Play Nice: The Rise, Fall, and Future Of Blizzard Entertainment – I finally got around to finishing Jason Schreier’s account that spans the 3+ decades of the storied company. I was left with a variety of feelings, loosely captured below.
A trip down memory lane
I have to start with my relationship with Blizzard as a player. As someone born in the 80s and who spent my teens in the mid-to-late 90s in Beijing, I first fell in love with Blizzard through shareware versions of their games that floated around on pirated CDs (or even floppy disks). I still remember playing the shareware versions of The Lost Vikings, Blackthorneand the original Warcraft. (I was particularly charmed by The Lost Vikings – even the shareware version’s few levels I played several times over.)
Later on, I first saw Diablo (the shareware version) at a friend’s house. His PC had a sound card and a couple of speakers. As we descended Tristram against the drums of the deeply atmospheric soundtrack, I still remember the visceral feedback of every mouse click against a zombie. That was the magical moment that cemented Blizzard as a QUALITY brand for me.
Starcraft took that fandom even higher. It remains my favorite Blizzard franchise, and contains the most childhood memories. I played StarCraft and Brood War a lot with my friends, even though we never really got past beginner levels of mastery. (I partially rectified this 10 years later, as business school overlapped with Starcraft II – I mained Protoss and 4-gated my way to Diamond.) I played Warcraft III but didn’t like its smaller scale and much more tactical combat; I did get hooked on that DotA map and that almost impacted my college diploma.
The ambitious scope of the book means that any particular episode of Blizzard’s journey could not be covered in sufficient depth. I felt the book flew through the 90s and Blizzard’s first 10 years – my favorite decade of the company. I was a bit disappointed by this, but it’s an understandable trade-off. As a side note – I would heartily recommend Stay Awhile and Listen books 1 & 2 by David Craddock, which covers the making of Diablo and its sequel. (I briefly wrote about book 1 back in 2013 – with an anecdote about my legal copy of Diablo.) These 2 books focuses more on Condor / Blizzard North, but there’s still an excellent picture of those early days of Blizzard.
Scaling under different owners: Davidson, Vivendi, Activision and Microsoft
One of the remarkable things about Blizzard is how its identity (and core talent) stayed intact despite the number of times it was sold. The owners list above actually skips over a few transactions in the late 90s: Davidson & Associates was acquired by CUC, which through a merger became Cendant; a subsequent major accounting scandal led to the division that included Blizzard being sold to a French company called Havas (which had just been acquired by Vivendi).
The studio’s track record since founding through the first few expansions of World of Warcraft obviously helped – don’t kill the goose that laid golden eggs, after all. Blizzard veterans, with Morhaime at the helm, eventually lost the fight to remain operationally autonomous in the Activision era, but they had a long run.
I never got into WoW.1 So in the mid 2000s, I was oblivious to how much WoW transformed Blizzard as a company, for better and worse. Play Nice does a solid job capturing this chaotic and lucrative transformation. From an archived New York Times article back in 2006:
Since the game’s introduction in November 2004 the company has expanded to more than 1,800 employees from around 400. Almost all of the additions have been customer-service representatives to handle World of Warcraft players, helping them with both technical advice and billing concerns.
This rapid scaling of full-time player support staff stands in contrast to another tidbit from the book – Kotick questioning why Blizzard wouldn’t scale up the WoW team to achieve an annual cadence (or even create multiple teams to work on future expansions in parallel – such a strategy had great success on Call of Duty). However even to the end of Kotick’s own tenure, he wasn’t able to realize this vision. The book doesn’t provide a comprehensive discussion of why Blizzard did not buy into this vision – it seemed to be a mix of feasibility challenges (”this is not possible”) and misalignment in goals (”why do we need to grow even bigger”). Unsurprisingly, such a rift between the stakeholder and the team will eventually result in a shakeup.
“Suits” vs creatives
This might be a central theme of the book: the fraught relationship between the business “suits” and the creatives. This is not unique to Blizzard or the games industry, and it’s not just Activision vs Blizzard or Kotick vs Morhaime. (The book features a few examples where a project was canceled by Blizzard execs to the shock and surprise of the team.)
The stakeholder – team relationship is never easy to navigate, because at the core it’s about flawed humans, their predictably irrational decisions, and that finicky thing called trust which holds the relationship together. There are no principles that work in every situation. The stakeholder could argue for one thing in one context, and the complete opposite in another. For example, a common conflict is in the team wanting more time or money, and the stakeholder questioning that – in more recent years, Blizzard’s project delays were certainly causing such ire with Activision; at the same time, the fun examples in Play Nice were the opposite, where a team (WoW team above, and later the Overwatchteam) pushed back against the stakeholder’s push for headcount growth.
The book leans towards the creatives and implicitly casts Kotick and his army of consumer-packaged-goods lieutenants as the villains who eventually took the knife to the golden goose. In an alternative book centered on Activision, perhaps they’d be the *Moneyball-*like heroes who figured out the hack to sustainable growth in a hits-driven business. If my stance here sounds wishy-washy, it’s because while my heart is with the creatives, I feel it’s imperative to be on the same page with the stakeholder on strategy. If you as the creative cannot convince them of a better path, you’d better full-heartedly commit to their path. “Misalignment” is one ominous word that you don’t want to hear your stakeholder utter.
Titan and the pitfall of abundance
One last ramble – the story of Titan is a familiar cautionary tale about the necessity of constraints. It sounded like a perfect storm of a team awash with the abundance provided by WoW coupled with boundless ambition. In such a combination, years can go by with little to show for it. There is sort of a redemption with Overwatch, but it seems the team later committed a similar sin of over-scoped ambitions with Overwatch 2. This is a familiar tale, and it happened (repeatedly?) too at Riot’s campus, only a 2-hour drive north from Blizzard.
Hearthstone provides the counter-example of how modest beginnings can grow into billion-dollar games. (Ben Brode has often told the story of how the best thing to happen to the project was when most of the team was pulled off to fight fires elsewhere. The skeleton crew left made remarkable progress through various scrappy means.) Linking back to the stakeholder thread above, a tightly-scoped project has a lot going for it – smaller initial budget, shorter timeline, and earlier results to make follow-on decisions on. It has one major detriment – it can be perceived as “not ambitious”, and not worth the company’s time (even though the team is not asking a lot!). And so it requires belief from the stakeholder that such small bets can create outlier successes, and skillful upwards management from the team to keep that belief firm.
- Until much, much later out of professional interest (I played Warlords of Draenor with coworkers at Riot). ↩