For two months, the entire video game industry had been spun like a high-speed centrifuge.
Protocols printed from fax machines piled up on the conference tables of Sega of America. From Nintendo of America's headquarters in Redmond to EA's offices in San Francisco and the overseas branches of major Tokyo-based manufacturers, telephone lines crisscrossed the globe, weaving a vast, intricate web.
Finally, on a sweltering summer afternoon, the first preparatory roundtable for the IDSA (Interactive Digital Software Association) was held in a nondescript hotel conference room in Los Angeles.
It was, without a doubt, one of the most bizarre scenes in gaming history.
Around the long conference table sat not only Tom from Sega, but also Minoru Arakawa from Nintendo, Nobuyuki Idei from Sony, Larry Probst from EA, and the ambitious Trip Hawkins from 3DO.
These rivals, who normally would have loved to tear each other limb from limb in the marketplace—and would have been considered well-mannered if they didn't spit in each other's faces when they met—now found themselves squeezed around the same table, sipping tepid mineral water.
A palpable awkwardness filled the air, like ex-lovers forced to share a mahjong table at their former partner's wedding.
Trip Hawkins broke the silence first, his gaze wary as he eyed Tom. "Since we're all here, let's get the unpleasantries out of the way. Sega initiated this, so is the chairmanship of this association already decided for you?"
Minoru Arakawa didn't speak, but the pen he was twirling in his hand froze, his eyes darkening as he fixed his gaze on Tom. As the representative of Nintendo of America, he had come under immense pressure from Kyoto. If he let Sega become the dominant force upon entering the room, he feared Hiroshi Yamauchi would break his legs with his cane when he returned.
Nobuyuki Idei, holding his teacup, watched with an expression of amusement. As a newcomer, Sony was content with just a seat at the table. As for who would lead, he was happy to watch Sega and Nintendo tear each other apart.
Faced with the room full of questioning eyes, Tom Kalinske calmly adjusted his tie and then did something that stunned everyone.
He pushed the thick draft of the association's charter to the center of the table.
"Sega will not be taking the chairmanship."
Tom's voice was quiet, but his words exploded in the conference room like a thunderclap.
"Not only will we not take the chairmanship, we won't even seek a permanent seat on the executive board," Tom said, leaning back in his chair with his hands spread wide in a relaxed gesture. "Executive Director Nakayama made it clear: the IDSA is meant to serve the entire industry, not be Sega's private garden. We need a fair platform for dialogue, not another echo chamber. For the chairmanship, I suggest appointing a neutral professional, someone without conflicts of interest with any of the companies—someone like Doug Lowenstein."
Trip Hawkins' jaw dropped, his carefully prepared speech attacking Sega's dominance dying in his throat.
Minoru Arakawa gave Tom a long, searching look, his tense shoulders finally relaxing.
Sega's move, a strategic retreat to advance, was brilliant.
They secured the credit for founding the association, avoided the suspicion of dictatorship, and even earned everyone's gratitude in the process.
"If Sega is this noble, then I have no objections," Arakawa said, tossing his pen onto the table to signal his agreement.
"Sony second that," Nobuyuki Idei said with a smile, raising his hand.
With the two biggest obstacles removed, the rest of the process went astonishingly smoothly.
As promised, Sega truly became a silent, inconspicuous presence within this nascent power structure.
Except for the necessary signatures and votes, Tom remained almost completely silent, letting the other manufacturers argue heatedly over board seats.
Only as the meeting drew to a close and discussions turned to future plans did Tom, who had been playing mute, finally speak again.
"Now that the association has been established, it's time we did something substantial." Tom pulled a map of downtown Los Angeles from his briefcase, a large area circled in red.
"I'm sick of leaky tents like CES," Tom said, pointing at the red circle. "I propose we host our own first exhibition here, at the Los Angeles Convention Center, next May—E3."
"May?" the EA representative frowned. "That's still too early for the Christmas sales rush. Won't it be too quiet?"
"Exactly. We need to be early," Tom said, standing up and leaning on the table, his gaze sweeping across the room. "CES is in January, we're in May. We need to give the world's media and players half a year to anticipate, to build hype. We'll make Los Angeles the mecca for gamers in May. As for Christmas? That's when we harvest the fruits. May is the season for sowing."
He paused, a mischievous grin spreading across his lips. "More importantly, the CES in Las Vegas hadn't recovered from the previous year. We'll use a grand celebration to declare once and for all that video games are no longer mere appliances."
The conference room fell silent for a few seconds, followed by scattered applause that quickly grew into a thunderous ovation.
No one objected.
Even Trip Hawkins, usually the most critical, had eyes shining with excitement.
Breaking away from CES to host their own event—this was the dream of every game developer in the room. And Sega had transformed that dream into a tangible plan.
"Los Angeles, May," Minoru Arakawa repeated softly, then drew a heavy circle around the date in his notebook. "Agreed."
"Seconded."
"Seconded."
As manufacturer representatives raised their hands one by one in approval, Tom Kalinski leaned back in his chair and let out a long sigh of relief.
That Takuya Nakayama... Even from Tokyo, he'd managed to hit all the right pressure points with this group.
Sega didn't need to shout from the rooftops to prove its status. By simply building the stage and raising the banner of E3, Sega became the de facto biggest winner.
As the news of the IDSA's formation spread throughout the gaming industry, Silicon Valley Online once again launched a new initiative in the computer and Internet circles.
On May 2, 1994, WeBlog officially launched.
If Webdir had merely been a convenient "online phonebook" that allowed users to vote with their feet for the fastest routes, then the emergence of Blogs was like building row houses on the barren land of the Internet.
Silicon Valley Online's marketing team didn't give the tech geeks time to react.
The Moderators who had once ruled the BBS boards became the first to take the plunge.
These core users had already completed Blue V real-name verification and enjoyed immense prestige within the community.
Now, not only did they receive their own second-level domains, but they also began meticulously organizing the best posts from across the various BBS sections into their Blogs, like curating a collection of rare treasures.
"This is much more comfortable than the BBS."
The moderator, with the ID "Silicon Valley Veteran," posted an open letter on the BBS with a straightforward title: "My New Home is on WeBlog—Come Chat Here from Now On."
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