In the world of professional sports, silence is usually a sign that negotiations are tough. But when a player goes on a podcast and starts throwing around words like “dumb” and “lockout,” silence turns into a siren.
That is exactly what happened this week when Phoenix Mercury guard Sophie Cunningham appeared on a podcast and dropped a bomb that has WNBA fans holding their breath. In a moment of unguarded honesty, Cunningham didn’t just hint at trouble; she confirmed it.
“Our CBA is so dumb right now that like it’s heading towards lockout,” Cunningham said. “So no progress, no like just nothing honestly nothing. We get like weekly emails from the PA side of things and it’s just like it’s just so dumb dumb dumb dumb.”
The Insider’s Warning
Sophie Cunningham is not a fringe rookie looking for attention. She is a respected veteran, a key rotation player, and someone who generally measures her words. For her to be this blunt signals that the situation behind closed doors is far worse than the sanitized press releases suggest.
Her comments reveal a terrifying reality: The WNBA calendar is broken. By now, free agency should be in full swing. The expansion draft for the new Portland and Toronto franchises should have already happened. Teams like the Indiana Fever and Phoenix Mercury should be building their rosters to compete for a championship.
Instead, everything is frozen. The league and the Players Association (WNBPA) are stuck in a game of high-stakes chicken, and the clock is ticking toward a deadline that could wipe out the entire 2026 season.
The “Gross vs. Net” Canyon
At the heart of this “dumb” stalemate is a fundamental disagreement on math. The players, emboldened by a year of record-breaking revenue driven largely by the “Caitlin Clark Effect,” submitted a proposal demanding 30% of gross revenue. That means they want a cut of every dollar that comes in the door, before expenses.
The owners, on the other hand, are offering roughly 70% of net revenue. That means they want to pay the bills first—arena costs, travel, marketing—and then share what’s left. In a league that has historically lost money for 27 of its 28 seasons, the difference between “gross” and “net” is the difference between profit and bankruptcy.
This isn’t a small gap. It’s a canyon. And according to Cunningham, there is “no progress” in bridging it.
The March Deadline
Why is the panic setting in now? Because of the calendar. As the analysis points out, if a deal isn’t reached by March, the 2026 season moves from “delayed” to “catastrophic.”
The logistics are unforgiving. Team USA has international games scheduled for September. The WNBA season must finish before then. You cannot squeeze a full season into a window that starts in June or July without destroying player health with back-to-back games.
If the season is cancelled, the damage would be incalculable. Caitlin Clark, the superstar who brought millions of new eyes to the sport, would lose a year of her prime. The millions of casual fans who tuned in last year would likely drift away, perhaps permanently. The momentum that took three decades to build could evaporate in three months of greed and stubbornness.
The “Project B” Threat
Cunningham’s comments also highlighted another danger: the rise of alternative leagues. She noted that she was one of the few players in town because everyone else was playing in “Unrivaled,” the new 3-on-3 league paying massive salaries.
Then there is “Project B,” a new women’s basketball league scheduled to launch in November. While Caitlin Clark has said she won’t play in it, a cancelled WNBA season changes the calculus for everyone. If players aren’t getting WNBA paychecks, alternative leagues stop being “offseason fun” and start being “primary employers.”
If the WNBA locks out its players, it risks proving that the players don’t actually need the WNBA to make a living. That is an existential threat to the league’s monopoly on women’s professional basketball.
The Verdict
Sophie Cunningham called the situation “dumb,” and it’s hard to argue with her. The WNBA is coming off its most successful year in history. Sponsorships are up, attendance is up, and the world is watching. To blow this opportunity over a dispute about revenue sharing feels like a tragic self-inflicted wound.
The players deserve to be paid. The owners deserve a sustainable business model. But the fans—the ones buying the jerseys and the tickets—deserve a season. Right now, thanks to Sophie Cunningham’s honesty, we know that is the one thing that isn’t guaranteed.
The clock is ticking. The emails are empty. And the lockout is looming. As Cunningham said, it’s just dumb.
