Jay Wilson had a “vision”, too. And it was a Masterpiece!

Ah, let us all take a moment to reflect on the brilliance of Jay Wilson’s vision for Diablo 3, shall we? Truly, it was the pinnacle of game design—a trailblazing effort that taught us all what we didn’t know we wanted. Who could forget the masterstroke of the Real Money Auction House? Nothing screams “demon-slaying fantasy adventure” like pausing your gameplay to check market prices and haggle over virtual swords! Pure immersion. Genius, really.

Of course, the fanboys rushed to defend it back in the day, claiming the Auction House added “depth” and “economy” to the game. Because, obviously, what Diablo fans were clamoring for after Diablo 2’s dark and gritty brilliance was a soulless grind designed to drive microtransactions. Jay Wilson didn’t just deliver a game; he gave us a bold experiment in corporate greed disguised as innovation.

And who could forget the launch? Servers that couldn’t stay up for longer than an hour at a time. “Error 37” memes still echo fondly in the halls of gaming history. But that wasn’t a failure—oh no. That was just an advanced feature to teach us patience. After all, a visionary like Wilson wouldn’t want us to dive into the game too quickly, would he?

But then… tragedy struck. Blizzard committed the unthinkable crime of removing his vision from the game. The Real Money Auction House? Gone. Difficulty scaling that made you feel weaker the better your gear got? Scrapped. The oppressive itemization system that made finding upgrades feel like a part-time job? Completely reworked. And the result? The Reaper of Souls expansion—a game that people actually liked. How dare they? How could fans betray such a “groundbreaking” vision by enjoying something fun, rewarding, and balanced instead?

In the end, Diablo 3 rose from the ashes of its disastrous launch to become one of the most beloved ARPGs of all time—but only because Blizzard had to undo virtually everything Jay Wilson implemented. His vision didn’t just die; it was buried, burned, and erased from memory like a bad dream. Funny how that worked out.

So here’s to Jay Wilson, the man whose “greatness” was so inspiring, it taught Blizzard exactly what not to do. And here’s to the fans who endured the disaster long enough to see the game finally become what it was always meant to be—a reminder that sometimes, the best vision is no vision at all. Cheers!