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In an act of evil reserved for the creatures of hell and large corporations, Electronic Arts dropped the following bombshell on the videogame world about a week ago.

This move, which effectively wipes out all competition on the brown pigskin front, is liable to prove a great move for EA’s bottom line. Unfortunately, the sports gamer (yep, that’s me) will spend at least five years getting screwed in terms of price, quality, and innovation.

The most immediate repercussions of this deal will be felt by EA’s most successful competition, Sega’s NFL 2K series of football games. Without access to the names of the NFL’s teams and players, Sega’s franchise is left with a gaping hole that can only be filled with some creative use of pig latin and broad generalities. Anyone want to play the Baltimore Black Birds against the Dallas Horse Riders? I didn’t think so.

Sega’s games have given EA’s Madden series a run for their money for years. A copy of Sega’s ESPN NFL 2K5 rests on my shelf right next to my copy of Madden NFL 2005 this year, largely due to an aggressive price strategy meant to widen their consumer base. A $20 price tag is difficult to ignore, both by the leisurely sports gamer and the competition. Memo to Sega: “How’s that price tag treating you?” — Love EA.

As sad as I find the demise of Sega’s once proud NFL 2K series, the long term repercussions could be much worse. Sports games, and particularly football games due to the absolute dominance of EA’s Madden games, are a very difficult bracket to break into. Historically, EA has had such an enormous lead in terms of development time to add to their already vast resources that competition is very much discouraged. Sports games take years to make and mature. Artificial intelligence needs to be refined. Playbooks need to be tweaked. Options are added as time allows.

Deciding to take on EA on their home turf is an enormous financial risk. Given another five year lead, what company would consider bidding against them in 2010? This deal might not shut out the competition for years. It may shut others out effectively forever. EA’s the 800 lb gorilla. Just try and take him on when he’s already full.

Oddly, I’m unsure what the NFL really gets of this besides a one-time
lump sum and some ease in the bookkeeping department. Why limit your potential audience? Why dramatically slash the number of football games released in a year? Isn’t that called free marketing? Why alienate the fans of other football franchises? If that $20 price tag for ESPN NFL 2K5 was good for anyone outside of the offices of Take Two (the publisher) and Sega, it was the NFL. You want folks to fire up their Xbox and see your logo as often as possible. All signs point to the fact that the NFL was looking for this, yearning for it apparently. I’m sure the fat check is nice. You might have thought a bit about the future.

While the NFL goes the way of NASCAR, FIFA, and the PGA — all organizations that also happen to share an exclusive agreement with EA — I’m left with few choices. And, despite my misgivings, I’ll buy Madden anyway. I simply need a football game on my shelf every August. My problem has been medically diagnosed. I can’t help myself.

Apparently, the real problem isn’t EA’s evil business practices. It’s that they work.

For those who are sure to ask, here’s the lowdown on my newborn son:

Name: Chase Kenneth Wootton
Time: 4:26 am, November 21, 2004
Weight: 8 lbs .04 ounces (7 lbs. 15 ounces before going to the nursery)
Length: 21 inches
Favorite Current Video Game: Half-life 2

I didn’t really expect to find myself in the hospital just after midnight,
early on a Sunday morning. The wife had emerged from the bathroom
just a short while ago. Her water had broken. It was time to go.

I didn’t anticipate that it would happen so fast. It seemed only moments ago
when the babysitter for Cam arrived. I packed the truck.
I threw the camera in the back. I added the new car seat in its
proper spot. Less than four hours later, 7 centimeters was the
measurement of interest.

And I really didn’t know what to do with myself when the doctor
and nurses began to move with a sense of urgency. The little
heartbeat emitting from the nearby monitor was straining.
Contractions made it dangerously slow. I found myself slightly
out of the way while the hospital staff took the necessary precautions.

My wife found her bed titled — her head lower than her feet. An oxygen
mask was placed over her mouth. The strained lines that crossed across her
face weren’t the result labor pains.
In a fit of courage, she pleaded with the doctor. “Tell me what I
can do to help my baby. I’ll do anything.”

The doctor replied in a calm voice, “Just try not to wander into the
hallway.”

Shortly thereafter, things settled down. My wife’s blood pressure
rebounded. The baby’s heartbeat stabalized. Active labor was about
to begin. We waited for things to remain calm for a bit.
Twenty minutes followed. The quiet beep of the baby’s heart kept
us company.

We were relieved when things began in earnest. The wife was prepared –
even excited – to begin pushing. She barely got the chance. After a
couple of pushes, I stole a glimpse of a small tuft of hair. A few
pushes later, the doctor grabbed a pair of forceps and told the wife
he’d take things from here.

Before I knew it, my second son lay in my wife’s arms. He cried, providing
two parents the desired assurance that he was ok. I followed his lead.
Chase Kenneth Wootton, meet world. World, meet my youngest son.

I’ve tried to write this blog, a chronicle of the birth of my second
son, several times. Each time the events of the birth sound
dire, something that will likely surprise those who’ve talked to me since.
In casual conversation, I tend to dismiss the harried events of the actual
birth rather quickly. However, when putting things in writing, I can’t
seem to dodge the sparks of fear and worry that preceded the little gift
from God that followed.

I suppose it is a reminder of just how lucky we are. From what I understand,
all the concern I felt was not a mistake. It wasn’t just a feeling brought
on my watching scurrying folks in hospital scrubs. We were later told
that a nearby room had been prepped for an emergency C-section, just in case.

God has blessed us. The Wootton clan now counts 4 in their number.
We are, by all official measures, a family. We no longer
talk of our child. We speak of “our boys”. We fret over “the kids”.
Critical mass has been reached, filling our house, heart, and
lives rather nicely.

I believe the biggest surprise in the end, if you speak to my wife and I, is
that this family thing happened at all. Three years ago, we would have given anything for
what we have now. Two years of trying with no results ensured we felt
the grips of despair. Now we pick our little dreams up for hugs and nestle
them close just because we can. There isn’t a better feeling in the
world.