In the high-stakes world of sports media, timing is everything. A single take can define a career, or in some cases, a decade of discourse. Last season, as the WNBA was experiencing an unprecedented explosion in popularity, ESPN’s Elle Duncan delivered a commentary that has aged like milk in the summer sun. Duncan famously suggested that the influx of new fans—largely driven by the arrival of superstar Caitlin Clark—was “sucking the life out of the league.” Fast forward to today, and those words are haunting the WNBA as it grapples with collapsing viewership, alienated audiences, and a labor crisis that threatens its very foundation.
The “Caitlin Clark effect” was, by all objective measures, a miracle for a league that had struggled for over 20 years to gain mainstream traction. Before Clark was drafted by the Indiana Fever, the WNBA operated in a cycle of limited coverage, modest attendance, and financial losses mitigated only by the NBA’s continued support. Suddenly, games were selling out across the country, TV ratings were rivaling men’s professional sports, and major networks were finally treating women’s basketball like a prime-time product.
Yet, rather than rolling out the red carpet for this new audience, a segment of the WNBA media and player base reacted with visible irritation. Duncan’s comments on ESPN became the manifesto for this gatekeeping mentality. The narrative was clear: if you are only here for one player, or if you don’t know the deep history of the league, your fandom is a problem. New fans were interrogated, their motives were questioned, and their enthusiasm was treated as a threat to the league’s established culture.
This mindset represents a fundamental misunderstanding of how sports growth works. Popularity in professional sports is almost always driven by “bridge” players—individuals whose star power is so immense they pull casual viewers into the ecosystem. Magic Johnson and Larry Bird did it for the NBA; Tiger Woods did it for the PGA; and Caitlin Clark was doing it for the WNBA. When you find a bridge to the mainstream, you don’t set fire to it while people are still crossing. But that is exactly what happened.
The consequences of this “unwelcome” sign are now manifesting in the data. Recent viewership numbers show a significant slide, and the energy that carried the previous season has evaporated. Perhaps most tellingly, “Unrivaled,” the new off-season league featuring many of the WNBA’s top stars but notably lacking Caitlin Clark, has struggled to find an audience. Despite heavy promotion and prime national broadcasts, the engagement has been shockingly low. This confirms a harsh truth that the league’s vocal critics refused to acknowledge: the audience wasn’t just “watching basketball,” they were watching a specific phenomenon. When you insult that phenomenon’s fans, they don’t stick around to learn about the “deep history” of the league—they simply turn the channel.
The situation has become so dire that even WNBA legends like Rebecca Lobo are stepping in to conduct damage control. Lobo has recently urged players and media figures to reset their tone, emphasizing the need for better communication and a more welcoming attitude toward the fans who are essentially paying the bills. Lobo’s perspective is rooted in reality; she recalls the days of playing in tiny venues with almost no resources. She recognizes that today’s higher salaries, charter flights, and improved facilities are direct results of the very growth that voices like Duncan labeled as “toxic.”
The disconnect between the players’ demands for more investment and the media’s hostility toward the fans providing that investment has created a credibility gap. During recent labor discussions, fans who were once sympathetic to the players’ cause began to push back. When the narrative of “exploitation” met the reality of the league’s actual revenue and the recent upgrades in player support, the public alignment shifted. For the first time in history, ownership and management seem to have more public backing than the players, not because management is beloved, but because the fans no longer feel a bond with the voices speaking for the league.
Elle Duncan’s take has backfired because it ignored the primary rule of the entertainment business: the audience decides what matters. You cannot demand that growth happen on your terms, nor can you dictate the “right reasons” for someone to watch a game. By treating new fans like a burden, the WNBA and its media defenders have managed to do the unthinkable: they have pushed away a once-in-a-generation surge of interest.
The WNBA now stands at a crossroads. Rebuilding trust with an audience that has been told they are a “problem” is significantly harder than maintaining it in the first place. As viewership continues to struggle and the league faces a tense labor standoff, the “spectacularly aging take” from last season serves as a cautionary tale. Growth is fragile, momentum is rare, and in the world of professional sports, the “life” of a league is its fans. If you tell them they are sucking the life out of the room, don’t be surprised when they decide to leave.
