The Indiana Fever’s practice gym was unusually quiet for a Tuesday morning. The team had just wrapped up a grueling road trip, and Caitlin Clark, the rookie sensation whose name was suddenly everywhere, was the last to leave the court. She lingered, putting up extra shots, sweat darkening her practice jersey, headphones in, blocking out the world.
But the world had found her anyway.
Her phone buzzed on the bench. Another notification. Another mention. She ignored it at first, but as she walked to the locker room, the vibration grew persistent. When she finally checked, the screen was a flood of messages—friends, family, fans, and even college teammates all forwarding the same viral clip.
A WNBA reporter, someone with a blue checkmark and a history of “hot takes,” had gone on air and, in the process of praising Paige Bueckers—the next big thing, not even in the league yet—had called Caitlin “flashy” and “selfish.” The words themselves were wrapped in the usual media fluff, but the meaning was clear. “Paige is more unselfish, more grounded, not as flashy as Caitlin.” It was a comparison as old as sports, but this time, it hit different.
The internet, predictably, exploded.
The Firestorm
By noon, the story was everywhere. Sports talk radio. Twitter. TikTok. Even the Fever’s group chat was buzzing.
“Girl, you see this?” Kelsey Mitchell texted, attaching a meme of a dumpster fire with Caitlin’s face photoshopped on top.
Aliyah Boston sent a string of angry emojis, followed by: “Don’t let it get to you. We know the truth.”
Caitlin tried to laugh it off, but the words stung. She’d worked her whole life to be more than a scorer, more than just “the shooter.” At Iowa, she’d led the nation in assists. In Indiana, she was already running the offense, threading passes through impossible seams, setting up teammates who, frankly, sometimes missed open looks. But she never complained. Never pointed fingers.
She’d always believed that if you played the right way, people would see it.
The Backlash
The backlash against the reporter was immediate and fierce. Fans posted highlight reels of Caitlin’s no-look dimes and logo threes, but also her hustle plays: diving for loose balls, taking charges, celebrating every teammate’s bucket. Analysts pulled up stats: “Clark leads all WNBA rookies in assists—how is that selfish?” Even Paige Bueckers herself tweeted, “Why tear down one baller to lift up another? Caitlin is a dog. Respect.”
But the reporter doubled down, then tried to walk it back, claiming their words were “misinterpreted.” Too late. The genie was out of the bottle.
The Fever’s next home game was a sellout. Reporters packed the press row, many hoping for a soundbite, a flash of anger, some sign that Caitlin was rattled. Instead, she played her most complete game yet—19 points, 11 assists, 7 rebounds, and, most importantly, a Fever win.
After the final buzzer, she faced the media scrum.
The Press Conference
First question, inevitably: “Caitlin, how do you respond to the criticism that you’re flashy and selfish?”
She smiled, calm. “I think anyone who’s watched me play knows I love to pass the ball. I love making my teammates better. Basketball is a team sport. I’m going to keep playing my game. If that’s flashy, so be it. But I care about winning, and I care about my team.”
A veteran reporter, sensing the moment, pressed: “Do you think the narrative around you is unfair?”
Caitlin nodded. “I think sometimes people see confidence or creativity and mistake it for selfishness, especially in women’s sports. But I’m not changing who I am. I’m proud to be myself, and I’m proud of how we’re growing as a team.”
The room fell silent, then broke into applause.
The Locker Room
Back in the locker room, DeWanna Bonner clapped Caitlin on the back. “Handled like a pro, kid.”
Aliyah grinned. “They can say what they want. We know who’s running this show.”
Kelsey laughed. “You flashy, all right. Flashy with the dimes. Flashy with the hustle. Flashy with the wins.”
Caitlin finally let herself relax, the tension draining from her shoulders. She realized then that the narrative wasn’t hers to control, not completely. But her response was. And as long as her teammates knew her heart, that was enough.
The Next Day
The story shifted. Sportswriters who’d once questioned her style now praised her poise. Highlight shows ran montages of her assists. Young girls showed up at the next game with homemade signs: “Flashy & Proud!” and “Selfish? More Like Selfless!”
The reporter who’d started it all posted a lengthy apology, but it barely registered. The fans—and the Fever—had moved on.
A Letter from Iowa
That night, as Caitlin scrolled through her DMs, she found a message from her old high school coach:
*“Caitlin, I remember when you were in eighth grade, and you stayed after practice to rebound for the younger girls. You’ve always lifted others up. Don’t let anyone tell you different. Proud of you.”*
She smiled, misty-eyed.
The Bigger Picture
The truth was, Caitlin’s game *was* flashy—step-back threes from the logo, one-handed passes between defenders, a fearless swagger that dared opponents to match her. But it was never about showboating. It was about energy, about inspiring her team, about making the game fun. Her flash was functional. Her confidence, contagious.
She thought about the little girls in the stands, the ones who wore her jersey and tried to copy her moves. What did she want them to see?
Not someone afraid to stand out. Not someone who dimmed her light to fit someone else’s narrative. But someone who played hard, played smart, and played for her team—no matter what anyone said.
The Rivalry That Wasn’t
As the season wore on, Paige Bueckers made her own WNBA debut. The media, eager for a rivalry, tried to pit them against each other. But after their first matchup, the two stars hugged at halfcourt, laughing and sharing a private joke.
Later, Paige told reporters, “We’re both here to win. There’s room for both of us. Let’s just hoop.”
Epilogue
By season’s end, the Fever had clawed their way into playoff contention. Caitlin was named Rookie of the Year, not just for her stats, but for the way she’d changed the culture—on the team, in the city, in the league.
The “flashy and selfish” label faded into history, replaced by something truer: leader. Playmaker. Game-changer.
And as Caitlin Clark walked off the court after her final home game, the crowd on its feet, she knew she’d done it her way. Flash and all.
