Keep your medals: Why esports doesn’t need the Olympics

News around the addition of esports in the Olympics continues to divide opinions in the gaming community. But it’s not hard to see why esports is becoming attractive to traditional sporting organizations. 

Younger audiences are moving away from conventional sports, forcing the International Olympic Committee (IOC) to explore new ways of remaining relevant.

Will they succeed in their efforts? 

The Olympic Esports Week in Singapore in 2023 was the first indication that the IOC took gaming culture seriously. Sadly, rather than featuring the esports titles that dominate Twitch and YouTube, like League of Legends or Counter-Strike, they played it safe with an esports Olympics games list consisting of “virtual sports” simulations like archery, cycling, tennis, sailing, and baseball.

The difference was not lost on the esports community, where there is little interest in rebooting the Olympic-style titles that have not been played since the analog days of the Commodore 64. The IOC seemed a little out of touch with an offering that felt like a sanitized “gaming lite” event rather than a true celebration of esports.

Despite the criticism, the Olympic Esports Week was deemed a success. The suits at the IOC quickly revealed plans for an official Olympic Esports Games that were initially scheduled for 2025 in Saudi Arabia, highlighting a determination to make it work.

The event has since been postponed to 2027, citing game publishers’ lack of details on the program. Once again, many gamers were debating whether esports needs Olympic recognition. Or is it the other way around?

There is no escaping the fact that traditional viewership is ageing. Data from Gallup shows a record-low interest in the Olympics among 35% of adults in the US, which is at its lowest point since the 1980s.

In contrast, esports continues to thrive. League of Legends 2024 World Championship pulled a record 6.94 million peak concurrent viewers. Mobile Legends, VALORANT, and Counter-Strike 2 boast thriving ecosystems, pulling tens of millions of fans globally. Not to mention that the average age of an esports fan sits around 33.

The IOC has seen interest in esports surge while the audiences for the Olympics continue to decline. Sponsors have, too. Brands like Coca-Cola, T-Mobile, and Intel, which already have strong esports portfolios, are eager to find new ways to engage with the under-30 demographic. 

For the IOC, esports looks like an irresistible gateway to new relevance. However, for esports itself, the question is not just about exposure. It is about identity.

The most compelling reason esports should keep the Olympics at arm’s length is simple. It has already succeeded on its terms. Tournaments like The International for Dota 2 and Worlds for League of Legends offer prize pools and prestige that eclipse anything an Olympic medal could deliver. For example, the 10th edition of Dota 2’s International boasted a prize pool of over $40 million.

These are events fans dream of winning. Ask a top-tier League of Legends player what matters more: the Summoner’s Cup or an Olympic gold medal. You already know the answer.

When you fill stadiums, dominate streaming platforms, and headline global sponsor deals, Olympic validation might not be required. Esports built this infrastructure without the help of any traditional sporting body. That self-made success is a core part of its culture.

When you dig deeper, it becomes clear why marrying esports and the Olympics might feel awkward.

First, there is governance. Every esports is a proprietary product owned by a private company. Riot Games controls League of Legends. Valve controls Counter-Strike and Dota. 

Unlike traditional sports, there is no global federation that oversees multiple games. The IOC is used to dealing with federations, not corporations.

Second, there is content. Many of the games that drive esports popularity are built around combat. VALORANT, Counter-Strike, and Dota 2 involve defeating opponents, often through “violence” in a game context. 

That does not sit comfortably with the Olympic movement, which has drawn firm lines against anything that portrays violence, even fictional sources.

Third, there is the sheer pace of change. Esports evolve rapidly. New games rise to prominence while others fade away. The Olympic process, by contrast, moves at a glacial pace. Sports can take decades to be added or removed. 

Would the IOC adapt quickly enough to keep up with the dynamic nature of gaming culture? Especially considering it was bizarrely 40 years late in adding breakdancing as an Olympic sport.

Finally, there is branding. Esports revels in its commercial partnerships. Sponsors are visible at every significant event. Players wear logos. Streams are filled with brand integrations. 

The Olympics have strict rules limiting commercial exposure during the Games. That culture clash alone could turn Olympic esports into a sanitised version that feels disconnected from what fans love.

Community sentiment offers the clearest verdict. When the IOC revealed its lineup for Olympic Esports Week, featuring titles like Tic Tac Bow and Just Dance, esports fans were unimpressed. One Reddit user summed it up: “It’s 2024. Esports is already mainstream. We don’t need Olympic approval.”

Even players have given a lukewarm response to the idea. Sure, some express polite interest when asked. Who would not be honoured to represent their country? But their immediate goals lie elsewhere, like Worlds, The International, and VALORANT Champions Tour.

When push comes to shove, will the top competitor give up a multi-million-dollar title shot to chase a gold medal in a watered-down Olympic version of their sport?

On the positive side, it could encourage governments to invest more in esports infrastructure. It could bring older audiences and sceptics into the fold. There is even a feel-good appeal to seeing esports athletes on the podium, medals around their necks. But the price of that recognition could be too high.

Olympic esports teams might be forced to sanitize themselves to fit Olympic standards. Popular games could be excluded. Competitive structures could be altered. Commercial models would likely be restricted. 

Ironically, in trying to conform to Olympic expectations, esports risks losing the authenticity that made it successful in the first place.

Right now, esports is not broken. It is booming. It fills arenas. It creates heroes. It drives pop culture, and it does so by playing by its own rules.

The Olympics may offer global prestige, but esports already commands global audiences. It may promise medals, but esports offers championships that mean more within its own culture.

Trying to shoehorn esports into a century-old institution designed for a different world might feel unnecessary or even regressive. Why borrow legitimacy when you have already built your own?

The International Olympic Committee is not wrong to see value in esports. Gaming is where the next generation lives and breathes. It is natural to want to bridge that gap. But the bridge must be built carefully, respecting what esports already are.

Esports does not need the Olympics to prove its worth. It has already proved it. Every sold-out arena, every record-breaking stream, every global championship tells that story. Its players, fans, and communities should write the future of competitive gaming. 

If the Olympics wants to support that journey without trying to change it, fantastic. Otherwise, esports is better off keeping its medals and soul intact.