be helpful to create a community, although this is still unproven in esports. The only evidence existing is the Championship Gaming Series that failed. Still, with the growth of esports, it could be, that this situation may have changed. However, Overwatch is facing a different problem, more than 50 percent of all players in the Overwatch League are Koreans. Teams like Vancouver Titans and New York Excelsior are entirely Korean. So, there is no reason for the players to adapt toward the local crowd. How is it possible to relate with those players as a fan, if they do not speak any English at all? This problem is not novel for Activision Blizzard as they are struggling with this Korean dominance problem for decades in StarCraft and had to enforce regulations to limit Korean players. Only recently it got to a point where non-Koreans can compete and win prestigious tournaments. However, the game is past its glory days. This Korean dominance may be reasonable for the teams, by choosing the best players in the world, but it also translates in additional risks for the geolocalization strategy and the fan engagement. Third, the location of franchises is focused on North America and China. At the moment, thirteen teams are from North America, and four teams are from China. Only two teams are from Europe and one from South Korea. In the case of Europe, both teams are owned by North American organization. The product Overwatch is presented as being a global league, but it is highly US-centric. It becomes evident that the decision for cities is purely industry-driven. For the global phenomenon, the vital region of Europe is vastly neglected. Furthermore, teams get not only the city but also regions surrounding this city. For example, Seoul Dynasty “owns” the Korean market and can prohibit other teams from doing events there (Fitch, 2018). This strategy destroys competition and denies potential innovations as the teams have their market secured. As described in the organizational ecology theory, competition is necessary to evolve and to change (Kelly and Amburgey, 1991). Interestingly, there is a certain rivalry observable in Los Angeles with the only city having two teams. The Gladiators and Valiant are fighting the “Battle for LA” (Markazi, 2019). Fourth, the devastation of the Tier 2 system. Tier 2 means the league system below the Overwatch League, comparable to a minor league in other sports. The Overwatch Contender league is technically open for any team to participate in it. But, Activision Blizzard actively downgrades the second highest league in Overwatch to a farm league for the OWL teams, a situation that encourages Contender players to leave their team

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to become free agents and hope they will be picked up: if not, “there will be no trouble in finding a new Contenders team to join” (Carpenter, 2018). There is no incentive for any other organization to participate in this league, and consequently, besides some academy teams, there are only temporary teams that may see it as some form of proving ground. However, recent downsizing measures will make the Contenders league even more irrelevant (Lewis, 2018). Furthermore, there is no space for any other professional esports organization to participate as there is no possibility to become part of the OWL. In the long run, this will lead to a massive de-professionalization of Tier 2 and fewer possibilities to draft talented and well-formed players. Talent development will be in a dire stage in the future and may lead to even more Korean players in the league. Compared to other games like League of Legends, there is no steady stream of young players in Overwatch. Fifth, how the league is dealing with their players. Salary and prize money are the core of the income of players, and even though teams have to set up a retirement savings plan and provide health insurance, a significantly high number of players quit the game. For example, the player Brandon “A_Seagull” Larned quit playing Overwatch for Dallas Fuel to return to streaming full time (D’Orazio, 2018a). In some cases, this could be a less stressful way to make more money without extreme training regimens and competitive pressure. Several players highlight that they are getting tired, and some even quit because of burnout (D’Orazio, 2018b). It becomes evident that playing in the Overwatch League is not a healthy lifestyle and not sustainable. Even though the topic of unionization is discussed in the press, it is not discussed openly in the OWL (Garst, 2019). Especially with the overregulation strategy, it is nothing that Activision Blizzard will openly encourage. Players are, therefore, quitting the game more often, than in other games. Sixth, employees are leaving the ship. In the recent weeks, several key employees have left Activision Blizzard. Commissioner Nate Nanzer is moving to Epic Games, and long-time esports head Kim Phan recently departed from Activision Blizzard (Mamiit, 2019). There are many other rumors of other critical esports employees leaving the company. This is a recent trend within Activision Blizzard that many longtime figures within the Blizzard team are moving away from the company. However, Activision Blizzard also laid-off several essential employees, most prominent lay-off was the producer and esports figure Jason “Alchemister” Baker (Mary-Justice, 2018). Consequently, talent and knowledge are draining away from Activision Blizzard. Finally, the numbers are underwhelming. There is no significant growth in viewership observable (Miceli, 2019). Furthermore, it becomes evident that besides the Overwatch League, the game Overwatch is less streamed as the data reveals that most of the viewership is solely contributed to the times when Overwatch League games are played. That highlights the dominance of the Overwatch League in the Overwatch business model network but also highlights the nonexistence of anything besides the Overwatch League. It seems that Overwatch has a certain threshold that it cannot overcome. It is also questionable when Overwatch League is moving to their home cities if the turnout of local fans continuously is high over the whole season. Although, the first homestands were successful, it is unclear if these numbers are

 The Business Model Network of Esports 109 sustainable in the long run. For comparison, the Overwatch League Arena has only 450 seats available. Those seats are mostly sold out, but not comparable to other events, primarily as the United States is known for being a problematic region for attracting fans (Scholz, 2019). The Overwatch League is struggling, and with the high stakes of franchise fees and extreme success of the sales team in acquiring an extraordinary Twitch deal, Overwatch League is a short-term success, at least in the form of the shareholder value. However, this success highlights the importance that Overwatch League needs to be a success for Activision Blizzard, especially as they are copying the same concept for their Call of Duty franchise strategy with a franchise fee of $25 million (Brockwell, 2019). At the moment, the return on investment for the shareholder is due to the franchise fees and the media rights is high, however, many risks are still unknown. There is no proof or sign that a city-based league can work in this global industry, and there is no evidence that people like to make a pilgrimage to every game every week as it is observed in traditional sports. It may even sound incomprehensible in times in which European football teams are neglecting their home audience and fans in the arena for their international television audience (Ginesta, et al., 2018). The strategy from Activision Blizzard also proved that franchising might be harmful without an overarching strategy for the whole talent-pool and their whole ecosystem. In general, the overregulating strategy is not, per se, deemed for failure, but overregulation also needs complete knowledge of all risk, a holistic strategy, and a business model that will lead to a return on investment in a short period. But, Activision Blizzard is in lock-in, and they have to make the Overwatch League work, they have to succeed, or their role as a Tier 1 game developer for esports title is in danger. As Nate Nanzer said: “The train has left the station” (Valentine, 2018). Activision Blizzard failed to make Heroes of the Storm work, Hearthstone is struggling, and StarCraft is sustainable, but far from its glorious times. And there are no rumors for a new game in the pipeline. World of Warcraft may seem to work and generate high viewership numbers, however, this is mostly due to the community and the enthusiasm of teams like Method to promote PvE content as esports (Cocke, 2018). From the outside, it seems that there is no plan B available. Activision Blizzard introduced a new approach to influence the business model network, to set the optimal strategy in the delta-convergence and it may have worked. However, their strategy is lacking many obstacles which, exponentially, increasing the risks in the risk network. Still, it is an evolution that may have a new iteration and evolution in the Call of Duty franchise.

Strategies to Escape This Fate In the end, everything sums up to the question: What made Activision Blizzard confident, that their version of the Championship Gaming Series concept will work successfully in the current evolution of the esports industry? This question rises the argument, that the success of their esports title is based on a cooperative strategy rather

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than an overregulation strategy. The great success stories of StarCraft and Warcraft happened due to the laid-back role of the game developer or even nescient role in the esports ecosystem. Activision Blizzard (or at that time Blizzard Entertainment) had no negotiating power for StarCraft in South Korea. The whole South Korean industry evolved despite the game developer; they “simply” contributed the game and kept it running (Jin, 2010). Still, the business model network of Overwatch is not yet dead, but the only stakeholder capable of changing the ecosystem is Activision Blizzard. Therefore, Activision Blizzard has achieved the goal of having the power to decide. Consequently, they have to adapt to the environment they helped to create. Based on the recent developments, several strategic adaptations could save the business model network of Overwatch: ●●

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Reevaluate the strategy, is Overwatch a top game in esports? What does it need to become a real top game that can compete against League of Legends and CounterStrike? Is this reasonable or is being in a niche economically sufficient. Focus on its core markets by creating a North American division and an Asian or Chinese division. The NBA is internationally successful, but it has no European team. Abandon the other regions and allow everybody else to create their own operations outside of North America and Asia to foster talents. The internationalization strategies of the NHL could be helpful to establish such an environment. Foster the university league system to create a draft system in North America to have a solid Tier 2 environment. Again, Activision Blizzard has some experience in that with the Heroes of the Dorm, but with the growth of Collegiate esports in North America this could be an approach to create something completely unique in esports. Focus on the needs of the players until this draft system is viable. Any quitting player hurts the teams and the league overall. Pay competitive salaries and allow them to form a union to express their interests. Commit to regional talents to foster their brands. If Activision Blizzard sticks to their overregulation, they can enforce a rule of one player from their respective region in any lineup. Fix the game in-game as meta changes all the time. Design new heroes that are easy to watch. Don’t take the easy path, as this may hurt Tier 2 or any other amateur level where these rules are not enforced. Learn from your past. Every experience in StarCraft, Warcraft, World of Warcraft, Hearthstone, and Heroes of the Storm as well as Call of Duty makes Activision Blizzard the most knowledgeable game developer team in the industry.

The case of Overwatch is interesting to observe, as it highlights the over-energetic dynamism of the esports industry (Scholz and Stein, 2017). At the moment, the future of the Overwatch League is not bright, and there is still a risk that the league will collapse in two years with renegotiations concerning media rights and sponsor deals.

 The Business Model Network of Esports 111 By enforcing and dominating its business model network, the game developers may diverge from the esports industry in creating their closed industry and trying to retain every stakeholder. The case of Overwatch will be highlighted in this presentation as an example of a business model network in which the game developer actively tries to control every part of the game and the league. By doing so, it jeopardizes the long-term success of the esports title as one of the top games in the esports ecosystem.

Conclusion The esports industry is still evolving, and many are struggling with achieving the right balance to find sustainability in their business. It becomes evident that sustainability can only be achieved by continually changing, converging to others in specific ways, but also diverging in other parts. Furthermore, the optimal strategy is also shifting, and, consequently, the concept of delta-convergence, even though it is intriguing for companies, may be obsolete in the esports industry. This case showed that even Activision Blizzard had nearly all power, the optimal strategy is shifting. The strategy of Activision Blizzard can be seen as the typical strategy for traditional companies, and however, in the digitized world, this strategy is perilous. The rules of business are shifting in the digitized world, and change is the new stability (Farjoun, 2010).

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 The Business Model Network of Esports 113 Lewis, R. (2018). “Exclusive: Recording of Meeting Regarding Contenders Surfaces, Confirms Downsizing.” Retrieved from https​:/​/ww​​w​.vpe​​Sport​​s​.com​​/over​​watch​​/excl​​ usive​​-reco​​rding​​-of​-m​​eetin​​g​-reg​​ardin​​g​-con​​tende​​rs​-su​​rface​​s​​-con​​firms​​-down​​sizin​​g. Mamiit, A. (2019). “Blizzard Suffers Another Blow with Exit of Global ESports Director Kim Phan.” Retrieved from https​:/​/ww​​w​.dig​​italt​​rends​​.com/​​gamin​​g​/bli​​zzard​​-lose​​s​-glo​​ bal​-e​​S​-por​​ts​-di​​​recto​​r​-kim​​-phan​. Markazi, A. (2019). “L.A. Adds Another Rivalry, This Time in the Esports Arena with the Gladiators and Valiant.” Retrieved from https​:/​/ww​​w​.lat​​imes.​​com​/s​​ports​​/stor​​y​/201​​9​ -08-​​24​/la​​-adds​​-anot​​her​-r​​ivalr​​y​-thi​​s​-tim​​e​-in-​​the​-e​​sport​​s​-are​​na​-wi​​th​​-th​​e​-gla​​diato​​rs​-an​​ d​-val​​iant. Mary-Justice, A. (2018). “OWL Observers Alchemister and Imagine Fired; Potentially More Layoffs on the Horizon.” Retrieved from https​:/​/ww​​w​.inv​​englo​​bal​.c​​om​/ar​​ticle​​s​ /639​​8​/owl​​-obse​​rvers​​-alch​​emist​​er​-an​​d​-ima​​gine-​​fired​​-pote​​ntial​​ly​-mo​​re​-​la​​yoffs​​-on​-t​​he​ -ho​​rizon​. McWhertor, M. (2018). “Heroes of the Storm pros vent Sadness, Anger after Blizzard Kills Game’s Esports Future.” Retrieved from https​:/​/ww​​w​.pol​​y​-gon​​.com/​​2018/​​12​/14​​/1814​​ 1331/​​heroe​​s​-of-​​the​-s​​torm-​​cance​​led​-h​​gc​-bl​​​izzar​​d​-com​​munit​​y. Miceli, M. (2019). “Overwatch League Twitch Viewership Continues to Slide as Stage Three Starts.” Retrieved from https​:/​/es​​ports​​obser​​ver​.c​​om​/ow​​l​-twi​​tch​-s​​tage-​​t​hree​​-2019​. O’Neill, P. H. (2012). “A History of Esports.” Retrieved from https​:/​/gi​​thub.​​com​/h​​ubwub​​/ hist​​ory​-o​​f​-​esp​​orts. Partin, W. (2018). “‘StarCraft II’: How Blizzard Brought the King of Esports Back from the Dead.” Retrieved from https://variety​.com​/2018/ gamin​g/fea​tures​/Star​Craft​-ii-e​sport​ s-his​tory-​12028​73246​. Scholz, C. (2000). Strategische Organisation. Multiperspektivität und Virtualität. Landsberg, Lech: moderne industrie. Scholz, T. M. (2019). eSports Is Business. Management in the World of Competitive Gaming. Cham, Switzerland: Palgrave Macmillan. Scholz, T. M. (2020). “Esports in Media Management – Deciphering the World of Competitive Gaming.” International Journal on Media Management, 22(1), 1–12 Scholz, T. M., and Stein, V. (2017). “Going Beyond Ambidexterity in the Media Industry: eSports as Pioneer of Ultradexterity”. International Journal of Gaming and ComputerMediated Simulations, 9(2), 47–62. Spencer, H. (1875). The Principles of Biology. New York: D. Appleton Taylor, T. L. (2012). Raising the Stakes: E-sports and the Professionalization of Computer Gaming. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Teece, D. J. (2010). “Business Models, Business Strategy and Innovation.” Long Range Planning, 43(2), 172–94. Valentine, R. (2018). “Nate Nanzer: ‘The Train Has Left the Station’ on eSports Opportunities.” Retrieved from https​:/​/ww​​w​.gam​​esind​​ustry​​.biz/​​artic​​les​/2​​018​-0​​9​-27-​​ nate-​​nanze​​r​-the​​-trai​​n​-has​​-left​​-the-​​stati​​on​-on​​-e​Spo​​rts​-o​​pport​​uniti​​es. Vrooman, J. (2009). “Theory of the Perfect Game: Competitive Balance in Monopoly Sports Leagues.” Review of Industrial Organization, 34(1), 5–44. Walley, K. (2007). “Coopetition: An Introduction to the Subject and an Agenda for Research.” Studies of Management & Organization, 37(2), 11–31. Zacny, R. (2016). “The Continental Counter-Strike Divide.” Retrieved from https​:/​/ww​​w​ .red​​bull.​​com​/u​​s​-en/​​the​-c​​ontin​​ental​​-coun​​ter​-s​​​trike​​-divi​​de.

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7

Statistics, Spectatorship, and the “Attention Economy” of Esport Ben Egliston

Introduction Wearing a suit and sports-broadcaster style headset, a man stands in front of several large television monitors displaying footage from the popular esports video game Dota 2 (Valve Corporation, 2013). It’s a scene that wouldn’t look out of place on a television sports network like ESPN. The presenter is economics professor turned Dota 2 statistician Alan “Nahaz” Bester—the “statsman” for most major Dota 2 esports events. He addresses the audience—watching via online streaming platforms and in-person at a packed-out sports stadium in Vancouver—ahead of a deciding match between the European powerhouse and crowd favorite Team Liquid and newcomers to the scene, American squad OpTic gaming. Nahaz goes on to provide a lively narrative of the two teams’ performance to date, setting the stage for the upcoming match. To do so, he draws largely from statistical information about each team’s key players’ career performance. He first describes Team Liquid’s star player, Amer “Miracle” al-Barkawi, a twenty-year-old Jordanian-Polish prodigy known for his tendency to single-handedly win games for his team. “Watch Miracle in this match, he is the only player to average 10 or more kills per game in the history of the international [tournament].” He goes on to describe OpTic’s key “play-maker,” Neta “33” Shapira. “In their last 29 games, dating back to the Summit 9, they are 0 and 13 when he [33] has more deaths than kills, they are 13 and 3 when he has more kills than deaths. They [OpTic] are going to need to hold up 33 in his lane if the green wall [referring to OpTic and their green logo] is going to stand up to the assault of the defending champs.” Through the relay of statistical information about each team’s wider performance history, Nahaz frames the upcoming match as a significant challenge for OpTic, facing off against the dominant force of Liquid and Miracle. By weaving statistical information into this expository pre-game narrative, supporters of OpTic might feel uneasy or anxious ahead of a challenging and daunting matchup, whereas Liquid supporters might feel reassured in what is expected to be a relatively easy victory. As this opening vignette shows, much like traditional sports, statistics are a central and active part of how viewers experience the spectacle of esport. Extending and

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deepening the limited existing work on the technologies and techniques of esports broadcasts, as I show in this chapter, statistics operate as an important intermediary in framing how spectators perceive and engage with esports. To do so, I offer some reflections upon esports in the popular video game Dota 2. Dota 2 is a MOBA game—a mix of strategy and role-playing game genres—which involves two teams of five players (playing as individual “heroes,” or characters with unique gameplay mechanics) attempting to destroy one another’s “base” (a well-defended structure located at two corners of the game’s symmetrical map). Dota 2 is popular globally as an esport, regularly attracting audiences of hundreds of thousands (see https://escharts​ .com​/tournaments​/dota2). To articulate how statistical representations of player activity might be read as a crucial aspect of perceiving modern esports, and their stakes in what we might call the esports “attention economy,” I develop three main arguments. I argue, first, that statistical information is a key part of how viewers pay “attention” to esports. Attention, in this context, is not understood in a common sense way as a cognitive mode of focus or concentration (cf. Davenport and Beck, 2001, 20). Rather, drawing from the philosopher of technology Bernard Stiegler, attention is understood in terms of humans’ capacity to perceive time—specifically, our capacity to develop forwardleaning expectations and potentialize action based on our memories of the past— something which is always mediated by artifactual forms (with technologies, within the context of “hyperindustrial” capitalism, as Stiegler sees it, constructing commercially desirable “circuits” of attention). To give an example, attention to a film is about the viewers’ capacity to perceive its unfolding, our perception conditioned by a reserve of cultural and artifactual memory (for instance, a previous scene we’ve viewed, or from our viewing of other films in its franchise). Drawing from Stiegler’s concept of attention and mediated temporal perception, I argue that esports spectators perceive the unfolding of an esports match, or situate moments of play in relation to a wider tournament, league, or season, via systems of quantification and numerical abstraction in the form of statistical information. I draw from Stiegler’s account of cinematic technicity, offered in the third volume of Technics and Time (2011), to theorize how these statistical interfaces shape perception. To gloss his argument, Stiegler offers an innovative post-phenomenological reading of cinema (and techniques like editing) as the technological construction of a flux of perceptual or temporal experience (which he sees as a key mode of attention and power for the culture industries). Statistical information I argue is analogous to the selection and sequencing of editing and postproduction characteristic of cinema—shaping the temporal flux of the viewer in the unfolding of the esports match, orienting attention in commercially desirable ways. From there, I argue that the function of these statistical interfaces is not just to orient viewers (and help contextualize the match), but to shape how viewers think, feel, and engage with the content they are watching. To make this point, I draw from debates around the technological mediation of affect, and the way that contemporary technologies of capitalism generate value through channeling and modulating affect. I contend that statistical interfaces as technical exteriorizations of gameplay activity

 Statistics, Spectatorship, and the “Attention Economy” 117 create what Slaby et al. (2019) have referred to affective “arrangements”—assemblages of human and nonhuman actors in a particular setting which affect one another in particular ways, from which affective states emerge. In the case of esports, data interfaces give way to particular ways of seeing and parsing the often-complex phenomena on the screen, from which affective states, or emotional content, may emerge. I suggest that the goal in doing so is to generate the potential for affective states that might result in continued viewing and consumption (e.g., excitement, elation, and suspense, as opposed to boredom or apathy).1 Such a framing is useful, I believe, because it avoids playing into reductive, determinist claims about technology and affect. Media do not straightforwardly make us feel things, but rather are designed in such a way that desirable feelings might be evoked from certain arrangements of user and media. Having established how statistics work as a kind of technological intermediary that frames perception of the match, potentializing commercially desirable affective states (beneficial for both Valve and tournament organizers), I develop a final argument: attention via statistical information—an enduring part of Dota 2 esport— is further leveraged for commercial ends by Valve by creating a pay-for-use “fantasy Dota 2 league.” The mode of attention of spectating through statistical information is commodified and sold back to viewers in the form of this “freemium” feature for Dota  2. This represents a unique and interesting way that esports, particularly in Dota 2, are monetized in contrast to attention economies in other audio-visual media like television, which more straightforwardly sells commodified consciousness-time to advertisers (see Stiegler, 2011, 122). The stakes of my analysis are not to advocate for the “legitimacy” of esports qua sports (e.g., by showing how they resemble popular sportsmedia, remediating their use of statistics). Rather, my aim is to examine how esports—as a globally consumed, ubiquitous, real-time spectacle operates as a key site of what Stiegler (2016) calls “hypercapitalism”—that is, the condition by which the mediation of perception is put in service of the growth of capitalism and the stoking of consumerist activity. This said, while I identify these techniques and evaluate how they modulate consciousness for commercially desirable ends, I do not go as far as Stiegler—for reasons of scope— in developing a tactics for combating technologies and techniques of hypercapitalist mediation, and the dominance and destitution he associates with it. The argument I develop in this chapter is expected to be pertinent to researchers studying esports’ “formal” qualities, asking questions like “how does content appear, and to what end?” Existing work has covered areas like commentary (see, for example, Egliston, 2018; McCrea, 2009; Taylor, 2012), yet there has been relatively little consideration of the role of statistics or data in the spectator experience (as I discuss in the following section). Moreover, scholars of esports lack any sustained and critical scholarship about how paying attention to esports, via data, might encourage habits profitable to commercial stakeholders in the esports industry (whether designers of esports games, like Valve, or esports organizations like the Electronic Sports League, or Pro Gamers League). More generally, the arguments developed in this chapter are relevant to wider discussions about the role of data in video games—specifically, those about how data mediate ways of feeling and acting within games (see Egliston, 2019, 2020).

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This chapter proceeds by situating the topic of statistics in esports spectatorship around existing work on data and statistics in sportsmedia and everyday life more broadly. I also do some work surveying the current (yet limited) literature on statistical spectatorship in esports—outlining the specific contributions made in this chapter. Next, I introduce and theorize the relation between the main concepts that drive my analysis—Stiegler’s reading of attention as the mediated perception of time (focusing specifically on his reading of cinematic/audio-visual media and temporality) and the notion of affect (and specifically, its meditation or technological arrangement). From there, I examine how statistical information in Dota 2 esports broadcasts mediates the flux of perceptual, temporal experience constituting the esports match. I then argue that the mediated perception of viewers’ perceptual experience works to potentially elicit particular affective states in viewers, which may be commercially desirable to Valve and the esports industries. Following on from this, I argue that the mode of attention of perceiving the game through statistical information has been further monetized by Valve in the creation of “fantasy Dota 2 leagues.”

Data, Sports Media, and Video Games As a range of writers have suggested, the capture and relay of “data” has profoundly shaped how people experience and perceive everyday life (Kitchin and Dodge, 2011)—shaping how phenomena appear, and convening modes of doing and being. Importantly, this data is often visualized rather than presented in raw statistical or numerical form. As Wright (2008) notes, data visualization is an effective way to make data legible for humans. For Drucker (2014), visualization techniques work as not only an “objective” or “quantitative” account of phenomena but are also “generative” or “active,” creating capacities for new understandings to emerge. The relationship between data (and the visualization thereof) and sports has been considered by a range of scholars from different disciplinary perspectives, with much of existing work focusing on the interface between the play of sports and data—for example, in the statistical optimization of performance (see Hutchins, 2016; Millington and Millington, 2015). Differently, scholars have also considered the relationship between data and its relation to sports fandom. As writers like Burroughs (2018) note, the rise of statistical analysis methods in sports (e.g., sabermetrics) and the popularity of sports-related paraphernalia associated with statistics (e.g., baseball cards) saw a rise in statistical fandom (e.g., fantasy baseball). As Hutchins and Rowe (2012) note, networked sports media saw the emergence of specialist communities dedicated to the statistical analysis of professionalized sports. More in line with this chapter, some researchers have made the connection between statistical representations of sports activity and the experience of spectating televised sports. As Galily (2014, 721) puts it, statistical information (and its visualization and incorporation into the commentary of the game) is important in shaping how sports spectators perceive and understand a match. Drawing on perspectives of time from continental thinkers Stiegler and Heidegger, Crogan (2007) offers a different take on

 Statistics, Spectatorship, and the “Attention Economy” 119 statistics in televised test cricket matches on an Australian television network. He suggests that statistical information about the ongoing (lengthy, multi-day) test series makes moments of past play an “instantly retrievable modality of the present” (2007, n.p.), creating a continuity between the images on the screen, connecting moments of significance for the viewer. A range of perspectives about esport have proliferated in recent years which have made similar arguments about the statistical linking together of temporally disparate events. Some of this has been from within media and game studies (e.g., Egliston, 2018), and some within the proceedings of conferences like the ACM Conference on Human Factors in Computing Systems, focused on the design of statistical interfaces for spectating (see, for example, Charleer et al., 2018). Related to, yet distinct from these perspectives, I argue through the case of Dota 2’s esport that the apprehension of the esports event in the form of statistics not only does work to orient the viewer, but also goes further in creating an interface between viewer and match from which commercially desirable affective states might emerge. Moreover, the mode of viewing through data is further monetized through Valve’s sale of pay-to-play “fantasy esports leagues”—an activity that is heavily reliant on statistical understandings of the game (proliferated through the permanence of statistical information in Dota 2 esports).

Attention Economy, Technology, and Affect In this section I outline the concept of attention economy, and how it can be deployed to think about technology, the mediation of perception, and how people engage and feel about media. The notion of attention economy (which can be attributed to writers like Herbert Simon, Michael Goldhaber, Jonathan Beller, and Georg Franck, see Crogan and Kinsley, 2012) has been used by a range of theorists and researchers to describe the value of attention over information that has emerged as a valuable commodity in the twenty-first-century “information age.” Work from the Italian autonomist Marxist tradition has made significant contributions here—understanding attention as “embodied as a cognitive capacity expressed not only consciously but also subconsciously in the various ways in which we comprehend and interact with the world” (Crogan and Kinsley, 2012, 7). The throughline in much of this work deriving from Marxist autonomia is that modern, digital capitalism is built upon the capture and exploitation of attention as scarce commodity (see Lazzarato, 1994; Terranova, 2012). One of the most perceptive takes on attention economy and contemporary technology comes from the phenomenologically inspired (or more accurately, postphenomenological) work of Bernard Stiegler. Stiegler’s perspective on attention focuses on questions of power and the management of people as psychopolitical subjects. The method of this is the mediation of attention (once again, understood as the alwaysmediated perception of time) through the technics of capitalism (a dynamic that is always materially specific; that is, specific to particular kinds of technics. Technics like television are distinct from books, for instance. See Stiegler, 2009, 6).

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To understand Stiegler’s take on attention economy we must first understand what Stiegler posits as “technicity” (and the wider set of concerns about human being and becoming which motivate his thinking). Developed in volume 1 of Technics and Time (1998), Stiegler argues that the condition for human existence and individuation (i.e., the human subject’s always-ongoing becoming, or self-constitution) is neither the result of some innate biological force (after the transcendental anthropology of Jean-Jacques Rousseau) nor the presence of technological supplements (after the paleoanthropology of André Leroi-Gourhan). Rather, Stiegler suggests that the human “who” exists in composed complicity with the nonhuman or technical “what” (2009, 6). There is, simply, always an equipmental dimension to human individuation. The capacity for projective thinking, or the potential for any action is the outcome of cognitive and somatic developments that have arisen from presence of tools and the capacity of human beings to manipulate them. This originary relation between human individuation and technics is what Stiegler refers to as a condition of technicity (1998). In claiming that individuation always has an equipmental horizon, Stiegler is focused squarely on the reference point of time, which in drawing from and renovating Husserl’s phenomenology of time is taken as a milieu of human experience. Specifically, Stiegler draws on and rereads Husserl’s concept of the “temporal object”—which refers to how an object of our perception unfolds, and is constituted, over time (see Stiegler, 2011, 8–34). Husserl characterizes this in terms of a bipartite schema of “retention.” The first part is primary retention, our perception of the now, and forward-leaning anticipation of the future, based on our immediate “just-past.” The second part is secondary retention, our memory, recall of a temporal object. Husserl’s analysis of the flux of consciousness crucially takes these categories as distinct (arising from his rejection of Franz Brentano’s idealist view that there is no way of distinguishing perception and imagination, see Stiegler, 2009, 188–243). Stiegler’s contention is that these two forms of memory are distinct, yet related (contra Husserl). Additionally, the relation between memory and perception is always mediated. For Stiegler, human temporality is constituted out of an anticipatory projection of the past, made possible through the medium of technics. Desire, agency, action, imagination, and so on are temporal experiences that are only ever possible through technics, of a past recalled through artifactual exteriority. Adding to Husserl’s schema, Stiegler calls this “tertiary retention.” It is from this theorization of tertiary retention that Stiegler develops his genealogy of technology and technicity; that is, his account of how innovations in technical systems, and adoptions thereof (which variously mediate time consciousness), transform human life. A large part of this genealogy is dedicated to evaluating the stakes of what Stiegler calls “industrial” temporal objects, which put temporal perception, and moreover, human technicity, in service of capitalism (of which he develops a sharp critique, particularly in his work following from Technics and Time). Cinema—as a form of time-based media—is a key example used by Stiegler to develop this argument about capitalism’s mediation of perception. As Stiegler sees it, cinema as an industrial temporal object is reliant on specific techniques that shape temporal perception. Editing for instance, as a selection of what appears and structuring

 Statistics, Spectatorship, and the “Attention Economy” 121 of how it appears, mediates an interplay between our memory and anticipation as we perceive each ongoing moment. Relevant here is Stiegler’s description of the cinematic montage and the “Kuleshov effect” (2011, 13–20), which, coined after the Soviet filmmaker Lev Kuleshov, refers to how viewers of a film sequence derive enhanced meaning from two sequential shots, rather than a single shot. The point for Stiegler is that cinematic techniques of editing work to maintain the “just-past in an ongoing present” (2011, 15). For Stiegler, cinema aims to connect disparate elements together into a single temporal flux. Stiegler’s interest in cinema (and electronic and digital media more generally) is a political one. Through cinema he aims to understand the profoundly transformative potentials of media on psychosocial individuation, how this materializes power, and for whom (and how we might develop rehabilitative, critical, and creative uses of technics as response to this). Media like cinema, as he suggests, play a transformative role in behavioral modification, encouraging commercially desirable consumption habits, and so on. This is not only because of their representational verisimilitude (see Stiegler’s discussion on this point around Barthes’ well-known analyses of photography, 2009, 42) but rather because consciousness itself exists in a permanently unfolding flux of perceptions and cultural and artifactual memory; perception itself is cinematic. In short, Stiegler’s post-phenomenological contribution to thinking about the notion of “attention economy” is to understand the specific methods of attention capture and control by the technologies of the culture industries. While the examples of televisual or cinematic media are perhaps now outmoded in the current moment of ultrafast and ubiquitous information transfer, we see the dynamic described by Stiegler—of media as cinematic temporal object shaping our desires, habits, perceptions, and so on—remediated in a range of contemporary media. As I show in the following section, esports broadcasts are an exemplary form of industrial, cinematic temporal object within the landscape of twenty-first-century media. Esports matches employ a range of “editing” techniques, such as commentary, analysis (as discussed elsewhere, see Egliston, 2018) and as I discuss in this chapter, statistics, to link together the images on the screen, mediating an interplay between recall of past moments (in the present game or in the tournament or league more broadly) and our forward-leaning expectations of what’s to come. While I have theoretical commitments to Stiegler’s thought about technology and the technicity of time consciousness, to think about how we actually become affected by the unfolding of an esports match, I want to move away from his perspective that media condition our perceptions in economically desirable, yet often herd-like ways (with the implication a stifling of our psychosocial individuation). Instead, I venture another different, but related, argument—one that is only latent in Stiegler’s theorization of the industrial, cinematic temporal object—that technologies have the capacity to mediate affect and the affective states of the viewer. In this way, I argue that mediating time does not just condition us to act as passive consumers, but rather shapes our capacities to feel or become affected in ways that may be amenable to the economic interests of the media (here, esports) industries.

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Recently, numerous theories of technology looking at relations between individuals and their worlds (e.g., humans and their material environments) have understood affect as the force or intensity of these situated relations (see, for example, Ash, 2015b; Slaby et al., 2019). Affect is in this way not something produced epiphenomenally. Rather, affect denotes relations that provide the foundations for our being in the world. In this way, affect might be considered in similar terms to what Heidegger calls Stimmung—translated to “mood” or “attunement.” Stimmung, for Heidegger, denotes “how we find ourselves disposed . . . the how according to one is in such a way,” which is “never simply a consequence or side effect of our thinking doing and acting” (Heidegger, 1995, 67). There is no “being-in-the-world” without the relational property of Stimmung. Through a more-than-human perspective toward technology and affect, much of the focus of inquiry is on the transductive exchanges between a range of different human and nonhuman forces in an environment, circulating in a way that creates affective states which may come to matter for humans (see Ash, 2015b). In summary terms, I argue that by translating gameplay information from one form (video footage of in-game action) to another (statistical information in numerical form or as visualization), introducing data into the assemblage of technical and human elements comprising a broadcast of an esports match (and shaping how we pay attention to esports matches), the potential for affective states that matter to humans arises. In the following two sections I apply Stiegler’s theorization of attention (and the mediation of temporal perception) to think about the orientational function of statistics in Dota 2 esports broadcasts. From there, I look at how the assemblage of data and gameplay, which produces a particular mode of attention, creates the capacity for commercially desirable affective states to emerge in viewing. Following this, I discuss how the attentional mode to do with spectating through statistical information is further monetized through Valve’s “fantasy esports leagues.”

Statistics and Spectating Esports In this section, I argue that statistics are technical exteriorizations of moments of potential significance within matches, and previous leagues and tournaments, working to orient the viewer. This orientation, I go on to suggest, works to create an arrangement of affect—that is, relationalities between viewer, game, and statistical interface. It is from this arrangement, and the particular modes of viewing it facilitates, that creates the potential for commercially desirable affects to emerge. In working to orient the viewer, the goal in using statistical information in esports is to present information about esport matches as an extended “now.” It is about relating the present moment of consciousness, and our forward-leaning expectations, to statistical recaps and data about past play. Statistics—much like the editing techniques of cinema—generally work to intimate continuity between the images presented on the screen.

 Statistics, Spectatorship, and the “Attention Economy” 123 One example of this is of statistical information permanently present on the screen when watching a match. We might think here of the “resource-lead” figure (see Figure 7.1) which works as a kind of tertiary retention that spatializes the advantage of one team relative to another (in terms of total in-game resources accumulated). This allows viewers, at a glance at any point throughout the match, to situate the present gameplay in terms of previous performance and shape our expectation of how the game might unfold. For instance, if one team is at a significant disadvantage, we might expect them to make bolder plays to stay in the game. Alternatively, if one team has a significant advantage, we might anticipate them as more likely to win the match. The mediation of temporal perception is also clear when statistical information is both presented onscreen and enfolded into the game’s commentary. One illustrative example of this comes from a match I observed in the 2019 Mars Dota Major League, during a deciding match featuring 2017 world champions Team Liquid and 2018 world champions Team OG. Both teams were playing to keep their spot in the tournament, and to keep progressing to compete for the first-place prize of $350,000. Following a scrimmage between OG player Ana and some of Liquid’s players, a small window appears in the center of the screen. The text within it reads: “Highest amount of damage at 23 minutes on any hero at this event!” with a small image of Ana and a graphic of a sword (signifying damage dealt) and the text “23958 hero damage.” The information on the screen made me immediately aware of the significance of Ana’s performance, framing it within the broader context of the Mars Dota Major. As the game’s commentator, Austin “Capitalist” Walsh puts it, when the statistics appear on the screen: “Wow . . . Ana, highest amount of hero damage at 23 minutes on any hero at this event. Quite an impressive performance.” At this point, a bar graph appears at the top of the screen showing Ana’s total damage dealt relative to all other players in the

Figure 7.1  Resource-Lead Figure within the Game’s Spectator Interface (Highlighted)

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game. In this way, statistical information works to frame Ana’s performance, relative to others in the match and others in the wider tournament series. Statistical information also often works to create a sense of continuity between a match and other matches in a league or tournament series, doing so to frame our anticipation of what may unfold. For example, I observed the use of statistics in a pregame analysis segment at the 2016 Manila Major tournament (see also this chapter’s opening vignette). During this segment Nahaz contextualizes a matchup between two teams, situating them within the tournament as both underperforming. As he puts it: Vici Gaming . . . have a 1.6 team KAD in the tournament, one of the lowest. Lowest GPM, lowest XP. On the other hand, EG . . . they actually got weaker as the group stages went on. They lost two straight games with Timbersaw at the end. Their last match against MVP Phoenix, they called GG just after 17.30, that was the quickest GG loss in about four months, since they lost to EHome at MDL.

In presenting this description, Nahaz contextualizes the upcoming game as a relatively even match between the two teams, with both teams characterized by their poor or uneven performance across the tournament. Taken together, what these examples spotlight is a linking together moments of (potential) significance for the viewer, staged via the presentation of statistical information about the game. Memories of the past, or just-past moments of play are exteriorized as to shape how we perceive the match. This information is often present within the spectator interface, but also more directly woven into the game’s commentary and analysis segments. In presenting these statistical recaps of past play, which mediate the viewers’ perceptual flux, esports broadcasts create the capacity for audiences to become affected. As noted in the previous section, the translation of gameplay information into data does not straightforwardly generate affect. Rather, the mediation of a relation between the viewer and the ongoing match creates the capacity for affective states that matter to viewers (and that are often commercially desirable to Valve and the esports industries) to emerge. Various arrangements of broadcast match and statistical information work to channel, circulate, and amplify affective states in different ways. One basic example of the statistical mediation of affect can be seen in the incorporation of statistical information into the game’s commentary. The previously mentioned example of Ana’s gameplay is illustrative of this. The game’s commentators express their own excitement or awe as the statistical information appears on the screen—exteriorizing Ana’s gameplay performance at the tournament relative to other competitors. In watching this match live on Twitch, this immediately provoked a response from the audience. I observed the audience respond and express their own excitement and awe within the technical limits of Twitch’s chat system (e.g., as text, emoji-style images). Users responded collectively with chat “emotes” like “PogChamp” (taken to convey excitement over a moment of skilled play) or text like “Liquid LUL” (as to play up Ana, and OG’s performance, by disparaging Liquid). I observed that the atmospheric “tone” of the chat changed significantly during this particular moment,

 Statistics, Spectatorship, and the “Attention Economy” 125 excitement seemingly experienced most intensely as the casters became affected by the statistical information on the screen, with the chat pane filled with messages. In this way, this collective response to statistical information worked to create a kind of affective resonance (or “contagion” after Gibbs, 2011) between bodies—with viewers’ ways of doing and feeling connected to the experiences and responses of others, namely, the visceral excitement of the commentary team channeled through the stream and their responses to the onscreen statistics (resonating with wider accounts of sports commentary and affect—see McCormack, 2013 and esports commentary and affect—see Egliston, 2018). Pre-game panels similarly shape our affective states in viewing—particularly in terms of affective states to do with anticipation, such as trepidation or uncertainty. I noted this, for instance, during a segment from the 2019 Starladder ImbaTV Dota 2 tournament, prior to the grand final series. In this segment, the panel host Rich Campbell addresses the audience: Folks we already know that two teams that are going to be going to the major, but who is going to get the king’s share of the $300,000. . . . Who do we think is going to take it? We’re going to have some stats to back this up. NIP vs Alliance, Nahaz?

Nahaz responds: Now this series has taken a turn, because you back all the way 4 months to ESL Katowice and NIP took 9 straight maps against Alliance, 5 straight series. All of a sudden Alliance having won 2 of the last 3, upsetting NIP at the EpiCenter Major qualifiers as well as the win here, 2-1 this series, going the distance, as have all Alliance this tournament.

Nahaz’s statistical account frames the outcome of this match as unpredictable and uncertain—either of the two teams could take this high-stakes tournament. In my experience of watching this match as a NIP supporter, I recall feelings of excitement, but also anxiety at the outcome of the match, following Nahaz’s statistical overview. Nahaz’s pre-game framing of the match—and watching the game unfold—I recall my heart rate rising in moments of tension, particularly when NIP was playing at a disadvantage to Alliance. Yet, overall, this statistical framing enhanced my experience of the match, by intensifying my own emotional stakes or investment in it. It felt good to be a spectator completely mesmerized in the game, something transduced through the specific technologies and techniques of the esports event. In this way, the incorporation of statistical material into pre-game segments functioned as a technique of making temporal experience a permanent anticipation of the next mediated experience—the end result being more immersed, captivated viewing. Importantly, affect is something which can be conceived in terms of variable intensity. Affects can be backgrounded or foregrounded to varying degrees, especially when mediated (see Ash, 2015a). Most of the examples thus far have demonstrated how affect is intensified, yet other features demonstrate a more ambient circulation of affect. We might think here of the previously mentioned resource-score statistic,

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always present throughout the match. In contrast to other statistical information, which appear at key moments throughout the game, the resource-lead figure operates as a kind of low-intensity background, not drawing attention to itself (e.g., through its prominent placement on the screen, or through elaborate visualizations), yet always framing our perception and feelings toward the ongoing match. The outcome might be understood as one of “maintaining” affective states. Because these statistics are always on the screen, they might, for instance, maintain a prolonged feeling of uncertainty (and potentially, captivated viewing) if one’s favorite team is at a disadvantage. Statistical win-probability graphs can also be considered in terms of affect. In Dota  2, these graphs are often generated by Valve’s machine intelligence program called Dota Plus.2 The percentage is generated based upon the AI’s data about past games, and observation of the present game’s unfolding—dynamically responding to changes within the game. These statistics can straightforwardly channel affect, such as when they predict a win or loss for a team that one is particularly invested in. Another less-straightforward way that predictive statistics channel affect is through a kind of de-legitimization of their own veracity. Statistical information is not always correct, and when an outcome runs counter to that of the predictive tool, there is often an amplification of affect. For example, when a team overcomes a significant disadvantage, this may intensify affective states of elation, excitement, joy, and so on, particularly if one is a supporter of a particular team. To give an example, in the final game of the International 2018 tournament, a deciding match for a prize of $11 million and the title of world champions, Team OG, against Team LGD, had a predicted 8 percent chance of victory (against LGD’s 92%). Despite these odds, OG played out a highly unlikely counternarrative, winning the game and the tournament—intensifying my positive affect as an OG supporter. Taken together, in this section I have argued that statistical information in esports broadcasts works to mediate the flux of temporal, perceptual experience—specifically, working to orient the viewer, linking together moments of significance. From there, I have argued that the mediation of temporal perception creates the capacity for commercially desirable affective states to emerge.

Monetizing Attention: Fantasy Leagues Beyond manipulating viewer attention as to provoke commercially desirable affective states, recently in Dota 2, Valve have demonstrated how the mode of attention of watching play through the gaze of statistical information has been further commodified (beyond enticing continued viewing) through monetized, pay-to-play “fantasy esports” leagues. To participate in a Dota 2 fantasy esports league, players must purchase a $10 “ticket” called a “battle pass”—a monetization strategy in the tradition of “freemium” games (free to play with paid features). Purchasing a battle pass allows users to participate in Dota 2 fantasy leagues during major, Valve-run tournaments. Fantasy leagues—traditionally associated with sport—are a form of game where players assemble “virtual teams” of real-life players. These assembled teams “compete”

 Statistics, Spectatorship, and the “Attention Economy” 127 against one another based on the statistical performance of their real-life counterparts in actual games (with fantasy league players’ team performance ranked on a global leader board). Emulating a managerial role on an esports team, players must select and remove players from their fantasy team in order to enhance performance. In this way, familiarity with statistical information about players’ performance is essential to success. I argue that Valve has piggybacked off statistical representations of gameplay as a popular mode of attention in Dota 2 esports in introducing this feature. This is not an argument without precedent. Previous work has made connections between the enduring presence of statistics in sports (baseball in particular), and the performance of sports fandom via participation in fantasy leagues (see Burroughs, 2018). As Burroughs puts it, sabermetrics (as a statistical method for the analysis of baseball) brought with it a way of seeing baseball play as “quantified.” Widely used in the organization of baseball teams, sabermetrics describes the measurement of in-game activity via statistical measurements (e.g., batting average). Burroughs connects the prevalence of sabermetrics and the quantification of baseball to the rise in popularity of fantasy baseball leagues, a now widespread and commercially lucrative practice surrounding the sport. While Burroughs does not put it in such terms, his argument is reminiscent of Stiegler’s genealogical approach to thinking about technics, and moreover, for conceptualizing the relationship between advances in technology and attentional modes. Recalling discussion in the third section of this chapter, for Stiegler each epoch is defined by a technological innovation, building on that of the previous major innovation. This process of technological innovation introduces profound disorientations of an existing cultural program, transforming our ways of doing and being. Stiegler offers some explanation of this dynamic through his concept of grammatization, which refers to the process of spatializing or discretizing mental or temporal phenomena. Newer media or technology often grammatizes previously existing ways of doing and being. An example is the grammatization of the flux of speech as writing. These grammatizations, as Stiegler sees it, not only reshape how we think about the flux that was grammatized (e.g., the influence of writing on oral rhetoric) but also form the basis of new cultural programs. We might think, for instance, about the kinds of intellect and cultures of critical reflection emerging from attention to writing. Particularly relevant here is the discipline of philosophy, the emergence of which can be traced to modes of attention to do with writing, across a history from Mesopotamian cuneiform, to Egyptian hieroglyphs, to the Greek alphabet (see Stiegler, 2010). The relevance of this perspective here is that the discretization of esports phenomena as statistics—as argued in the previous section—conditions a mode of temporal awareness or perception, which is sold back to users in the form of fantasy leagues. The result is not the standardization and commodification of attention in a straightforward sense (e.g., consumerist passivity around television, with the “time” of consciousness sold to advertisers). Rather, in a different, more dynamic, yet no less manipulative way, statistics form part of a (meta) ludic activity (reliant on statistical knowledge)—which players must pay to access. In Dota 2, a fantasy league involves a player choosing professional players for their fantasy team based upon their possession of “player cards”—a virtual item, purchasable

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via real-world currency (in addition to the cost of the battle pass)—which gives the league player “access” to that professional player. Mirroring the composition of a reallife esports team, players create a fantasy team comprised of two core hero players (the main characters that deal damage, accumulate power, etc.), two support hero players (the characters that back up the core heroes), and one player to fill any hero role. The individual players on one’s fantasy team accrue points based on their performance in pro matches played across a particular tournament. A player’s “roster” is scored each day of the tournament based on the performance of the fantasy team’s real-life counterparts on that day. Table 7.1 shows the metrics players are scored against. Success within the “fantasy” Dota 2 arena is reliant on familiarity with the performance of professionals, and moreover, how to “read” the game through statistics. For example, knowing that Miracle, a player who has a history of accumulating many kills can be recruited into my league, I would select him for my team over one of my current “core” players, EternalEnvy, who has a far less reliable performance (characterized by very high peaks and very low troughs). It is also crucial that fantasy league players are aware of not only individual player strengths, but team strength— with the capacity to perform well in terms of these metrics often dependent on a team’s overall performance in the game (i.e., if a team loses a match, it is unlikely that its individual player will have very strong Gold per Minute, etc.). A key part of this is knowing which teams are likely to win against others based on their “career” performance (as noted in the previous section, this kind of information is often relayed through esports broadcasts). Also crucial is an understanding of team performance in different formats of matches. Certain teams have statistically fared better in elimination matches or in the elimination bracket (such as Evil Geniuses, known as the “lower bracket kings” due to their ability to perform better when on the cusp of being eliminated from a tournament), whereas others—particularly newer teams— often struggle to perform under pressure. In summary, to accumulate points, a player Table 7.1  Dota 2 Fantasy Esports League Scoring System Statistic Kill Death Assist Last hit Gold per minute Tower Kill Roshan Kill Team Fight Wards Planted Camps Stacked Runes Grabbed First Blood Stuns

Points per 0.3 -0.3 0.15 0.003 0.002 1 1 3 0.5 0.5 0.25 4.0 0.05

 Statistics, Spectatorship, and the “Attention Economy” 129 needs to apply their statistical understanding of the game within the rules and scoring system of the fantasy league. While statistical information, as presented in the previous section, works to technologically construct a flux of perceptual, temporal experience, and moreover, mediate commercially desirable affective states in viewers, this section offers a different perspective on the stakes of a statistical mode of attention for Valve. I have argued that the prevalence of statistical information in Dota 2 esports broadcasts has come to constitute a taken-for-granted mode of paying attention to Dota 2, one which has formed the basis for engagement with monetized features like “fantasy leagues.” In contrast to Stiegler’s take on the commodification and standardization of attention, this represents a more complex and dynamic mode of deriving economic value from the attention of media subjects.

Conclusion This chapter has offered some reflections on the role of statistical information in shaping how viewers experience and perceive esports, concentrating on the case of Dota 2. I have argued that statistics and data interfaces operate as key technological intermediaries that orient viewers in watching esports matches. Drawing on Stiegler’s account of attention, understood as humans’ always-mediated capacity to perceive time, I have argued that statistical information works to reshape the temporal perception of esports viewers—accumulating the consciousness of subjects in a way consistent with common methods of a contemporary “attention economy” and other “industrial temporal objects.” Paralleling the techniques of cinema, and like Stiegler’s reading of cinematic technicity and the mediation of temporal consciousness, I argue that statistical information allows spectators to link together disparate parts of esports matches, leagues, and tournaments, operating as a technique to maintain the “just-past in an ongoing present” (Stiegler, 2011, 15). This statistical staging of viewer perception of esports matches is a key technique for creating economic value for commercial stakeholders in the esports industry. I provide two accounts of how this value is generated. First, I argue that the statistical orientation of the user, and the mediated experience of the time of the esports match, represents what Slaby et al. (2019) call an “affective arrangement”—assemblages of various objects and forces within an environment which affect one another. It is from this arrangement, I suggest that affective states, which matter to humans, can potentially emerge. Through these arrangements, esports broadcasts “narrow” the capacity for affective states to emerge, particularly those which might be characterized as “positive” and impel continued viewing. Adding to this, I suggest that the mode of paying attention to esports is monetized in a more complex and dynamic way than Stiegler’s understanding of older audio-visual media, like television. Instead of selling the time of captivated attention to advertisers, Valve have introduced a form of monetized gameplay activity which operates on the very basis of statistical information being a key mode of paying attention to esports.

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Notes 1 Relevant here is the question of resistant reception. Of course, users do not all experience esports in the same way—and the capacity to be affected is contingent upon one’s own history and context as much as the material configuration of the esports spectacle. The point made here is that these arrangements make commercially desirable states more likely (minimizing resistant reception), rather than necessarily mediating them. Future work might focus more closely on resistant reception. 2 Notably, since DotaPlus’ 2018 launch, a range of data-driven interfaces have been developed by the broader data analytics industry for use within esports. Perhaps most notable here is the collaboration between data analytics firm SAP and the Electronic Sports League. Thanks to the anonymous reviewer for pointing out SAP’s involvement in esports.

References Ash, J. (2015a). The Interface Envelope: Gaming, Technology, Power. New York, NY: Bloomsbury. Ash, J. (2015b). “Technology and Affect: Towards a Theory of Inorganically Organised Objects.” Emotion, Space and Society, 14, 84–90. Burroughs, B. (2018). “Statistics and Baseball Fandom: Sabermetric Infrastructure of Expertise.” Games and Culture. https://doi​.org​/10​.1177​/1555412018783319 Charleer, S., Gerling, K., Gutiérrez, F., Cauwenbergh, H., Lucyx, B., and Verbert, K. (2018). “Real-Time Dashboards to Support eSports Spectating.” In Proceedings of the 2018 Annual Symposium on Computer-Human Interaction in Play (pp. 59–71). New York, NY: ACM Press. Crogan, P. (2007). “Thinking Cinema(tically) and the Industrial Temporal OBJECT: Schemes and technics Of Experience in Bernard Stiegler’s Technics and Time Series.” Scan: Journal of Media Arts Culture, 4(2). Retrieved from http:​/​/sca​​n​.net​​.au​/s​​can​/j​​ ourna​​l​/dis​​play.​​php​?j​​​ourna​​l​_id=​​93 Crogan, P. and Kinsley, S. (2012). “Paying Attention: Towards a Critique of the Attention Economy. Culture Machine, 13.” Retrieved from https​:/​/ww​​w​.cul​​turem​​achin​​er​.ne​​t​/ind​​ ex​.ph​​p​/cm/​​artic​​l​e​/vi​​ew​/46​​4​/501​ Davenport, T. H. and Beck, J. C. (2001). The Attention Economy: Understanding the New Currency of Business. Boston, MA: Harvard Business School Press. Dota 2: The Kiev Major (2016, June 8). The Manilla Major - Main Event Day 2 [Video File]. Retrieved from https​:/​/ww​​w​.you​​tube.​​com​/w​​atch?​​v​=HLY​​6IVCP​​UW​W​&t​​=3263​​5s Drucker, J. (2014). Graphesis: Visual forms of Knowledge Production. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Egliston, B. (2018). “E-sport, Phenomenality, and Affect. Transformations.” Journal of Media, Culture and Technology, 31, 156–74. Egliston, B. (2020). “Surveillance Technicity: Affect, Retention and Videogame Analytics.” Media, Culture and Society 1–17. Published online ahead of print. DOI: 10.1177/0163443719880139 Egliston, B. (2019). “Quantified Play: Self-tracking in Videogames.” Games and Culture 1–23. Published online ahead of print. DOI: 10.1177/1555412019845983

 Statistics, Spectatorship, and the “Attention Economy” 131 Galily, Y. (2014). “When the Medium Becomes ‘Well Done’: Sport, Television, and Technology in the Twenty-First Century.” Television and New Media, 15(8), 717–24. Game Over!. (2018, August 20). TI 8 Main Event - Nahaz Jumping—Production Value [Video File]. Retrieved from https​:/​/ww​​w​.you​​tube.​​com​/w​​atch?​​v​=sO6​​​fz​-I1​​tO4 Gibbs, A. (2011). “Affect Theory and Audience.” In V. Nightingale (Ed.), The Handbook of Media Audiences (pp. 251–66). Mladen, UK: Wiley-Blackwell. Heidegger, M. (1995). The Fundamental Concepts of Metaphysics: World, Finitude, Solitude. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Hutchins, B. (2016). “Tales of the Digital Sublime: Tracing the Relationship between Big data and Professional Sport.” Convergence, 22(5), 494–509. Hutchins, B., and Rowe, D. (2012). Sport Beyond Television: The Internet, Digital Media and the Rise of Networked Media Sport. New York, NY: Routledge. Kitchin, R., and Dodge, M. (2011). Code/Space: Software and Everyday Life. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Lazzarato, M. (1994). “Immaterial Labor.” In P. Virno and M. Hardt (Eds.), Radical Thought in Italy (pp. 133–50). Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. McCormack, D. (2013). Refrains for Moving Bodies: Experience and Experiment in Affective Spaces. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. McCrea, C. (2009). “Watching Starcraft, Strategy and South Korea.” In L. Hjorth and D. Chan (Eds.), Gaming Cultures and Place in Asia-Pacific (pp. 179–93). New York, NY: Routledge. Millington, B., and Millington, R. (2015). “‘The Datafication of Everything’: Toward a Sociology of Sport and Big Data.” Sociology of Sport Journal, 32(2), 140–60. Slaby J., Mühlhoff, R. and Wüschner, P. (2019). “Affective Arrangements.” Emotion Review, 11(1), 3–12. Starladder Dota 2 (2019, June 16). “[EN] Ninjas in Pyjamas vs Alliance, Game 1, StarLadder ImbaTV Dota 2 Minor S2 Grand Final [Video File].” Retrieved from https​:/​/ww​​w​.you​​tube.​​com​/w​​atch?​​v​=Ycj​​nUR3g​​​-SY​&t​​=156s​ Stiegler, B. (1998). Technics and Time, 1: The Fault of Epimetheus. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Stiegler, B. (2009). Technics and Time, 2: Disorientation. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Stiegler, B. (2010). “The Carnival of the New Screen: From Hegemony to Isonomy.” In P. Snickars and P. Vonderau (Eds.), The YouTube Reader (pp. 40–59). Stockholm, Sweden: National Library of Sweden. Stiegler, B. (2011). Technics and Time, 3: Cinematic Time and the Question of Malaise. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Stiegler, B. (2016). Automatic Society: The Future of Work. Cambridge, UK: Polity. Taylor, T. L. (2012). Raising the Stakes: E-Sports and the Professionalization of Computer Gaming. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Terranova, T. (2012). “Attention Economy and the Brain.” Culture Machine, 13. Retrieved from https​:/​/ww​​w​.cul​​turem​​achin​​e​.net​​/inde​​x​.php​​/cm​/a​​rticl​​e​/vi​e​​wArti​​cle​/4​​65 Valve Corporation. (2013) Dota 2 [Video game]. Bellevue, WA: Valve Corporation. Wright, R. (2008). Data Visualization. In M. Fuller (Ed.), Software Studies: A Lexicon (pp. 78–86). Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.

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Counting Clicks Esports, Neoliberalism, and the Affective Power of Gameplay Metrics Tom Brock

Introduction This chapter argues that the gameplay metrics used to measure player performances in video games enable the competitive logic of capitalism, and a neoliberal subjectivity, to circulate through esports cultures. Drawing on a case study of the esport Defense of the Ancients 2 (Dota 2), this chapter will critically consider how its metrics, like “actionsper-minute,” “match-making rank,” and “kills-deaths-assists,” reward neoliberal bodily performances. In particular, it will show how these metrics entangle players into a discourse of “competitive uncertainty” (Beer 2016 also see Davies, 2014) that requires players to monitor and optimize their performances to remain competitive within game’s market. This chapter begins by considering existing critiques of video games and quantification (Whitson, 2013) and its relationship to capitalism (Silverman and Simon, 2009; Paul, 2018). The purpose is to show that gameplay metrics create the characteristics of a competitive market and the need for a neoliberal subject. What is meant by “neoliberal” here? As Dave Beer (2016) argues, neoliberalism is made possible by the ability to rank and measure things. Ranking things requires the application of an “economic methodology” to social practices that provide standard measures and tests against which to differentiate people and establish hierarchies of value (also see Davies, 2014). This chapter argues that the use of gameplay metrics to rank, compare, and evaluate Dota 2 players is an example of the economic methodology needed to make neoliberalism possible. Moreover, it considers how esports requires a “neoliberal masculinity” (Voorhees, 2015; Voorhees and Orlando, 2018) to manage the game’s competitive market and what relationship this has with risk and entrepreneurialism (see Baerg, 2012). The second-half of this chapter will discuss the affective nature of this process by examining the emotional and embodied responses that gameplay metrics stimulate and provoke. As James Ash (2010; 2015) argues, video games produce sensory and

 Counting Clicks 133 perceptual forms of feedback that shape the habits and conduct of players by “attuning” their bodies to meet with the challenges and demands of video game environments. Drawing on Beer (2016), this chapter will consider how players “attune” their bodies to the numericized setting of Dota 2, giving critical attention to how players navigate the risks and uncertainty of its competitive market. In particular, it will discuss the feelings of anxiety that come with the measurement of in-game actions and how players turn to networks and technologies of performance coaching and “self-help” to manage their behavior. This chapter will further our understanding of how competitive video games bring neoliberal subjects into being in three ways. First, it will draw attention to how gameplay metrics create the characteristics of a competitive market through the ranking, comparing, and evaluating player behavior. Second, it will show how metrics leverage competition and emotion to shape players bodily practices. Third, it will raise questions about the psychosocial dimension of player identity and how metrics structure the psyche of a neoliberal subject. Indeed, this chapter will conclude by suggesting that the competitive gamer is not a purely “instrumental” actor (Taylor, 2011, 2012) but, instead, evidences a fragility and insecurity that metrics help stabilize.

Metrics, Power, and Neoliberalism What are “gameplay metrics”? According to Anders Drachen, et al. (2013, 23–4), gameplay metrics are quantitative measures about what players do inside the virtual environment of a video game. As a player, users can generate thousands of behavioral measures throughout a single gaming session—each click of the mouse or control pad generating a reaction and response that is captured and analyzed by the game’s system. Indeed, sophisticated measures of player activity include the measurement of dozens of these inputs per second. Drachen et al. argue that these measurements generate large databases of information that serve a range of purposes, including

1) Informing critical business decisions, such as evaluating user experiences;

2) Notifying developers of games design errors and issues; 3) Supporting players by monitoring and optimizing their in-game performances, specifically through the use of paratextual statistical analysis to “theorycraft” (also see, Paul, 2011). It is this third use of gameplay metrics—to optimize player performances—that is of concern here. There is a critical, albeit small body of literature about the use of metrics within video games and the monitoring of player performances. Most recently, Christopher Paul’s (2018) book The Toxic Meritocracy of Videogames argues that the measurement of player performances has a long-standing relationship to the divisiveness and inequalities present within video game cultures. Of particular note is Paul’s account of World of

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Warcraft (WoW) (Blizzard, 2003), which suggests that the game’s systems of item levels, gear scores, and achievement points, create a culture that judges and attributes talent, ability, skill, and merit to those with the highest or best set of numbers. Indeed, Paul goes on to argue that, despite the fallacy of attributing skill to item level, players typically use these metrics to benchmark one another; pre-selecting and grouping only with those who have attained the highest-level items. This process, argues Paul (2018, 138), reproduces a meritocratic ideal that encourages inequality and difference, “Video games are predicated on inequality, on the perception that some people are better than others and that when one is victorious it is precisely because of that player’s actions, that player’s timely interventions and button presses.” Metrics facilitate this normative expectation by providing players with a measure or number that acts as a “symbolic currency” (Paul, 2018, 113) of their skill. Paul is not the only games scholar to critique this symbolic currency or to recognize that metrics play a divisive role in video game culture. Silverman and Simon’s (2009) account of “Dragon Kill Points” (DKP) in WoW raises an interesting question about the relationship between numerical systems in video games and competitive self-interest. DKP was a commonly accepted method of calculating and distributing rewards within raiding guilds by assigning players points for participation in boss kills. However, as Silverman and Simon note, many of the world’s best guilds rejected the DKP system as it incentivized self-interest over group accomplishments. Players would accumulate or “horde” DKP and exchange it for one highly prized item, rather than incremental upgrades that were of benefit to the raiding group as a whole. As such, the DKP system discourages collaboration and rewards meritocratic play (also see Paul, 2018, 114). Indeed, Simon and Silverman (2009, 364) argue that the DKP system was a prime example of what Foucault calls “disciplinary power”; a set of techniques of (self-) surveillance that regulates the behavior of individuals to accept the competitive logic of capitalism. For example, the DKP system tracks and codifies the value or merit of each player; rewarding those sufficiently committed and skilled while punishing those who were either late or lazy. Simon and Silverman (2009) argue that this quant​ifiab​le-me​ asure​-cum-​mecha​nism-​of-di​scipl​inary​-powe​r shapes player bodies and subjectivities, creating an obedient, efficient and productive “power gamer” willing to embrace the most rational and competitive characteristics of a capitalist market. Baerg’s (2012) analysis of risk and risk management in digital role-playing games also highlights this relationship between ludic structures and neoliberal logics. Baerg argues that stat distribution systems and combat sequences in games like Neverwinter Nights 2 position the player to manage the game’s world as a risk. He provides examples from character creation to spell and equipment selection to reveal how players manage the data of the game to maximize their avatars. Baerg argues that the search for an “optimal build” through cost-benefit analysis is an example of how neoliberal rationalities undergird players engagement with the game’s quantitative systems. In this sense, he provides an excellent example of how play practices take up the mandate of “neoliberal technologies of the self ” to engender and refine more productive bodies (also see Whitson, 2013).

 Counting Clicks 135 This argument aligns with more recent critiques of the body politics within esports. Recent esports research has interrogated the relationship between masculinity and neoliberalism to establish a groundwork for the critical examination of video games. The work of Gerald Voorhees (Voorhees, 2015) and others (Voorhees and Orlando, 2018) has been central to this, as it recognizes that esports is a nexus for thinking about the relationship between neoliberal rationalities and contemporary masculinities within Western culture. Voorhees argues that the masculine-identities present within esports scenes is motivated by a single guiding logic or principle—competitive success. Indeed, he uses Michel Foucault’s theorization of “neoliberal governmentality” to make the following claim, The professionalization of digital gaming is a means of bringing into being Homo Economicus by incentivizing, through high-stakes competition, a way of being dictated by rational choice and cost-benefit analysis . . . . [Esports] rationalizes the activity of play and legitimates patterns of interaction that are otherwise unacceptable within the dogmas of hegemonic masculinity. (Voorhees, 2015, 68)

Voorhees presents a sophisticated analysis of the neoliberal body politic within esports, which draws on the idea that elite players must purposively train their bodies in the art of Homo Economicus. That is, through a cost-benefit analysis, players rationalize every act of play in order to determine their effectiveness within a competitive market. In this sense, Voorhees is developing an argument following the work of T. L Taylor (2012) and others (Taylor, 2011) who recognize that there is a tendency within esports to “instrumentalize play.” For example, Taylor suggests that competitive success is contingent on professional players maximizing their chances to win through the extensive study of game mechanics and the competitive circuit. The process of rationalizing play occurs as players seek to achieve the most efficient return upon in-game activities through a great deal of study, whether of past matches, databases containing game data, and discussion forums. Voorhees argues that this practice transforms play into a kind of “economic calculus”—the study and record of complex information to calculate costs and benefits. Indeed, Voorhees suggests that the genderidentity of the professional gamer is one which eschews a typically hyper-masculine, violent, or muscular subject position. Instead, it is one that normalizes neoliberal logic by celebrating the most efficient combination of skills and abilities needed to succeed (also see Brock, 2017). Helpfully, these critical analyses draw attention to the power of metrics in video games, but more needs to be said about their affective capacity to create neoliberal subjects. In the book Metric Power the sociologist Dave Beer (2016) examines the intensifying role that systems of measurement and calculation play in ordering and shaping everyday life. Drawing on a range of examples, from Apple Watch, Facebook, and Google Scholar, Beer (2016) argues that metrics have the “affective power” to entangle people into a neoliberal discourse. Beer’s argument begins from the simple premise that metrics are often used to judge our performative capacities and create mechanisms that compare, rank, and display our victories and failures. Apple Watch

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is an obvious example—its systems continuously measure and evaluate our bodily routines against a set of performative goals. It tells us what to eat, when to sleep, and how much to walk. The device continually evaluates and ranks how “well” each act is performed by providing us with positive or corrective feedback in the form of a “score.” For Beer (2016), it is this quantifiable judgment of our performances that aligns our identities toward the values of neoliberalism. Metrics like, “personal bests” or “move goals,” which can display information through competitive leaderboards, reward self-interest and normalize the idea that the market is the principal organizing feature of social life. In Beer’s (2016, 7) own words, “Perhaps then the very growth of systems of measurement that we have seen is a kind of marker of neoliberal rationalities at work—found in the desire to measure. Wearables devices like the Apple Watch make it possible to govern ourselves by numbers in much more nuanced, personalised, and direct ways.” Beer’s main point—which goes beyond wearable technologies—is that systems of measurement are crucial in the realization and deployment of neoliberal political formations. Competition cannot exist without measurement as measures enable the criteria and hierarchies needed to judge winners and losers. Why is this important? Because, for Beer, metrics change how people frame social relationships and practices. His concern is that quantifiable measures evaluate social conduct solely in terms of their capacity to compete productively within the market, rather than having any social or cultural value. It is this process, argues Beer, which connects metrics to the political economy: systems of measurement establish competition as the behavioral norm while cementing inequalities into the composition of social life. Indeed, following Foucault, Beer (2016, 27) sees metrics as a way to shift power into the hands of those who can present numbers as an “apparatus” of knowledge. Of particular interest in Beer’s analysis is the affective or emotional capacity of metrics to entangle our bodies into neoliberal political formations. Beer (2016, 212) argues that the power of metrics extends beyond mere surveillance—beyond the simple tracking, capturing, or comparing of physical acts—into the structuring of how we feel and what it is that we think and do. In his own words, metrics can “entangle” our bodies into processes of governance and self-governance by provoking emotions of anticipation, expectation, worry, fear, anxiety, and concern. Here, Beer is developing on the work of James Ash (2010), who argues that video games are successful because they create environments that purposively produce affective encounters (they establish an “architecture of affect”). Beer (2016, 203) advances Ash’s original argument by examining the way that metrics captivate or “attune” bodies to the demands of marketized competition through negative affect. He argues that systems of measurement produce “competitive uncertainty”: an unshakeable sense that our performances will be compared, ranked, and judged. This uncertainty cultivates feelings of anxiety, which people try to manage by adopting strategies of self-training and performance management. Competitive uncertainty is how metrics connect bodies to neoliberalism: by using anxiety to drive competitive advantage. Indeed, Beer argues that the model subject of neoliberalism is the entrepreneur: a person who, through the calculation of risks and uncertainties, can pursue personal success competitively.

 Counting Clicks 137 Beer’s critique of the affective power of metrics raises the question of how a competitive video game entangles people into the processes of neoliberal governance. This chapter argues that this entanglement takes place through the measurement, ranking, and comparison of player performances, which generates the uncertainty and techniques of self-surveillance required to secure competitive advantage. Uncertainty is a critical component of games design (Costikyan, 2013) and Dota 2 is no different in this regard. Indeed, the next section of this chapter will consider how Dota 2 generates a discourse around metrics that draws players into processes of neoliberal governance by requiring them to manage the uncertainty of its competitive ranking structure.

Dota 2: Metric Power Dota 2 is a competitive team-based multiplayer online battle area (MOBA) with roughly 11.7 million unique players (Valve, n.d.). The objective of the game is to collectively destroy the opposing team’s “Ancient” base structure while defending your own. Two teams of five players battle against one another with each player selecting 1 of the 115 playable characters known as “heroes.” The design of each hero has specific attributes, which influence health points, mana points and attack speed, and unique abilities, like offensive or defensive spells. Players may also purchase items that augment these heroes’ unique abilities for in-game currency, earn through the killing of “creeps”—computercontrolled creatures that travel predefined paths along lanes within the map. This arrangement means that Dota 2 has a complex and highly emergent ruleset that provides players with a vast array of information and detail. Players must use this information to develop their strategies while working together, as a team, to destroy the opposition’s base. To help players efficiently control these heroes and assimilate vital information from the game world, Dota 2 utilizes several systems of measurement. These systems analyze gameplay and provide real-time and post-game feedback to help players improve their performances (also see Egliston, 2019). Examples of these metrics include the following:

“APM,” which measures how many actions a player performs per minute.

“KDA-ratio,” which measures how many “kills,” “deaths,” and “assists” a player has acquired. “GPM” and “XPM,” which measures how much gold and experience a player has acquired per minute. “LH/DN score,” which measures how many “killing blows” a player has landed to a creep or enemy hero to generate gold. “MMR,” which represents the skill level of each player and is used to determine leaderboard rankings. These metrics are not only used to help players keep track of in-game events and activities. They are also used to help players acquire a sense of game mastery, and skill

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(Brock and Fraser, 2018) as increments in these measures reflect an understanding of the in-game strategies and the meta (Huang, et al., 2017). Now, following Beer’s argument about metric power, consider the discursive environment that these metrics generate. According to the esports journalist Stephen Chiu (2018), writing for the website vpesports​.com​, APM is considered the baseline that we give to measuring the “raw mechanics” and “peak potential” of a Dota 2 player, Spamming APM is one of the key things players should do as beginners for a few reasons. First is that it trains your fingers and mind to move at that speed [. . .]. The second step is to try to think about what you actually need to do in each game with your allotted APM. Then with practice, you push your limit over and over again in ladder games, and that is how you eventually improve.

Chui suggests that APM is about connecting the body to strategy through what he calls “processing speed”: “the ability to see a specific moment in time and analyse, break down, and come up with a counter-strategy within milliseconds.” This speed— which comes from clicking quickly—is said to establish a “reflex” that connects a player’s capacity for quantitative analysis with a competitive advantage. Indeed, it is an “apparatus of knowledge” (Foucault, 2007 in Beer, 2016) within the Dota 2 esports community that APM (or to be more accurate, Effective Actions Per Minute, EAPM) facilitates active and faster reaction times. APM is said to give players better control over the game, better visualizing of the maps, better knowledge of the items available, and better insight into how to manage one’s heroes and competitors effectively and efficiently. The rhetoric or language used typically concerns advising players on how to “better manage your game.” There are a range of websites, such as dotabuff​.com​, joindota​.com​, dotafire​.com​, and dota2​.gamepedia​.co​m, as well as YouTube or Twitch​.​tv channels, such as Dota Alchemy, Game Leap, or Purge Gamers, which offer players many “tips” and “tricks” on how to maximize their game time and boost their leaderboard rankings. This advice comes in the form of advising players about their metrics as indicators of skill and areas for improvement. For example, as part of his “Dota Basics” YouTube series, Kevin “Purge” Godec (2018a), suggests that metrics indicate the speed and efficiency by which players accomplish in-game tasks, such as farming resources, like gold or experience points. He gives the metric “LH/DN score” particular attention, arguing that it reflects the effectiveness of players to generate gold by killing creeps (or by denying enemies of this income), once you get the basics of the game you should try to improve your current speed. For example, if you average 40 last hits by 10 minutes, practice your last hitting a bit and later try to get 50 last hits by 10 minutes instead. The gold difference will give you a big edge over your opponents. Generally, always keep in mind how you are spending your seconds in the game if you become inefficient and accomplish little with your time then it will have a very big negative effect on your game.

 Counting Clicks 139 Central to Godec’s advice is the idea that LH/DN score is a measure of player productivity and indicative of wasteful or inefficient “gold farming” practices. He shows the importance of this through a discussion of the need to practice with the “Last Hit Trainer,” a core feature of the Dota 2 gameplay system, which provides players with additional scores, percentages, and rankings of their LH/DN capabilities. Godec suggests that each practice session with the trainer is an opportunity for players to learn from their mistakes, and he encourages them to ask the following questions, introspectively: “Why did you waste your time there?,” “What should you have done instead?,” and “How could that have helped you?” The goal of these self-surveying questions, Godec suggests, is to encourage players to secure an economic advantage, training them to be more time and resource-efficient. Indeed, he concludes by arguing that a good (gold) income is the foundation on which Dota 2 players establish victory—cementing the connection between measurement, resource management, and competitive acuity. This focus on measuring player efficiency extends beyond farming practices to a range of other behaviors in Dota 2, specifically those concerned with MMR. As a selection of articles, blog posts, and videos affirm (Brown, 2018; Meric, 2019; Stronk, 2017), there are no less than eleven different metrics that calibrate player rank or leaderboard position, including KDA, APM, LH/DN score, Win/Loss Rate, Match Length, Damage to Tower, Damage to Enemy Heroes, Wards Placed, Neutral Creep Stacking. The implication here is that players need to multitask across many different activities and that metrics assist them in understanding their efficiency and effectiveness (also see “Calibration MMR in Dota 2: A Detailed Guide,” 2019). Indeed, there are several related YouTube channels, like Game Leap, Goodboy Guides, or Purge Gamers, which promise to help players improve upon their MMR. This advice typically comes through the suggestion that players focus their training on practices related to these metrics, from laning effectively to stacking neutral creeps to optimizing itemization. As Godec (2018b) suggests, “if you want to get good at Dota 2 it helps to understand how the numbers work.” To take another example, consider Godec’s (2019) advice about itemization. Itemization refers to how players can improve their hero’s abilities by using gold to purchase in-game items that boost specific spells and attributes. There are over 150 of these items in Dota 2, each with attributes that modify core hero mechanics, like health, mana regeneration, armor, movement speed, attack speed, and many more. Many of these items also modify multiple attributes at once, making the selection particularly complicated, as each hero only benefits from specific attributes. Godec (2019) suggests that, if players want to win, they need to understand the costs and benefits of each item. He gives a detailed analysis of the vast array of numbers that players must pay attention to when considering each item and its potential to influence a hero’s damage, defense, and mobility. In particular, Godec (2019) suggests that players need to understand how the attributes of each item correlate to specific hero abilities. Otherwise, players will “waste” gold and time by undermining the effectiveness of their heroes. This rhetoric draws an equivalency between metrics and player skill. In particular, it suggests that by controlling these numbers, players can render the competition more intelligible and manageable. Indeed, the launch of Dota 2’s new premium monthly subscription service—called “Dota Plus”—is aimed at delivering tools to meet with this very rationality. Dota Plus boasts a range of statistical features and

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measures to improve player performances (also see Egliston, 2019). One feature that is of particular relevance here is its performance-coaching technology called “Plus Assistant,” which Valve (n.d.) describes in the following way: The collective knowledge of the Dota community is vast, and every day, in millions of games played around the world, it grows. Now, with the help of Plus Assistant, that global repository of Dota knowhow can be brought to bear on every single game you play. Plus Assistant offers real-time item and ability suggestions— generated from data gathered across millions of recent games at each skill bracket—to keep you up-to-date on the latest trends. Whether you need advice on which hero best fits a draft, or aren’t sure what to build after securing that coveted Blink Dagger, Plus Assistant is in your corner.

As such, for a small monthly fee, players can now pay money to have access to the latest in performance coaching technologies—they can benefit, on an individual basis, from the use of big data, statistical analytics, and AI modeling to get a competitive edge. The Plus Assistant will tell players what items to buy and when. It will also offer players advice on what abilities to select, and it will change these suggestions, in real-time, depending on previous behavior, current opponent hero selection, and lane—or area of the map—the player resides. In Valve’s own words, Dota Plus is about “enhancing” the play experience by helping players to get the most out of every match. Indeed, Dota Plus gives players access to smart data solutions to produce speedy and efficient subjects. “Second-by-second death summaries,” “post-game analytics,” “spectator game outcome prediction graphs,” “in-game real-time analytics comparisons,” “hero trend analyses,” including “pick rate,” “win rate,” “ban rate,” “talent pick rate,” “average KDAs,” “average GPMs,” “average XPMs,” and so on—all of these metrics aim to assist player victory by turning their clicks into clear frameworks of efficiency and progression. Following Beer, it is this leveraging of data to help improve player performances that embed neoliberal rationalities into the gameplay practices of Dota 2 players. The real power of these metrics is in their capacity to simplify complex, competitive arrangements and present them to players as a way to promote their individualized agendas. Indeed, players use Dota Plus (and other community-generated content) as a means to leverage data to remain competitive. However, this is a double-edged sword. There is always an area where the data shows that players are behind or that their competitive position looks fragile. These metrics intensify the competitive culture in and around Dota 2 as its discourse attributes value to those who can(not) manage competitive uncertainty by making quick, accurate, and efficient decisions.

Dota 2: Affect and Anxiety Like Beer (2016), we might unpack the relationship between metrics and neoliberalism by revealing the “psychosocial costs” of measuring player performances. Indeed, Beer

 Counting Clicks 141 argues that the costs of neoliberalism often manifest themselves in the feelings of stress, insecurity, anxiety, and shame that comes from measuring people’s performances (also see Gill, 2010). What instigates these feelings is a sense of the uncertainty of competition, which, then, drives agents to embrace further methods and techniques of self-training and risk management (also see Scharff, 2015). In particular, Beer argues that uncertain subjects are likely to fashion entrepreneurial strategies out of the precarious experiences afforded by marketized competition. Indeed, he argues that the neoliberal outlook is to embrace risk in the certainty that one can overcome its challenges and anxieties. An excellent example of this is how the discourse of measurement and calculation provokes feelings of anxiety within the Dota 2 community. Indeed, there is an intense affective dimension to MMR with many forums, blog posts and community-driven content providing examples of players talking about the anxieties and insecurities that come with playing ranked competitive matches. A search of Reddit, as well as forums on websites like dotabuff​.com​, joindota​.com​, dotafire​.com​, reveals over 3,700 posts from Dota 2 players, discussing the negative effects that “ladder anxiety,” “SOLOQ anxiety” (and other terms) have on player experiences of the game. For example, in one Reddit thread, entitled “Does anyone else get solo queue anxiety?” (WinterTitan, 2017) players discuss the worries that come with “obsessing” over MMR as well as the “anger,” “fear,” and “frustration” that comes with losing coveted leaderboard positions. One player writes, I have a hard time looking for a game on solo because I get so anxious about losing and can never hit the play game button. Idk if it’s just me or how to even get over it.

This quotation reveals that the MMR system, through solo queuing, has the power to generate symptoms of stress and anxiety; the strength of which creates a physical and mental barrier to playing the game. Another player captures the way that this stress manifests as a result of criticisms of their previous performance(s): I’ve had this for years, can’t play solo unless I’m really drunk. I’ve tried a few times and it’s gone really well, no flaming, even won some, but it’s been so stressful. This is a type of performance anxiety, where you worry about playing well and that you’ll get flamed if you don’t. As a result I’ve become unable to take negative feedback in all parts of my life. If anything negative happens, I brood on it for days. I keep thinking about playing more, but as soon as I run the game and look at that play button, I get physically ill and give up.

This quotation gives deeper insight into the affective power of metrics as the player reflects on the “toxicity” of Dota 2 (also see Paul, 2018) and its mental and physical impact on their play. In particular, through the notion of “flaming,” it’s clear that the prospect of losing ranked games (and therefore MMR) justifies a fear of personal attacks based on previous experiences. This fear appears to generate anxieties alongside a strong physiological response (“physically ill”) to stay away from the game’s

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competitive culture. Of course, this culture (and toxicity) also extends to the Reddit post itself, as one commentator shows, Stop being a pussy. It’s a video game.

Not all comments capture the negative affect that competition, through MMR, drives. There are also examples of players offering advice. For example, one player, in responding to a post by user “Mega The Medic Main” (2015), entitled, “How do I get over my solo queue anxiety?,” writes:

identify the root of problem: are u scared of playing vs other people? are you

scared of getting pwnd? are you scared of losing mmr? just remember that losing is a great way to learn . . . learn the game, and raise your skill level instead of the number called match making rank points because your mmr will follow your skill level one way or another and not the other way around. always have confidence in your skills and every time you queue you should feel excited to outsmart, outplay and destroy the opposition. This advice clearly links the physiological impact of anxiety to MMR and offers emotional and practical advice to help this player manage the uncertainty that accompanies competition. In particular, the advice suggests that the player can manage their anxiety by improving upon their in-game skill, bringing the focus back to the player’s need to improve as a means of developing self-confidence. Some members of the community take this idea of support much further, creating content that coaches Dota 2 players about their mental and physical well-being. For example, one YouTube channel, The Dota Clinic, dedicates some of its content to offering players explanations of and remedial strategies to ladder anxiety. In one video, entitled “Understanding Anxiety,” MJ “Finch” Finch (2014a), whose public profile suggests that he is a behavior analyst, and holds a master’s degree in Clinical Psychology, explains that ladder anxiety is caused by the physiological response(s) of the body to stress factors. These factors include the following: ●●

●● ●●

●● ●●

●●

Event importance—the more important the event, the more anxiety it causes in the individual. Uncertainty—the more uncertainty, the more anxiety. Personal sources of stress—if a person has a lot of personal things going on, it all builds up. Trait anxiety—some people are just more anxious than others. Self-esteem—low self-esteem leads to low self-confidence, which leads to more anxiety. Social physique anxiety—When a person is anxious due to a person viewing something about them (in sports, physical appearance). In Dota, your MMR rating.

 Counting Clicks 143 Finch argues that these stress factors are likely to affect player performances negatively as, if left unattended, anxiety can become overwhelming and lead players to “crumble.” As such, Finch (2014b) suggests that players adopt a range of self-care and confidencebuilding practices to manage the performance anxiety that accompanies ranked games. Finch suggests that by exercising regularly, eating healthily, breathing deeply, thinking positively and acting confidently, players can manage their ladder anxiety and compete more effectively. The key to these therapeutic techniques, Finch suggests, is that they manage the emotional aspects of the stress (or “fight-or-flight”) response that the ranking and evaluation of player performances instigates. Finch is not alone in coaching players on the therapeutic strategies needed to persist in ranked Dota 2 games. Across various sites, and community-driven content, there is a list of remedial practices, including meditation, stretching, drinking green tea, twisting a towel very hard, taking regular hot showers and hot baths, avoiding caffeine and sugary sweets, taking regular breaks, and reviewing past achievements. These practices appear to be particularly important when players are facing a losing streak. For example, as part of Dota Alchemy’s “Mental Game” video series, professional player Andrew “Jenkins” Jenkins (2018), talks about the well-being routine that he has established to help him manage the competitive stresses of the ranked matchmaking system, which includes listening to classical music, keeping his bedroom clean, going for walks at night, and developing a “mantra” that focuses and self-motivates him—all activities that Jenkins says help to “calm” and “ground” him by providing a sense of control. Jenkins notes that the need for these therapeutic strategies are particularly poignant when he is being “flamed” or having his performance criticized by other players, as negative comments about his performance typically intensify his insecurities, [these strategies] give me something that I can focus on that’s not just okay does this guy hate me, is this guy going to trust me, oh my god, I’m going to fuck up. I’m not going to think all of these things. I’m just like okay, I got to do this job, I got to do this job, and I got to do this job, you know it creates this structure for you.

Jenkins’ advice here reveals the strategies that he deploys to “become un-tilt-able”—a phrase commonly adopted (from Poker) to capture the state of mental or emotional confusion or frustration in which a player adopts a less than optimal strategy. Jenkins establishes a well-being routine to control his environment and manage this anxiety such that it does not interfere with the efficiency or productivity of his gameplay. This idea—that anxiety must be dealt with to ensure competitiveness—is conferred through the advice of Dan “Foxdrop” Wyatt. In his video entitled, “How to deal with and overcome ranked anxiety,” Wyatt (2015) suggests that he has consulted a chartered psychologist and an academic researcher on emotions to provide players with the coaching needed to change their behavior. First, he outlines what the symptoms of ranked anxiety are—feeling nervous when queuing for games, getting cold hands, shivers, and a faster heart rate. Then, second, Wyatt offers players a list of methods to control their actions. He suggests that triggering player anxiety is a two-step process. On the one hand, players “think” incorrectly by spending too much time focusing on

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what is to lose or at stake. On the other hand, players “act” incorrectly by not coping with the realization that failure is a constituent of playing a competitive multiplayer game. This realization leads Wyatt to suggest that players need to change the way that they view their losses because this will change the way that they “cope” with them. He goes on to advise that players need to rethink games as opportunities to improve: if your end goal is to come out a better player than you went going in, there isn’t doesn’t matter if you lose as long as you learn something from each game that you play then win or lose you’ll be successful and you can remove the anxiety connected with the outcome of the game.

Wyatt’s rhetoric establishes the idea that anxiety comes from misperceptions in player thinking. He reframes the problem to suggest that gameplay is not about winning but about one’s ability to learn and improve. He suggests that players need to “train their brains as if it were muscle”—the being to improve one’s performances through microenhancements in player strategy. Indeed, in his own words, players need to develop a better “internal locus of control” by focusing on the elements of gameplay that they can improve upon—like their gold farming practices, laning strategies, and build orders. For Wyatt, such practices establish a positive “feedback loop” in psychology that helps players to manage their anxiety by producing a stable internal locus of control. It is clear from this rhetoric that the psychosocial costs of metrics—to generate feelings of stress, insecurity, anxiety and even shame—are all present within the discussions around MMR in Dota 2. Indeed, techniques of power and self-governance operate through the affective capacity of MMR to generate uncertainties and anxieties. In response, players seek advice and are offered amateur forms of psychological counseling as a way of coaching them to become “better” players. These coaching techniques mix holistic remedies with cognitive behavioral therapy to encourage players to embrace methods and techniques of self-training and risk management. Indeed, the unifying logic behind each act of advice is that players need to improve themselves if they are to manage and overcome the competitiveness that characterizes Dota 2. In this sense, players, as uncertain subjects, establish an “entrepreneurial alertness” (Beer, 2016, 194; also see Lilley and Lightfoot, 2014) to the precarious experiences afforded by marketized competition. The coaching and advice provided by members of the Dota 2 community reflect the need for players to develop entrepreneurial strategies to manage the psychosocial costs of neoliberal competition. The irony is that many of these strategies refer back to the very methods of measurement and performance evaluation that produce the uncertainties and anxieties that entangle players into seeking out advice.

Conclusion: Metric Tyranny The application of Beer’s concept of “metric power” to Dota 2 reveals the impact of gameplay metrics to generate competitive uncertainty through the ranking,

 Counting Clicks 145 comparison, and evaluation of player performances. As such, this chapter captures the tendency for measurement in games to encourage players to adopt the approach of Homo Economicus (Baerg, 2012; Voorhees, 2015; Brock, 2017). There is plenty of evidence within the discursive environment of Dota 2 to suggest that metrics assist players to apply an economic methodology to their gameplay practices. Examples from the rhetoric used around APM, GPM, LH/DN score and other measures reveals how players manage the data of the game to maximize their efficiency and effectiveness. As with other examples, Dota 2 players are encouraged to adopt a cost-benefit analysis as the game rewards those who take up the mandate of self-improvement and productivity. Indeed, Dota 2 is an example of a “neoliberal technology” (Whitson, 2013), given its emphasis on metrics as a pathway to performance enhancement and success. Equally, this technology leverages data to create a discourse of uncertainty in which success pivots on the capacity of players to respond quickly, accurately, and efficiently. Dota Plus is a technology built to aid players in managing the risk of this uncertainty, offering them even more measures on the understanding that this will render the competition intelligible and manageable. In this sense, the Dota 2 player meets with Voorhees’ account of neoliberal masculinity—players use metrics to find the most efficient combination of skills and abilities needed to succeed. Indeed, the very idea of performance coaching draws parallels with his analysis of entrepreneurialism in esports. In essence, the Dota 2 player manages competitive risks by calculating the costs and benefits of this advice. However, this chapter also contributes new knowledge as it reveals that behind the economic rationalities that typically characterize a neoliberal agent is a precarity or uncertainty that profoundly affects the Dota 2 subject. There is a “biopolitics” (Foucault, 1997) to counting clicks—a fragility, uncertainty, and insecurity within masculine identity formation as it is thrust into the market of competitive gameplay and asked to cope with the stresses and anxieties of having one’s performances monitored and evaluated. Following Voorhees (2015), this subject is both neoliberal and hegemonic. It is clear from the discourse that players adopt techniques and strategies of selfgovernance that further rely on engaging with the competitive market. Thus, we see examples of community-generated content coaching players on the costs and benefits of managing the risks to their well-being. In other words, the community naturalizes the anxiety that metrics generate by holding one another individually responsible for overcoming the psychological and physiological constraints that market conditions generate. Entrepreneurialism rules within this grid of intelligibility—as players coach one another into becoming speedy, smart, prophetic, efficient, and, above all, “un-tiltable,” subjects. There is, of course, something paradoxical about players packaging and distributing this self-help advice according to market criteria (Giddens, 1991). Dota 2 players position themselves as concerned with overcoming the anxieties that competition generates while also seeking out ways to make themselves more effective within its marketplace. This process often involves them having to embrace the risks, uncertainties, and anxieties that gameplay metrics generate while insourcing the responsibility for making the correct choices needed to remain competitive. As the

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advice from Wyatt and others show, the central motif running through performance coaching is that players must take responsibility for their own life and sense of wellbeing. This discourse takes competitive uncertainty and combines it with an ethos of self-actualization, self-development, self-growth, and self-help to drive the player toward constant productivity. Indeed, Wyatt suggests that the only barrier to success is the player themselves, thereby securing the conditions for constant self-work through anxiety and guilt (see Salecl, 2011). This self-work through metrics is tyrannical: creating the conditions for social control through the ideology of life-coaching (see Cederström and Spicer, 2015). In drawing this chapter to a close, it is crucial to consider its argument for debates about masculinities in play. It is evident through the work of Paul (2018), Voorhees (2015), and others (Voorhees and Orlando, 2018) that the competitive nature of video games can contribute to the “toxic” communications that take place between players online. Dota 2 is certainly no different in this regard. Indeed, in-game and paratextual communications often confirm examples of discrimination, exclusionism, and cyber-bullying (Adinolf and Turkay, 2018; Sheepsticked, 2019). It certainly makes sense that metrics can contribute to the “gender-assemblages” (Taylor and Voorhees, 2018) that facilitate patriarchy and misogyny as well as examples of neoliberal masculinity. After all, as Beer (2016, 197) argues, metrics are active deeds, loaded and carry consequential forms of communication. The very notion of measuring is active: it is a practice in which someone is trying to do something to achieve something over someone else. What the arguments of Beer (2016) and others (Wetherell, 2012) raise is the recognition of the psychosocial power of metrics to penetrate individual subjectivity here, perhaps more deeply than rational choice. Indeed, as the example of performance coaching reveals, metrics structure the psyche by generating conflicting forces, tensions, and emotions that drive players to act in fuzzy, paradoxical, and unstable ways. Future research on player subjectivities and constructions of masculinity may start here to reveal the power of metrics.

References Adinolf, S., and Turkay, S. (2018). “Toxic Behaviors in Esports Games: Player Perceptions and Coping Strategies.” In Proceedings of the 2018 Annual Symposium on ComputerHuman Interaction in Play Companion Extended Abstracts (pp. 365–72). ACM. Ash, J. (2010). “Architectures of Affect: Anticipating and Manipulating the Event in Processes of Videogame Design and Testing.” Environment and Planning D: Society and Space, 28(4), 653–71. Ash, J., and Gallacher, L. A. (2015). “Becoming Attuned: Objects, Affects, and Embodied Methodology.” In Perry, M. and Medina, C. (Eds.) Methodologies of Embodiment: Inscribing Bodies in Qualitative Research. (pp. 87–103). Routledge: New York. Baerg, A. (2012). “Risky Business: Neo-liberal Rationality and the Computer RPG.” In Vorhees, G. Call, J., and Whitlock, K. (Eds.) Dungeons, Dragons, and Digital Denizens: The Digital Role-Playing Game. Continuum: New York. Beer, D. (2016). Metric Power. London: Palgrave Macmillan.

 Counting Clicks 147 Brock, T. (2017). “Roger Caillois and E-Sports: On the Problems of Treating Play Like Work.” Games and Culture, 12(4), 321–39. Brock, T. and Fraser, E. (2018). “Is Gaming a Craft? Prehension, Practice and PuzzleSolving in Gaming Labour.” Information, Communication and Society, 21(9), 1219–33. Brown, M. (2018). Dota 2 Ranks and Ranking System (Updated 2019). Retrieved from: https://dmarket​.com​/blog​/dota2​-ranks/ (Accessed February 14, 2019). Calibration MMR in Dota 2: A Detailed Guide. (No Author). (2019). Retrieved from: https​:/​/ww​​w​.dot​​ainte​​rnati​​onal.​​com​/c​​alibr​​ation​​-mmr-​​dota-​​2​-det​​​ailed​​-guid​​e/ (Accessed February 14, 2019). Chiu, S. (2018). “Breaking Down Misconceptions about of Apm.” Retrieved from: https​:/​/ww​​w​.vpe​​sport​​s​.com​​/dota​​2​/bre​​aking​​-down​​-misc​​oncep​​​tions​​-of​-a​​pm/ (Accessed February 3, 2019). Costikyan, G. (2013). Uncertainty in Games. MIT Press: Cambridge, Massachusetts. Cederström, C., and Spicer, A. (2015). The Wellness Syndrome. John Wiley and Sons. Davies, W. (2014). The Limits of Neoliberalism: Authority, Sovereignty and the Logic of Competition. Sage: London. Drachen, A., El-Nasr, M. S., and Canossa, A. (2013). Game Analytics–the Basics. In Game Analytics (pp. 13–40). London: Springer. Egliston, B. (2019). “Quantified Play: Self-Tracking in Videogames, Games and Culture.” Online First: https://doi​.org​/10​.1177​/1555412019845983 Finch. (2014a). “The Dota Clinic #6—Understanding Anxiety (Part 1).” YouTube. Retrieved from: https​:/​/ww​​w​.you​​tube.​​com​/w​​atch?​​v​=r​_​f​​EAsl3​​AAo (Accessed April 3, 2019). Finch. (2014b). “The Dota Clinic # - Strategies to Cope with Anxiety (Part 2).” YouTube. Retrieved from: https​:/​/ww​​w​.you​​tube.​​com​/w​​atch?​​v​=hB6​​​jg7N5​​kbw (Accessed April 3, 2019). Foucault, M. (1997). Ethics, Subjectivity and Truth: Essential Works of Foucault 1954–1984 (Vol. 1, Trans. C. Porter). New York: The New Press, 1997. Giddens, A. (1991). Modernity and Self-Identity: Self and Society in the Late Modern Age. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Gill, R. (2010). “Breaking the Silence: The Hidden Injuries of the Neoliberal University.” In R. Ryan-Flood and R. Gill (Eds.), Secrecy and Silence in the Research Process: Feminist Reflections (pp. 228–44). London: Routledge. Godec, K. (2018a). “Dota Basics Episode 6: Resources.” Retrieved from https​:/​/ww​​w​.you​​ tube.​​com​/w​​atch?​​v​=oAs​​v6OOD​​a​xSI&​​t​=377​s (Accessed April 3, 2019). Godec, K. (2018b). “Learn Dota Episode 4: Mechanics (Stats, Armor, and Magic Resistance).” Retrieved from: https​:/​/ww​​w​.you​​tube.​​com​/w​​atch?​​v​=M9​A​​KuHy4​​dp (Accessed March 31, 2019). Godec, K. (2019). “Learn Dota Episode 7: Itemization.” Retrieved from https​:/​/ww​​w​.you​​ tube.​​com​/w​​atch?​​v​=cNC​​​-Ct29​​Kz0 (Accessed April 3, 2020). Huang, J., Yan, E., Cheung, G., Nagappan, N., and Zimmermann, T. (2017). “Master Maker: Understanding Gaming Skill through Practice and Habit from Gameplay Behavior.” Topics in Cognitive Science, 9(2), 437–66. Jenkins. (2018). “Dota 2: Dealing with Ladder Anxiety & People Flaming You. Become Un- TILT-able | Pro Dota 2 Guides.” YouTube. Retrieved from: https​:/​/ww​​w​.you​​tube.​​ com​/w​​atch?​​v​=BmP​​​y01Q8​​7ug (Accessed March 5, 2019). Lilley, S., and Lightfoot, G. (2014). “The Embodiment of Neoliberalism: Exploring the Roots and Limits of the Calculation of Arbitrage in the Entrepreneurial Function.” The Sociological Review, 62(1), 68–89.

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Mega The Medic Main (2015). “How Do I Get Over My Solo Queue Anxiety?” Reddit. Retrieved from: https​:/​/ww​​w​.red​​dit​.c​​om​/r/​​DotA2​​/comm​​ents/​​3r5eq​​i​/how​​:do​_i​_get​ _over​_my​​_solo​_queue​_anxiety/ (Accessed March 4, 2020). Meric. (2019). “How to Calibrate at Max MMR—Dota 2 Guide.” YouTube. Retrieved from: https​:/​/ww​​w​.you​​tube.​​com​/w​​atch?​​v​=UlR​​​FQXe2​​z1E (Accessed February 14, 2019). Paul, C. (2011). “Optimizing Play: How Theorycraft Changes Gameplay and Design.” Game Studies, 11(2). Retrieved from: http:​/​/gam​​estud​​ies​.o​​rg​/11​​02​/ar​​tic​le​​s​/pau​l (Accessed January 12, 2018). Paul, C. A. (2018). The Toxic Meritocracy of Video Games: Why Gaming Culture Is the Worst. University of Minnesota Press: Minneapolis. Salecl, R. (2011). The Tyranny of Choice. Profile Books: London. Scharff, C. (2015). “The Psychic Life of neoliberalism: Mapping the Contours of Entrepreneurial Subjectivity.” Theory, Culture and Society. Online First. DOI: 10.1177/0263276415590164. Sheepsticked. (2019). “Some Sexism. Reddit. Reddit, Inc.” Retrieved from https​:/​/ww​​w​.red​​ dit​.c​​om​/r/​​DotA2​​/comm​​ents/​​9vmg0​​s​/​som​​e​_sex​​ism/ (Accessed June 18, 2019). Silverman, M., and Simon, B. (2009). “Discipline and Dragon Kill Points in the Online Power Game.” Games and Culture, 4(4), 353–78. Stronk. 2017. “Dota 2—How Does High MMR Calibration Works.” YouTube. Retrieved from: https​:/​/ww​​w​.you​​tube.​​com​/w​​atch?​​v​=FyD​​​6​_s1h​​FCA (Accessed February 14, 2019). Taylor, N. T. (2011). “Play Globally, Act Locally: The Standardization of Pro Halo 3 Gaming.” International Journal of Gender, Science and Technology, 3(1), 228–42. Taylor, T. L. (2012). Raising the Stakes: E-sports and the Professionalization of Computer Gaming. MIT Press: Massachusetts. Taylor, N. and Vorhees, G. 2018. “Masculinity and Gaming: Mediated Masculinities in Play.” In Taylor, N. and Vorhees, G. (Eds.). Masculinities in Play. Palgrave: London. Valve. n.d. Dota 2 Statistics. Retrieved from: http://blog​.dota2​.com/. (Accessed January 2, 2019). Valve, n.d. Dota Plus. Retrieved from: http://www​.dota2​.com​/plus (Accessed May 2, 2019). Voorhees, G. (2015). “Neoliberal Masculinity: The Government of Play and Masculinity in E-Sports.” In Brookey, R. and Oates, T (Eds.) Playing to Win: Sports, Video Games, and the Culture of Play. Indiana University Press: Indiana. Voorhees, G., and Orlando, A. (2018). “Performing Neoliberal Masculinity: Reconfiguring Hegemonic Masculinity in Professional Gaming.” In Masculinities in Play (pp. 211–27). Cham: Palgrave Macmillan. Wetherell, M. (2012). Affect and Emotion: A New social Science Understanding. Sage: London. Whitson, J. R. (2013). “Gaming the Quantified Self.” Surveillance & Society, 11(1/2), 163–76. WinterTitan. (2017). “Does Anyone Else Get Solo Queue Anxiety?” Reddit. Retrieved from: https​:/​/ww​​w​.red​​dit​.c​​om​/r/​​DotA2​​/comm​​ents/​​7ia6r​​g​/doe​​s​_any​​one​_e​​lse​_g​​et​_s​o​​ lo​_qu​​eue​_a​​nxiet​​y/ (Accessed August 3, 2019). Wyatt, D. (2015). “How to Deal with and Overcome Ranked Anxiety (Ladder/ Performance Anxiety).” YouTube. Retrieved from: https​:/​/ww​​w​.you​​tube.​​com​/w​​atch?​​ time_​​conti​​nue​=1​​5​&v​​=s​​sUKlk​​gzMBU​ (Accessed February 14, 2019).

9

Esports Transmedia Universes The Case of Overwatch Raine Koskimaa, Tanja Välisalo, Maria Ruotsalainen, and Veli-Matti Karhulahti1

Introduction Over the years and recently in particular, various elements of esports have gathered piles of research from culture and economics to health and gender (e.g., Jin and Chee, 2008; Scholz, 2019; Szablewicz, 2016; DiFrancisco-Donoghue et al., 2019; Taylor and Voorhees, 2018; Witkowski, 2018; Kari et al., 2018). However, few have considered the role of transmediality as an explicit part of esport ecosystems—perhaps because of the strong tendency of both the industry and scholars to entertain esports as an extension to traditional sports (e.g., Kane and Spradley, 2017; Jenny et al., 2017; Hallmann and Giel, 2018) rather than part of fictional and narrative cultural lineages. In other words, transmedia studies have always been concerned with fictional and narrative cultural content in particular, and current esports research somewhat uncritically perceives the phenomenon as sports or sports-like to which fictional elements are trivial. In this chapter, our goal is to introduce transmediality as a core pattern that delineates esports design, play, and player-audience interaction on multiple levels. As a case study, we provide a cross-sectional analysis of the esports title Overwatch. Transmediality has been studied from numerous perspectives such as media economics (Albarran, 2013; Clarke, 2013; Davis, 2013; Rohn and Ibrus, 2018), storytelling engagement (Dena, 2009; Evans, 2011; Harvey, 2015; Jenkins, 2006, 2013; Klastrup and Tosca, 2004, 2011, 2014; Mittel, 2015; Ryan, 2013), and journalism (Rampazzo and Tárcia, 2017). Transmedia storytelling has been coined by Henry Jenkins (2013) as “the systematic unfolding of elements of a story world across multiple media platforms.” In this chapter, analysis is conducted within the rubric of a specific “transmedia universe,” which reconciles these perspectives and takes into account the complex and incoherent nature of many transmedia phenomena, including storytelling, production, and consumption (Koskimaa, Välisalo and Koistinen 2016). As such, the transmedia universe encompasses the production, franchise marketing, non-diegetic contents (including paratexts), collectibles (like toys), as

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well as the wide range of unofficial transmedia expansions: fan fiction, fan art, and other externally created materials generated via multiple transmedial user practices (Koistinen, Ruotsalainen and Välisalo, 2016). Thus, the transmedia universe is not fixed on storytelling or production viewpoints, but aims to incorporate audience (and player) perspectives to transmedia in equal measure. As such, the transmedia universe differs from most other conceptualizations of transmediality by its scope and therefore fits well with multilayered media phenomena such as esports. In order to analyze Overwatch as transmedia, we utilize multi-sited data that we approach with two methods that correspond with the game’s transmedial pathways between two overlapping domains: the fictional world of the game Overwatch, and nonfictional world of competitive esports—both of which are channeled and developed by various diverse media. First, we draw from an ongoing survey concerning the reception of Overwatch and its professional Overwatch League; second, we employ a close reading of the game as a playable product and a watchable Overwatch League spectacle including broadcasts, social media engagement, among others. We situate Overwatch into the framework of transmedia studies and probe how (and what kind of) transmediality emerges in the case of this particular esport—and what can it teach us about the relationship between fiction and nonfiction in game-centered esports transmedia universes. The first section provides an overview of how transmedial elements have operated in esports historically and how the emergence of Overwatch fits in this historical context. The subsequent four sections discuss transmediality in Overwatch via the respective angles of media presentation, characters, narrative, and social media. The chapter ends with a discussion and conclusions.

Background: Transmediality and Overwatch Transmediality has been part of the gaming culture from early on, and has been a topic of several case studies such as those of Walking Dead (Ecenbarger, 2016), World of Warcraft (Barbara, 2018), and playable webtoons (Pyo et al., 2019). To a large extent, many popular esports belong to this same tradition—yet with a number of elements that make them particularly interesting for transmedia studies. While transmedial forms and dimensions of gaming have certainly evolved in time along with cultural, social, and technological change, we stress that the below elements of esports transmediality, despite being represented in a linear way, overlap significantly. Already in the “prehistoric” era of competitive arcade gaming, tournaments made heavy use of multiple media outlets. Petri Saarikoski and colleagues (2017), for instance, provide an archeological window to how Atari and related distributors employed marketing strategies for their Pac-Man tournaments: the event could be held at an amusement park, be reported via numerous magazines, geared toward TV audiences, and ultimately expanded with promotional material that included the hit song “PacMan Fever.” As such, early gaming tournaments were transferred and transformed to multiple media channels that were critical in the formation of the “esports product” into a coherent entity (see also Borowny and Jin, 2013).

 Esports Transmedia Universes 151 Characters and their storylines were used as transmedial entities in competitive gaming already in the 1990s. While characters have been associated to gaming since the birth of the industry, titles such as Street Fighter and StarCraft set them in direct contact with the time’s “esports” scene: players’ styles, strategies, and professional identities were developed in partial relation to heroes, races, and other playable entities that had characteristics and fictional histories of their own. David Sirlin’s (2005) founding work on competitive fighting games provides relevant insights concerning the differences in strategies and play styles that intertwine with the characters and narratives both inside and outside the games (see also Kane, 2008; Ferrari, 2013). The rise of MOBAs (multiplayer online battle arena games) in the 2000s is an example of an explicit application of transmedia narration. Titles like League of Legends that were designed specifically for esports play involved evolving narratives; playable champions were published with dramatic written backstories that followed wider storyworld building in comics, fictional bulletins, and video media. While few players paid attention to the above elements in the first place (Watson, 2015), these narrational attempts presented various experimental means of transmedia storytelling by developing plotlines via actual gaming outcomes and, vice versa, allowing the plot events (such as character death) affect competitive play (cf. Seo, 2016). The proliferation and enriching of social media has added one more layer to esports transmediality affecting the temporalities and modes of production and consumption of transmedial content. Image, text, and video based services such as Reddit, Twitch, and Twitter have become key channels through which the phenomenon is discussed, distributed, created, and recreated. Esport play no longer takes place in-game alone (it never did), but also outside of the game where experts, fans, and players engage to a degree that can easily outplay the core gaming activity (Taylor, 2018). While these changes have played a key role in the recent development of esports in particular, we repeat that none of the transmedia elements have emerged by linear progression, but rather via various shifts and threads related to production and popularity in the cultures of gaming. Our present case study—team-based online multiplayer first-person shooter Overwatch—was published in 2016 by Blizzard Entertainment and it utilizes all of the mentioned transmedia approaches. The game provides its players with heroes of a squad formerly known as the Overwatch, plus a selected number of friends and foes. These form the playable character pool, set in a future where Earth is inhabited by not only humans, animals, and plants, but also by evolved robots known as the Omnics. This has also led to a worldwide conflict known as the “omnic crisis” (war between omnics and humans) and the Overwatch was created to put an end to this. When starting the game, players learn some of the earlier information through opening cinematics. There is much that is left unknown, and the background remains oblivious as long as one merely plays the game itself: the lore does not unfold, as the game is focused on six-player teams combating against other six player teams. To learn about the lore, one has to adventure beyond the game and look for comics, animated shorts, and short stories by the publisher. At the same time, the menu screen would (currently) be dominated by the illustration of a hero called Zenyatta, wearing a particular skin devoted to the professional player

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Jjonak, who became known for his hero defining play style on Zenyatta. And indeed, turning Overwatch into lucrative esports has likewise been an organized effort from the developer: in late 2017, globally franchised Overwatch League was started with a Pre-season followed by Season 1 starting in January 2018. All the teams in the league, rather than representing established esports organizations, represent new organizations based on cities around the world, inviting fans to forge local affinities for their chosen team. While a plethora of literature about transmedia storytelling, transmedia worlds, and transmedia universes focus on the fictional world of a given product (see Thon, 2016), the concept of transmedia has also been applied to nonfictional narratives and worlds (see View special issue “Non-Fiction Transmedia” in 2017). In line, while the fictional lore and world of Overwatch are part of the Overwatch product, it is steadily surrounded by the nonfictional universe of Overwatch esports. These two are not opposite to each other, but exist alongside each other, mingle, and overlap. Overwatch is a combination of a professional esport scene and a rich fictional universe. The latter, while present in the game itself through playable heroes, maps, and occasional co-op events, is further developed in multiple media such as comics, animated shorts, short stories, and further speculatively expanded by the fans and their products. Memes, stories, and fan art around Overwatch esports and its players (and casters) simultaneously function as transmedial extensions in themselves. Accordingly, not unlike its peer esports that seek the sweet spot between centralized competitive gaming and expanding transmedia annexes, the culture and play of Overwatch comes with a range of active para-sectors the diversities and intensities of which fluctuate along with both temporal and spatial factors. The present focus is on the current state of Overwatch transmedia in the West. The following four sections look at Overwatch transmediality through media presentation, characters, narrative, and social media.

Medium of Overwatch Much like Pac-Man already in the early 1980s and many follow-up gaming titles since, Overwatch has been marketed openly as a transmedia product with a video game as its core. While it is technically possible to engage solely with the video game and ignore the rest, the results of our Overwatch reception survey suggest that this is rarely the case. The survey data was collected between August 2018 and July 2019 in Overwatch-related social media locations (Facebook, Reddit, Twitter). The survey received 457 responses overall, of which 29 were deemed unreliable and removed. This left us 428 valid responses overall. Due to the collection strategy that targeted game communities online, the final sample should be considered representative of the active online players and fans in particular. The survey included a great variety of questions, only selected of which are referenced in this study (Table 9.1).   

 Esports Transmedia Universes 153 Table 9.1  Reasons for Playing Overwatch. Why do you play Overwatch? Choose all the relevant options. To relax/unwind To socialize To have fun To get better at the game To become a pro-player To obtain in-game cosmetics To produce content for stream/videos To be part of the Overwatch community To learn more about the Overwatch storyworld and its heroes Other, what?

Percent 50.8 30.7 83.1 75.0 13.3 30.0 6.3 28.5 29.7 3.0

Table 9.2  Overwatch-Related Activities. Have you taken part in any of the following activities, in connection to Overwatch? Choose all the relevant options. Follow/participate in discussions on Overwatch forums Follow/participate in discussions on Reddit (e.g., r/overwatch; r/competitiveoverwatch) Follow/participate in discussions on other websites and services Watch live-streams and videos Stream / Create videos of gameplay (your own or others’) Writing about the game (reviews, blogging, creating wiki content, etc.) Writing fan fiction Creating fan art Enjoying other people’s fan productions (fan fiction, fan art, etc.) Cosplay Collecting cosmetics (skins, voice-lines, poses, emotes, etc.) Collecting merchandise Watching animated short- films of Overwatch created by Blizzard Reading comics of Overwatch created by Blizzard Other, what? None of these

Percent 35.3 37.4 32.7 92.5 30.6 7.5 3.3 7.7 57.7 7.7 60.0 38.1 86.1 60.3 10.5 1.5

Table 9.3  Do You Watch/Have You Ever Watched Overwatch League Games? Do you watch/Have you ever watched Overwatch League games? Yes No

Percent 92.8 7.2

The first question to be discussed here concerned motivation. The respondents were asked to choose (as many as needed) from ten motivational factors that can be considered representing competitive, social, and autonomous dimensions of play— partly consistent with self-determination theory and its revisions (see Ryan et al., 2006;

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Table 9.4  Overwatch League-Related Activities. Those Respondents Who Indicated They Follow or Have Followed Overwatch League (n = 397) Have you taken part in any of the following activities, in connection to Overwatch League (OWL)? Choose all the relevant options Watching matches online Watching matches on site Watching streams by professional players Following OWL related content in media Follow/participate in discussions on forums and in social media Writing about OWL (on fan sites, blogs, eSports publications, etc./articles, blogging, creating wiki content, etc.) Creating fan art about players/teams Writing fan fiction about players/teams Engaging with other people’s fan creation Buying OWL merchandise Buying OWL cosmetics (in-game or twitch) Other None of these

Percent 97.7 28.2 75.8 76.3 32.7 6.3 0.8 0 7.2 23.9 44.6 2.2 0.4

Vahlo, 2018). Expectedly, the respondents expressed multiple motivations to engage with Overwatch, most popular being “to have fun” (83.1%), closely followed by “to get better at the game” (75.0%). Moreover, the survey shows that participating in practices that are somehow transmedial in nature (Koistinen, Ruotsalainen and Välisalo, 2016) are typical for Overwatch players, as no less than 98.4 percent of the respondents (n = 428) engage in practices beyond playing the game. The most common of those practices is watching live-streams/videos (92.5%), followed by the consumption of fictional lore via developer- produced animated short films (86.9%). More than half of the respondents also enjoyed reading Overwatch comics (60.3%) or consuming content such as fan fiction and fan art, created by other fans (57.7%). It is also noteworthy that consuming fictional content created by fans was nearly as popular as consuming official comics published by Blizzard. The majority of respondents (92.8%) also mentioned watching Overwatch League matches online. Again, the lore of Overwatch is mainly told in three mediums: comics, animated short stories, and written narratives. As these open up the genesis of Overwatch and reveal hero origins, such content is almost entirely lacking in the video game. Special events like those of “anniversaries” make an exception by introducing brief playable missions with background stories, yet these are few in quantity and scarce in depth. Next to the above, the world of Overwatch expands to a number of toys and figures like LEGO sets, clothing, discussion forums, content platforms, and a cereal brand named after one of the playable heroes, Lucio. A big part of all parallel Overwatch media outlets derive from the game’s active esports scene, which officially took off in 2016 along with the Overwatch World Cup. The event in question marked the beginning of an era of active Overwatch esports scene, to be tightly controlled by the developer-publisher Activision Blizzard. The Overwatch World Cup was followed by Season 0 that set the stage for the franchised

 Esports Transmedia Universes 155 Overwatch League, starting in January 2018. This led to a shutdown of most thirdparty Overwatch tournaments due to the company’s desire for (trans)media control. Overwatch esports strongly seek to represent its transmedia content as sports and tend not to draw from the fictional Overwatch world. Hence, the two remain clearly separate from the perspective of the product-owning company: next to (or above) fancreated media content, the Overwatch esports world is mediated through its owner’s video productions, and the fictional world likewise via Blizzard-controlled comic and animation productions (see Karhulahti, 2017; Blom, 2018). Despite this polarization, esports and fictional elements get mixed in both professional Overwatch League productions and the evolving video game. For instance, the Battle​.n​et launcher that enables access to Blizzard’s other video games also broadcasts Overwatch League matches, thus merging fictional Overwatch (and other Blizzard) content with Overwatch esports. The contrast between the two surfaces strongly in the game’s official forums, where requests for the possibility to disable the “irrelevant” esports content have been frequent. The introduction of team skins (available as in-game purchases) that can be earned by watching Overwatch via the live-stream platform Twitch received similar criticism, forming a conflict typical to transmedia universes. While cross-media cosmetics remain part of Overwatch video game play and the professional Overwatch League is persistently advertised in almost all of the company’s public channels, the contents of the two dimensions remain separate and the links between them function first and foremost as marketing. Our final example is a poster of Dennis “internethulk” Hawelka that is part of the Overwatch in-game world. “Internethulk” was the founder and an original member of the highly successful competitive Overwatch team IDDQT (later known as EnvyUs), which dominated the Western Overwatch scene before the franchised era of Overwatch League. As “Internethulk” passed away in 2017, Blizzard commemorated him by establishing a Dennis Hawelka award as well as placing a poster in his honor to one of the video game’s maps, Eichenwalde (Hawelka was German). This poster, alongside with a candle burning next to a flower, remains part of playable product with a small text saying “I