EVO is dead. Long live the FGC.

Five days ago, Qiddiya City-owned RTS fully acquired the Evolution Championship Series, or EVO, from former co-owner NODWIN Gaming. If you’re not familiar with Qiddiya City, it’s a state-owned project funded by the Saudi Public Investment Fund. Qiddiya City is part of Saudi Vision 2030, a development project with the goal of diversifying Saudi Arabia’s economy and increasing domestic tourism. Put more simply: the world is slowly moving away from oil and toward clean, renewable energy sources, and that scares the shit out of the Saudis, whose vast wealth is based on oil.

Since the Saudi Arabian government is seemingly incapable of earning a seat at the table as purveyor of entertainment, it has decided to buy one and as it did when it acquired SNK in 2021, launched the Esports World Cup (held, of course, in Saudi Arabia) and legitimized it with prize pools far beyond what any other tournament offered, and with its upcoming attempted joint acquisition of Electronic Arts in conjunction with known piece of shit Jared Kushner. At the time of RTS’s acquisition of EVO, which is really Qiddiya’s acquisition of EVO, which is really the Saudi Arabian government’s acquisition of EVO, we were told that this change in ownership would not affect EVO’s values, and that all the right people would stay in place to protect EVO’s legacy. 

It’s telling that Qiddiya felt the need to make this statement, and more telling that this recalls the statement that SNK producer Yasuyuki Oda insisted that being owned by the PIF had “no – no – effect on their creative output” in 2022 (emphasis mine). That claim remained extremely believable when last year’s Fatal Fury: City of the Wolves featured DJ Salvatore Ganacci, a noted favorite of Saudi crown prince Mohammed bin Salman (who chairs the Public Investment Fund), and soccer star Christiano Ronaldo, who played for Saudi-owned club Al-Nassr at the time, and has been found guilty of tax evasion, and was credibly accused of raping a woman in 2009. Ronaldo later admitted to it in a leaked legal questionnaire, saying “She said no and stop several times” and that he apologized to her afterwards. At the time, Ronaldo’s defense attorney claimed that the documents were altered, but produced no evidence that any such alteration had occurred. Draw your own conclusions.

At least the PIF waited three years after Oda’s unfortunate quote before smacking all of us in the face with cold, hard reality. Qiddiya, and by extension, the PIF and the Saudi Arabian government, however, isn’t even entertaining that pretense this time around. Less than a week after acquiring EVO, Qiddiya announced it will expand EVO’s lineup of tournaments from four – Las Vegas, Japan, France, and next year’s Singapore – to nine in 2027, with events in Brazil, Morocco, Mexico, China, and, of course, Saudi Arabia. 

Qiddiya has also promised to commit resources to local tournaments and a Fighting Game World Championship where players will have to prove mastery across several games to win.

Let’s put aside that nine EVOs a year dilutes the brand and prestige of what EVO was, and that the Fighting Game World Championship is a breathtakingly stupid idea on its face as most professionals only seriously play one game because the competition is so fierce. Those complaints miss the point of what Qiddiya, and by Qiddiya I mean the Saudi Arabian government, is trying to do.

There is only one reason to host nine EVOs a year, and that is to crowd every other tournament out of the space. To make it impossible for the Combo Breakers, CEOs, Frosty Faustings, East Coast Throwdowns, VS Fightings, Thunderstrucks, Fighter’s Spirits, and so on, to exist. Those tournaments are often run by individuals with limited resources. Pit them against the infinite oil money of the Saudi government and the prestige of the EVO brand. Who do you think wins? 

“Oh, but Will,” you might say, “They just promised to support locals. They can’t be that bad.” If you believe that, I feel sorry for you.

The goal here is obvious: to inject Saudi money so deeply into the FGC that everything and everyone in it cannot exist outside of Saudi Arabian influence. They are not just trying to buy EVO; they’re trying to buy the FGC, lock, stock, and barrel. They want to own everything we’ve built.

This would be bad by itself. It’s worse because it’s the Saudis. I’m not going to mince words here: the Saudi Arabian government is evil. Not “problematic.” Not “bad.” Evil. If you know me, you know I don’t use that word lightly. But no other word fits.

Saudi Arabia is ranked 4th in the world in the use of slavery; it has bombed civilians in Yemen, causing what the UN called a “humanitarian crisis” (Saudi air strikes have killed nearly 15,000 civilians); it is a country that sentences people to decades-long prison sentences where torture and mistreatment are common for social media posts it doesn’t like; dissidents and journalists, like Jamaal Koshoggi, who was murdered and dismembered in the Saudi consulate in Instanbul, are routinely imprisoned and executed; where women are second-class citizens whose lives are controlled by male guardians; where systemic racism, especially against those of Asian and African descent, is normalized to the extent that they do not enjoy labor protections; where human trafficking is commonplace; it executes drug users, gay people, and trans people. Many of the members of the FGC would not be safe there. I could go on. But I think you get the point.

Saudi Arabia is not buying soccer teams and SNK and EVO and EA and partnering with WWE because it cares about sports, games, or wrestling; it is buying them to sportswash its image and encourage tourism. Buying EVO will not make the Saudis money because the goal is not to make money. The goal is to buy our good opinion. It is to distract us from all the horrific human rights violations with a million sets of jingling keys.

And now the Saudi Arabian government has come for fighting games and an incredibly diverse and deeply queer community. It wants to own that community and the games that sustain it and the people who are part of it. It wants to put its fingers on every part of it so that no matter what you do or where you go, you will touch Saudi Arabian money and feel Saudi influence. Its goal is to use those things to make us forget about all the people it has trafficked and imprisoned and killed so that when nobody needs their oil anymore, they can pivot to tourism and entertainment. All they need you to do to make it happen is forget. They are hoping fighting games are your opiate.

I’ll be honest with you: I have spent the last 24 hours enraged. I was already angry about the Saudi Arabian government owning EVO because EVO matters to me. It was the first fighting game tournament I ever attended and something I look forward to every year. Two years ago, I made it out of my pool for the first time. I still have my Chipotle card, proof that if I worked hard enough at something that mattered to me I could accomplish my goals. It is a place where I can see old friends and make new ones and, for a few wonderful, exhausting days, share the love of a genre that has shaped my identity and professional career. I’m not exaggerating when I say that playing fighting games changed my life. EVO, for all its faults, felt like a celebration of those games and the people who made and loved them. It was ours; now it’s gone. The thought of attending EVO now almost makes me physically ill.

Saudi Arabia’s purchase of EVO is an existential threat to the FGC as we know it, and we must fight it with everything we have. They can buy a tournament, but we don’t have to let them buy us. That’s what they’re banking on, really. That they can throw so much money and so many tournaments featuring games that we love at us that we will just go along with it. That we will forget how evil they are because of all the toys they’re waving in our faces. That their money and the power it buys makes their success inevitable. That our values and beliefs will crumble in the face of it. That we are, ultimately, for sale. The only question is price.

I will not attend EVO this year. I’m going to Combo Breaker instead. I’m going to refocus on my online local and hopefully find an in-person one near me (if you know one near Peekskill, please let me know). I will not give EVO my money or time or oxygen. It is going to cost me. It will cost me opportunities. It will cost me work. It will cost me chances to see people I love. It is going to hurt. It is the right thing to do.

They’re betting that we’re not strong enough to say “no,” that we’re willing to sacrifice our morals for little treats, that our memories are fleeting, that our will is failing, and that we are too weak to fight back. Maybe they’re right. But I don’t think so. If nothing else, I will deny them the satisfaction of beating me.

If you love the FGC, don’t go to EVO. Go to another major. Support your locals. Lift up the games you love and the people who make and play them. Be defiant. Draw a line in the sand and say “Here I stand.” Show them that no amount of money matters if nobody is willing to show up. They can buy their way into our scene, but they can’t force us to legitimize them. That choice is up to us.

What we do now, collectively, will determine the future of the FGC. It will determine who we are. The choice, it seems to me, is simple: fight and win now, or roll over and lose forever. It will not be easy. It will not be without cost. It will require all of us. But even the hardest matchups are winnable. And we were here long before they were. 

Qiddiya’s – Saudi Arabia’s – gamble is a cynical one. They’re hoping you’re apathetic. That you’re weak. That you care more about a brand than a community, more about a logo than fighting games and the people who play them. That you’re for sale. That we all are. Everyone has a price, especially for the things they hope never to sell. What’s yours?