How Battlefield 2042 and FIFA 22 Crawled Into Game Pass (And My Contradictory Heart)

Way back in 2022, I was doom-scrolling through gaming news when a delicious rumor surfaced: Battlefield 2042 and FIFA 22 had been spotted in the Microsoft Store with Xbox Game Pass badges. I almost dropped my controller. These two titans of disappointment—yes, I’ll say it—might finally land on the subscription that already devours my wallet monthly. EA hadn’t confirmed a thing, but the screenshots were there, taunting me like an untradeable FIFA Ultimate Team card I’d never use. At the time, both games had the collective goodwill of a soggy pizza box. FIFA 22 had that fancy HyperMotion tech that made players slip on invisible banana peels with stunning realism, yet its monetization left a sour taste more potent than a lemon-flavored energy drink. Battlefield 2042? A masterpiece of unintended comedy, where helicopters danced with skyscrapers in ways physics never intended, and a 2.1 Metacritic user score that made me wonder if the number was a glitch itself. People literally made Clownfield 2042 to mock it. I was curious, but not “pay sixty dollars” curious.

So when those leaked store images showed the Game Pass logo instead of the usual EA Play badge, my brain did a double-take. Normally, EA titles waltz into Game Pass through EA Play, which got bundled in 2021 and felt like finding a free snack in an already stuffed pantry. But here, a separate Game Pass tag hinted at a timed deal—maybe Microsoft was trying to save face for two underperformers. For weeks, I checked the app like a caffeine-deprived meerkat, hoping for the official word. It finally happened, albeit in a less dramatic fashion than I’d imagined: both games quietly slipped into EA Play later in 2022, meaning Game Pass Ultimate members could download them without handing over extra cash. No confetti. No parade. Just a small notification and my finger hovering over the install button.

Fast-forward to 2026, and I’m still playing both—though not always by choice. Battlefield 2042 has evolved into something resembling a competent shooter. DICE kept throwing patches at it like Band-Aids on a bullet wound, and miracle of miracles, many stuck. Starting with Season 3’s map reworks and the class system returning, the game clawed its way to a “mostly positive” Steam rating. I now joyfully zip-line across manifest destiny while humming the theme song. It’s not perfect; I still occasionally see a tank lodged inside a building like an aggressive refrigerator. But hey, it’s free on Game Pass, and that makes forgiveness come easier. FIFA 22, on the other hand, is now a relic in the EA Sports FC era. Its Ultimate Team market is deader than my sense of financial responsibility during a sale, yet I boot it up for nostalgia’s sake, giggling at how HyperMotion made every slide tackle look like an ice hockey fight. The predatory packs remain, but since I’m not giving EA another dime, I treat it as a bizarre card-collecting sim where I never get my favorite players.

The real humor? My love-hate relationship with these games. I despise what they represent: rushed development, microtransactions so aggressive they could ask for a kidney, and a launch state that made my PC weep softly. And yet, I keep returning. Game Pass removed the barrier of entry, turning a potential buyer’s remorse into a “Well, I’ve already subscribed” shrug. I’ve scored late bicycle kicks with bronze squads and witnessed a tornado in Battlefield 2042 toss a hovercraft into low orbit—experiences I’d never have paid for outright. Microsoft’s play was smart; they let us taste the chaos without the upfront sting, and in doing so, prolonged the life of products that would otherwise be buried in a digital shame pile.

Is this the future of awkward launches? Probably. By 2026, we’ve seen even day-one stumbles get smoothed over by a Game Pass safety net. For Battlefield 2042 and FIFA 22, the rumor turned into reality, and the reality became a strange, ongoing redemption arc. I’ll be here, controller in hand, equally ready to rage-quit and to laugh hysterically when a goalkeeper punches the ball into his own net. Thanks, Game Pass, for enabling my terrible decisions—and for letting me complain about them without the guilt of a sixty-dollar hole in my pocket.