This year’s Game of the Year Awards improves upon past misteps

Every year, like clockwork, it happens. The big event that gamers, media enthusiasts, and even casual fans find themselves tuning into—or at least speculating about—the Game of the Year Awards, hosted by Geoff Keighley. It’s the grand finale of the gaming calendar, a moment where the entire industry takes a step back to reflect on and celebrate the artistry, innovation, and unforgettable experiences that video games have offered over the past year.

At the heart of the event is the most prestigious title of them all: Game of the Year (or GOTY for short). It’s that one award where the entire room goes silent, as millions collectively hold their breath, waiting to see which game will be crowned the definitive standout of the year. Alongside it, a variety of smaller awards highlight achievements in storytelling, art direction, music, and more—meant to recognize the creative excellence across the industry.

So… why, despite all this, does the GOTY event so often spark discourse, controversy, and even outright disappointment?

For something branded as a celebration of gaming, it sometimes feels like the nominations and winners miss the mark entirely. Of course, it’s natural for passionate fans to feel let down when their favorite games don’t take home the trophy—gaming communities are built on emotional connections, after all. But the problem seems deeper than just sore losers. In recent years, the event feels less like a genuine celebration of the year’s creative accomplishments and more like a carefully calculated marketing spectacle.

Is it really about honoring the games that defined the year, or has it become another cog in the hype machine?

Now, don’t get me wrong—I might sound overly critical here, but it’s hard to deny that the Game Awards have felt a little… underwhelming in recent years. Some of the magic that once made it a true celebration of the medium seems to have dimmed. These days, what keeps me most interested isn’t the massive AAA winners but whether indie games can break through the noise and claim a well-deserved spotlight.

Take 2024, for example. The indie roguelike Balatro, a deceptively simple yet incredibly addictive poker-inspired deck builder, swept up three awards and even landed a nomination for Game of the Year itself—though it didn’t quite take the top prize. Still, the fact that a game crafted by a single developer reached those heights was a win in its own right, showing how creativity and passion can still thrive in the industry, even without massive budgets or corporate backing.

As for the actual 2024 GOTY winner? That honor went to Astro Bot from PlayStation Studios, a beautifully crafted platformer. And honestly? I think it was a breath of fresh air. For the first time in a long while, the top prize wasn’t claimed by a massive narrative-driven epic but instead by a game celebrated purely for its polished, thoughtful design and pure fun factor. It felt like a step back toward rewarding the heart of game design rather than spectacle alone.

This shift felt important because, in past years, the awards sometimes felt more like a popularity contest—or even a marketing event—rather than a genuine celebration of artistic achievement. A prime example is The Last of Us Part II back in 2020. Don’t get me wrong, TLOU2 was a technical masterpiece and certainly deserved recognition, but it won a staggering seven awards, including Game of the Year. That level of dominance felt… excessive, almost as if the entire show was subtly curated to ensure the game swept as many categories as possible. It felt less like a celebration of the year in gaming and more like a heavily sponsored event where one title took center stage.

But maybe the problem isn’t entirely with the awards themselves. Maybe, just maybe, the audience plays a part in the disappointment too. It’s easy to blame the event for perceived bias, but a lot of the frustration could stem from how invested we become in specific games winning. Fans often go into the awards with rock-solid expectations—and when those expectations aren’t met, the backlash can be intense. I’ll admit, when I watched the 2024 show without any personal predictions, I enjoyed it far more. Letting go of those expectations made it easier to appreciate the event for what it was rather than what I wanted it to be.

Of course, that’s easier said than done. Games aren’t just products—they’re experiences that leave a lasting impact on people’s lives, so it makes sense that fans feel so strongly about them. Still, the 2024 show, despite some controversy (like the debate around remakes and DLC being nominated for major awards), felt like a positive step forward. There’s still room for improvement, but we’re starting to see more of a balance between technical polish, creative innovation, and heartfelt artistic expression in the gaming space—and that’s something worth celebrating.