We didn't Kill Physical Media. You did. — Vlad Radulescu<br>← all writingThe recent news from Sony about physical media genuinely pissed me off.

Not because I didn't see it coming—I did. We've all seen it coming for years. This has been the direction of travel ever since publishers realised that if they could convince people that convenience was more important than ownership, they'd never have to manufacture another disc again.

And the thing is... I get it.

I'm not some old man screaming at clouds. Almost everything I consume these days is digital. Music is digital. Films are mostly digital. Even the games I play often start life on Game Pass or PS Plus. It's convenient. I can sit on the sofa, browse a library, hit download and be playing twenty minutes later. That's brilliant.

But convenience and ownership are two completely different things, and somewhere along the way the industry convinced millions of people they were the same.

They're not.

People love saying, "Who even buys physical anymore?"

Well, maybe ask yourselves why.

Because when I was growing up, buying a game actually meant buying a game. You got a proper manual. You'd spend half an hour reading it in the car before you even got home. You got artwork. Maps. Control guides. Lore. Sometimes a soundtrack. Sometimes a poster. Sometimes a little thank-you note from the developers. Opening the case felt like opening a present.

Today?

You spend £80 and crack open the case to find...

A fucking leaflet advertising another game.

Or a download code.

Or absolutely fucking nothing.

Nothing.

You've just handed over the best part of a hundred quid, and the only thing inside the box is an advert telling you to spend even more money.

Go fuck yourselves.

What really drove this home for me was something I've been doing recently.

I've started buying older games again. PS2. PS3. Xbox. Xbox 360. I've fallen back in love with collecting physical media, and opening those old cases genuinely made me realise just how much we've lost.

Every single one felt like it had a little bit of soul.

Some had gorgeous full-colour manuals. Others had fold-out maps. Some had artwork I'd forgotten existed. Some even had handwritten-style thank-you notes from the developers.

Someone actually cared.

Someone thought, "This person has just spent their hard-earned money on our game. Let's make opening this feel special."

Today, it feels like the only thought is, "How little can we give them before they stop buying?"

That's the thing publishers don't seem to understand.

This has never been about the disc.

It's never been about the plastic.

It's about respect.

Respect for your customers.

Respect for your own work.

Respect for the fact that someone chose to spend their hard-earned money on something you created.

For years, opening a game felt like the developers saying, "Thank you."

Today it feels like they're saying, "Now buy the next one."

And after spending twenty years removing every reason people had for buying physical media, these companies stand there scratching their heads wondering why physical sales are declining.

You killed it.

Not us.

You.

Don't tell me consumers "moved on." You spent years making physical editions objectively worse while making digital more attractive, and now you're acting like this was some natural evolution.

Bollocks.

You manufactured it.

Then, to add insult to injury, we're expected to pay more than ever before. £70 became £80. £80 is becoming £100. GTA is only the beginning. Every publisher has the same rehearsed speech about rising development costs, inflation, bigger worlds, bigger teams, higher fidelity and all the other corporate buzzwords they roll out every single year.

I honestly don't give a fuck.

If your game is worth £80, I'll pay £80.

If it's worth £100, I'll pay £100.

But you don't get to tell me it's worth that simply because you spent too much making it.

That's your problem.

The value of a game isn't determined by its budget.

It's determined by the experience.

I've played £15 indie games that gave me more enjoyment than £80 AAA releases. Meanwhile, billion-dollar publishers are pumping out six-hour campaigns stuffed with battle passes, deluxe editions, cosmetic stores, early access bonuses and enough microtransactions to make mobile games blush.

And somehow I'm the greedy one because I wait until it's £15.

Fuck off.

And before someone says, "Well, what about online-only games?"

Rocket League.

I've got well over 2,000 hours in Rocket League.

One day those servers will shut down, and when they do, that physical Collector's Edition sitting on my shelf will become little more than a paperweight.

Did I know that when I bought it?

Of course I did.

Did I buy it anyway?

Absolutely.

Because they fucking earned it.

They gave me over 2,000 hours of memories. Thousands of matches. Countless late nights with mates. Moments I'll genuinely never forget.

That game deserved my...