Now I know what my long-term readers are thinking - a game review? Seriously?
And by “long-term readers” I mean the three people who’ve read my Skegness and London posts. But hear me out.
I’m a man with big dreams. Years ago, I wanted to start my own gaming blog. Not just any gaming blog, mind - I was going to be the next IGN. Every man and his dog would check my site before deciding whether to buy the latest release. But, like most of my ideas, it ended up in the Glenn Taylor Idea Bin™ - right between “start a podcast” and “buy an FPV drone and definitely use it.”
Fast-forward to 2025 and here we are. I’ve finally got a blog. A proper one. Which means it’s time to officially launch Glenn Taylor’s Gaming Reviews - and if you don’t like it, you can shove it… actually no, please don’t. It’s lonely here.
Anyway, let’s get into it.
Here is the official Glenn Taylor Blog review of FIFA - sorry - EA Sports FC 2026.
The Overview
Game: EA Sports FC 26 (FIFA, but make it legal drama)
Platform: PS5
Modes Played: Quick Play & Clubs
Team: The 69ers (featuring Garry “Postie”, Tom “Lungs”, Sean “The Reluctant”, and me “The Liability”)
Hours Played: Not enough to improve, plenty to regret
Price: £69, because of course it is
Rating: 7/10
The “revolutionary” rinse and repeat
Every year EA talk about FIFA like they’ve reinvented the wheel.
Revolutionary engine upgrades
Enhanced realism.
More keeper animations.
But what does that actually mean? The grass looks slightly more real. The people in the stands look slightly less like animated cardboard cut-outs. And your keeper now lets shots in… with a bit more flair.
I skipped the 2025 release after several years of being paggered by every man and his dog. A break seemed not just sensible, but a medical necessity - the only thing that might save me from hurling another controller across the room.
Then 2026 rolls around. “New playstyles,” they said. “Revolutionary feel,” they said.
Bang - I’m back, baby.
Now, I don’t really get the point of the two playstyles. You’ve got Authentic, which is slower and supposedly more realistic, or Arcade, which just means everyone sprints around like they’ve necked six cans of Monster. Both are fine. Both are meh. I honestly couldn’t care less.
But credit where it’s due - FIFA these days is a well-oiled machine. It’s slick, polished, and smoother than a freshly buttered pasty. This year’s big thing seems to be passing. Less of the solo runs through midfield pulling off circus tricks, more patient build-up play - which is great until the AI walks straight through your defence like it’s pushing a trolley through Asda at 9pm.
Because FIFA wouldn’t be FIFA without finding new and innovative ways to ruin your mood.
The honest bit
I’m not going to sit here pretending I’ve explored every mode and mastered every mechanic.
I’ve played Quick Play on Professional difficulty a few times with Leeds United to, errr… mixed success, and I’ve made my own player for Clubs. That’s it. That’s the list.
I’m not one of these lunatics who spends their life savings on Ultimate Team packs. I, as a 35-year-old Yorkshireman, do not possess the mental fortitude to play a game where you essentially buy digital Panini stickers in the vague hope of pulling Messi - and not some bloke from the Championship with the stamina of a Greggs pasty in a sauna.
No. I stick to the simple stuff. Quick Play. Clubs. No more, no less.
Meet the team
So let’s break it down. Who are we when it comes to FIFA?
Garry – the manager, the philosopher, the postman
Garry is the man we look to for words of wisdom. By which I mean: every time you take a shot, there’s a voice in your headset going,
“Dawww, I thought you were gonna pass,”
or the classic,
“You greedy bas...”
He even says it when you rocket one into the top corner like prime Ronaldo - just with slightly more humility and slightly less hair.
Garry loves the “Any” role. He pings the ball around like he’s auditioning for Barcelona 2009, constantly shouting tactical orders none of us understand. To be fair, he does handle all the boring stuff: formations, penalty takers (me), free-kick takers, and general team admin. Basically, he’s the only reason the club hasn’t folded due to paperwork.
Back in the day he also earned the nickname “Postie.” Not because he delivers mail - no, because he used to deliver every shot directly into the post. If there was a metallic clang, you know it’s Garry. These days, that title is possibly more at home with Tom, or me if we're playing Rocket League.
Garry is the king of blame. Miss a sitter? Blame. Scored but didn't pass it to him? Blame. Slide tackle the opposition striker and earn a red? Blame. You could be sat on the bench and he'd still find something to blame you for. Bless him.
Tom – the tactician with a nicotine problem
Tom, like Garry, understands football. He’s happiest fiddling with tactics, adjusting line-ups, and muttering about “shape” like a man who’s seen things.
When the whistle blows though, he’s chaos incarnate. He’ll never pass to me when I’m open, then hoof an impossible through ball at me and claim it’s my fault for not controlling it. Beautiful team chemistry.
Tom’s nickname is “Lungs,” because he’s always the first player to gas out - usually mid-sprint - followed by the faint sound of him sucking on his vape through the headset like he’s trying to start a lawnmower.
He’s a striker too, like me, though his goals tend to come from pure witchcraft. One minute he’s tripping over the ball, the next he’s volleyed it in from 35 yards and we’re all questioning reality.
Tom, like me, has a love-hate relationship with the square button. By love, I mean he gets way too excited when he rips the legs off an opposition player. By hate, I mean he hates the red card that inevitably follows. Unless of course, we're getting shafted by the opposition, in this instance a red card is sweet relief.
Sean – the reluctant winger
Sean is the reluctant FIFA player. He’ll tell you Garry bullied him into buying it, but we all know he’s sneaking in solo games to “practice crosses.” He also didn't buy it, he gameshares with me which means he has no excuse.
You’ll usually find him down the wing, desperately trying to avoid contact like a man being chased by wasps. Sometimes he belts the ball into touch, sometimes he accidentally pings in a perfect assist - the man’s an enigma.
To be fair, Sean’s a solid gamer. He’s good for the odd wonder-cross or unexpected through ball that sets one of us up to shine. And by “shine,” I mean miss spectacularly.
Then there's me... The liability
Now, me. I know what you’re thinking - this is where I’ll start bragging. Wrong. I’m terrible.
I’m that player who genuinely believes every time I get the ball, I can score from anywhere. I even blew all my XP points on unlocking the Power Shot ability. I’ve yet to score from it, but by God it looks fantastic when it inevitably sails past the post and in to the crowd.
Update (13th October): I’ve finally scored with the Power Shot. My life now has meaning.
I’m also the reason the lads have threatened to confiscate my square button, because I can’t resist the urge to wipe people out with a slide tackle that would get me jail time in real life… a crunch tackle is art, innit? As a Rugby League fan, not a football fan, a crunch tackle is poetry - it’s commitment, it’s passion, it’s two blokes deciding who’s going home in one piece. In FIFA-world that’s a red card and a ten-minute shouting match with Garry about “timing”, but in my head it’s glorious.
So yeah - I’m the bloke who slides in like he’s trying to win a pub argument, not a corner. I’ll wipe someone out with the kind of tackle that gets you a round of boos in the virtual stadium and a round of pints in real life.
And if the lads nick my square button for a week, fine. I’ll just practice my celebrations instead - preferably one that involves a Greggs sausage roll and a tiny flag.
Every now and then I’ll bag a screamer or a perfect assist, but more often than not I’m stood offside, distracted by something on my phone, while the lads scream “PASS IT!” through their mics.
So yeah - I suck at FIFA. Spectacularly so.
Clubs: where dreams die
So, the club. What’s it called? Truth be told - I’ve got no idea. Garry names the club. Always has. Always will. It’s something like the 6189ers, but for the sake of comedy (and honesty), let’s just call us The 69ers.
A name that perfectly captures the spirit of the team - immature, slightly tragic, and destined to underperform.
Right, so let’s talk about Clubs.
You grab the lads. You crack open a can of Monster. You set the formation like you’re about to storm Wembley. The optimism is electric - tonight’s the night, boys. Pudsey’s answer to prime Barcelona.
And then it happens.
You get absolutely battered by a squad of six eleven-year-olds, all high on potato smileys and chicken bloody nuggets. They play like caffeinated hornets, every one of them moving with the coordination of someone who’s spent far too much time perfecting skill moves.
Our first night on FIFA would sound like a success story if you just heard the tone in the party chat. Spirits high. Lads laughing. Banter flying.
Why? Because we finished the night absolutely buzzing - after losing about sixteen games and drawing two.
But those two draws? Oh, those were special. The kind of games that make you believe again.
Glorious team chemistry. Tactical genius. Emotional fortitude.
Or, more likely, the other team were just dogshit.
So what about the game itself?
So - what do I actually think?
Look. If you like football, this year’s entry is a solid one. The foundations are good. It’s a fantastic-looking, smooth, high-performing game. Everything from the player likenesses to the individual blades of grass looks spot on. You can practically smell the overpriced hot dogs from the stands.
Gameplay-wise, it’s also rock solid. Don’t get me wrong - it’s got flaws. But it wouldn’t be FIFA without them, would it?
This year it’s easier to shield the ball, back yourself into a corner, and play just like a seasoned Premier League time-waster - all while your opponent launches his controller at his nan. Progress!
Of course, the classic FIFA nonsense is still here. You graft for a beautiful, team-worked goal, the crowd goes wild - and then, seconds later, their hyper-striker sprints through six of your defenders like he’s got a cheat code and buries it top corner. It’s the circle of life, but with more swearing and more broken controllers.
Animations are fantastic though. Sliding through an opponent and cleanly nicking the ball away is one of the most satisfying feelings in gaming. Playing a perfectly timed pass that splits their defence like you’ve just opened a wormhole to another dimension? Sublime.
This year, you earn your shots. You earn your goals. And when it all comes together - chef’s kiss.
For a brief, shining moment, you feel like a tactical genius.
Then Garry or Tom hits the post again to bring you back to earth.
Presentation & atmosphere
You honestly can’t fault how it looks. The stadiums are gorgeous, the lighting’s spot on, and even the crowds seem more alive - chanting, waving, and collectively judging you for every mistake. The sound design’s fantastic too; the thud of a power shot and the roar of a crowd after a lucky goal genuinely hit.
The menus, meanwhile, have once again been completely redesigned for no apparent reason, because EA apparently have a quota of button reshuffles to meet every year.
Still, from the first whistle to the last rage quit, it’s an immersive, slick package that makes you forget you’re playing the same game you bought five years ago.
Player creator
Returning once again in this year’s installment is the infamous Player Creator.
We tip our hats to the EA devs here for giving us so many options - everything from cheekbone depth to eyebrow height is included. It’s like a forensic reconstruction tool, but with slightly worse lighting.
There’s also a frankly ridiculous selection of hair and beard options. By the time I reached beard number 1137, I realised this was ludicrous and wrapped up my player before I started questioning my own face.
Now, FIFA wouldn’t be FIFA without a bunch of players running around online with green hair, bulging cheekbones and hollowed-out eyesockets. It goes together like Monster Energy and GCSE resits - chaotic, confusing, and probably banned in most schools.
Every online match looks like a crime against genetics. Half your opponents resemble badly-assembled wax figures, and the rest look like rejected Sims who’ve taken up semi-professional football to pay off their student loans.
Still, it’s tradition. FIFA’s player creator has always been less about realism and more about giving every 14-year-old the chance to make a man that looks like Shrek’s electrician cousin - and I respect that.
Mechanics
Let’s talk mechanics - the bit EA claim they’ve reinvented every year.
This time round, everything feels tighter, quicker, a bit more deliberate. Passes snap nicely, tackles land with a crunch, and shots actually feel like they’ve got some weight to them. For a moment, you almost believe it’s real football - right up until your keeper dives after the ball’s already in the net or the opposition striker runs straight through your defence for the 12th time.
They’ve tweaked dribbling again too, which now feels more responsive, unless you’re me, in which case it feels like trying to steer a shopping trolley with three wheels and a limp.
Defending’s had a bit of love as well, though your AI teammates still wander around like they’ve just clocked off a double shift at Greggs. There’s a new physicality to challenges this year - players bump, push and barge in a way that looks great, right before the ref books you for breathing near someone.
FIFA’s always been a game of small victories and big tantrums, and that balance is still alive and well. The mechanics feel more refined, but deep down, you know it’s the same beautiful, broken chaos we’ve all been screaming at for years.
Verdict
EA Sports FC 26 (FIFA, let’s be honest) is a frustratingly brilliant football game. It’s prettier, smoother, and just different enough to justify EA’s yearly marketing hype. But under all that shiny new grass physics, it’s still the same glorious rage machine that ruins friendships and destroys controllers.
TL;DR:
A polished, satisfying, occasionally infuriating slice of football chaos. Great fun with mates, utterly miserable solo.
And no matter how many times you swear you’re done with it… you’ll be back next weekend, shouting at your telly, blaming lag, and pretending it’s “just a warm-up.”
Rating: 7/10 Greggs Sausage Rolls
The no-bullshit review: Same old FIFA - looks mint, plays mint, still pisses me right off.
