Don’t Worry About Getting A PS5/Xbox at launch.

After Microsoft’s tumultuous Xbox pre-orders, following PlayStations clandestine arrangement, it’s safe to say that even though the technology we’re buying has progressed, the retailers distributing them haven’t. Whether a company made a concerted effort to notify customers in advance, or curiously allowed the product to just spontaneously materialise hours before it’s originally scheduled release, it appears the entire process is as unreliable as its ever been. The whole sordid business has left many frustrated, reciprocated by the cacophony of disgruntled fan’s on social media. Its no surprise that the limited availability, distrubuters assigning more consoles than they have allocated and online congestion has left many unable to secure their desired console on day of launch. But there are now growing concerns that retailers may not be able to fulfill promised demand. With many issuing discretionary emails to preempt this potential shortage. And of course people aren’t happy.

Having successfully secured my preorder, largely because of one online retailers rather impetuous actions, I felt assured that my order would be fulfilled on time. Now as personally inconvenienced as I would be by missing out on the PS5 that I’ve been desperately saving for on day of release, I would be more upset if delivery of this luxury item took priority over, say, hospital supplies. Now I realise this isn’t necessarily the way the postal service or private couriers operate, though it could be argued that they don’t operate at all, but considering the way 2020 has stagnated you’d think people would have gained a little more perspective. Perhaps attained a little humility. If nothing else this year has proven that gaming is a placating refuge from 2020’s execrable malaise, not a cure. So if you were one of the privileged few that successfully pre-ordered your preferred console, be appreciative that you were in a advantageous position to not only secure one, but also afford such a opulant commodity.

PS5 Pre-Order Disorder.

Well that, as the Ron Burgandy GIF that kids these days are so fond of using, escalated quickly. The barrage of traffic that has beset online retailers with gamers desperately trying to acquire a PlayStation 5 for day of release, has become as problematic as attempting to get a Covid test. Both confounding and infuriating, Sony’s negligent decision to loosely indicate a time frame for the pre-orders, to better prepare your intended audience, has left many reeling from Sony’s absence of clarity. Considering that Sony had earlier addressed speculation concerning a prior rumour that falsely claimed pre-orders where inbound, an incident that subsequently duped a number of eager gamers to queue outside their local stores.

Sony responded by insisting that they wouldn’t just “drop” pre-orders without notifying fans beforehand. Though much of this disarray can be attributed to the rather premature actions of some online retailers, the lack of communication demonstrated by Sony is a major oversight. With demand far exceeding capacity, you can’t help feeling that this could have been handled better.

I was profoundly fortunate to have secured my PS5 in the small hours of the morning, after a rather fortuitous Tweet alluded to the immediate procurement of the console from “Game”. A now dwindling high street store that also operates in an online capacity. Admittedly not my preferred retailer, but beggers can’t be choosers considering the high demand. Crucially, with the pre-order not requiring an immediate deposit, I still have time to bolster my finances before I’m deprived of significant savings.

The release of the PS5 is something I have been eagerly anticipating. And the satisfaction of finally procuring one maybe the only, solitary delight of what has been an historically nut flicking year!

Did you manage to secure a PS5? Let me know your thoughts in the comments below. Cheers.

Your Move Sony.

I promised myself I wouldn’t. Pleaded with my impatient soul to endure the seemingly unremitting purgatory of PS5 silence. Make a concerted effort to ignore any dubious speculation that would inevitably follow the initial reveal all those months ago. That the best recourse to such a protracted silence is to simply carry on. Trust that Sony’s reticence in revealing specific, necessary details is in our best interest. But I can’t, not anymore. This figurative game of chicken between Sony and Microsoft has gone on for far too long. With roughly two months until these veiled machines are expected to launch, we are still no closer to a price, let alone possess the capacity to even secure a pre-order. Alleged rumours seem to indicate that an announcement is imminent, but without any official confirmation all we have is conjecture.

It’s been an agonising wait on account of Sony’s, and until recently Microsoft’s tardiness. Having sifted through patently false speculations and exaggerated claims, from some of the internets most unscrupulous “analysts”, in an attempt to find some correlating evidence that may provide clarity on its glacial like release, has diminished any fun usually associated with the anticipation of a new console. The subsequent global pandemic has evidently informed Sony’s arranged schedule, which no doubt requires years of meticulous coordination, irrespective of a potentially world ravaging infection. But with availability suspected to be limited, there’s a very real possibility of a staggered launch, with Sony favouring our Transatlantic cousins over other territories, severely inhibiting my chances of securing a PS5 at launch at the same time as the US. With Xbox confirming both the price and release date of their consoles, a favourable development for both parties as it now ensures that the PS5 shouldn’t be more expensive than the Xbox, there’s no reason for Sony to delay confirmation of their system.

So please. Pretty please, with a cherry on top: tell us when, how much and when to pre-order.

Sincerely, everyone.

Why I’m Getting The PlayStation 5 At Launch.

Gaming is an expensive hobby. One that isn’t getting anymore affordable. I’m not just talking about the broad state of the global economy, but the intimate considerations. The domestic responsibilities: food, clothing, utility bills, my daughters numerable hobbies that require some monetary investment. Not to mention those delightful household catastrophies that results in an impromptu swimming pool forming in the kitchen and a hefty surcharge from the plumber. Along with other notable issues and financial variables, there’s sparsely anything left. Once those precious funds have all but been exhausted, there’s very little room for frivolity. And quite honestly time simply doesn’t permit the opportunities it used to to engage with them consistently. With the imminent arrival of the next gen consoles, which only further compounds the issue, the mature thing would be to accept the naturally occurring shackles of senility and forget this juvenile recreation. But I can’t. The idea of getting a new games console still invigorates me. Especially if I’m one of the first to own it.

I’ve only ever done this once, with the PS4. Though quality content was noticeably absent in it’s infancy, to own one still felt distinct. I don’t regret it. Gaming is my vice, if it can even be considered a fallible human trait. I don’t do drugs. I don’t smoke. I drink infrequently and never excessively. I’m boring and I’m fine with that. This may very well be the last games console I’ll ever get. Whether that’s informed by the ever changing landscape of gaming media or my own domestic circumstances. I want to experience that sensation one last time. It may in fact be the last generation of consoles period! The way in which we play and consume games is fundamentally changing, and not necessarily in a way that is in my best interests. Of course technology evolves, progressing at such an exponential rate. But the reliance on the Internet to even allow some games to function is an alarming dependancy. Certainly there will be advocates that support this shift from physical to digital media, but the purist in me just can’t endorse it implicitly.

The PlayStation offering a digital only alternative seems like a sensible business strategy, one that enables those that exclusively buy digitally a console that suites their specific needs. Now that’s fine, but if there is another generation of games console would they extend the same courtesy to those that want physical? Probably not.

In 7-8 years from now, during the theoretical release of the fictional PS6, I will be in my early 40s. Chubbier around the gut. Greyer around the temples. And even more jaded than I am now. Chances are that my presumably arthritic joints would swell in contempt at the very notion. Realistically the PS5 is my last chance at experiencing that same sense of adolescent fervour I felt as a kid. What’s so wrong about that?

The Joy Of Losing Games You Never Owned

Pre-ordering future investments as a means of acquisition I have always found to be a rather impersonal form of ownership. There’s certain purity, an intimacy about purchasing games on somewhat of a whim. Of course Pre-ordering has the desirable benefit of guaranteeing a purchase, eliminating the risk of being deprived of a desirable game often associated with such flippant disregard for its safe procurement. But its these moments of chance, the uncertainty of a particularly games viability that I relish most, with only the suggestion of procurement that implies furtive promise of ownership. Cordially entering a store with clandestine intent, expectant with batted breath that the last copy wasn’t purchased by the rude individual who had barged past you earlier with hasty resentment for your existence, with an all to evanescent stride that suggests that they received precisely what they were inquiring about, accompanied by a distinctly jovial whistle, robust stance and glancing derision for your brazen appearance.

   You search, perspiration beginning to glistening across your brow as your eyes dart erratically at the vacant shelf that should house your required title. In a gasp of desperation you begin shuffling through the surrounding areas, furtively tracing every cover trying to distinguish which one is the desired title you’ve been perusing. Suddenly it dawns on you that your too late. Your extended slumber has replenished you stamina, but verdantly accost you the opportunity to own the exclusive rights on day of release. With a restrained intake of oxygen, followed by a sharp expulsion of breath you begin the pensive ascent to the counter, currently frequented by exasperated attendant, aloof or simply disinterested by your concerned presence. You attempt to attract the young, cosmetically endowed assistance scrutiny, frugally manicuring her excessive elongated nails, protruding intently from her finger tips, with a look that suggests solemn resentment to the impending enquiry not yet posed as you awkwardly attempt to convey your dismay at the quantitative inferiority of your pursued title, before your confronted by a visage of total confusion. After some intense, I would presume internal deliberation, an awkward protracted silence and conversing with a superior representative of the establishment, any lingering expectancy was absolved after finally being presented with the answer you feared “sorry, we’ve sold out”.

“G…T…A…5? I don’t know what that is? Let me consult my supervisor. Keith! Do we have GPA 5?”

It may seem narcissistic to receive pleasure from such a contemptuous situation, but there’s something exhilarating about the oddity of losing a game I haven’t yet obtained. Yes the intolerable disappointment of receding home without your precious acquisition is a foreboding formality; striding home with concentrated antagonism that contort’s your glum exterior, with every step more pronounced with forlorn resentment for your ignorant posture to pre-ordering, as the elements conspire to embellish your dejected deficit by saturating you with a cleansing downpour. Your progress stifles a whimper of masochistic rage, that someone in the proximate area is gleefully inserting their new disc into their respective console, one that by your twisted perception of pre-ordained rights belongs in your hands. Why would you incur so much heart ache when it could have been simply resolved by lucidly guaranteeing your acquisition with a simple click of a button, delivered to your door with minimum of fuss? So why? Simple, for the elementary connectivity that justifies a games presence in your life. If your initial reaction of disappointment subsides as the day culminates, until your left with apathetic dissonant, then it probably wasn’t what you truly desired. Or perhaps my contorted perception is a measure of my convoluted life?

Do you pre-order your games? Or take a chance that they will still be available? Let me know your thoughts. Cheers.