When a sports league forgets it exists to play ball, not to preach, you get the WNBA.
Imagine walking into a five-star steakhouse, famished and ready for the main course, only to be handed a pamphlet on factory farming while a waiter reads a spoken-word poem about the cows' lived experiences.
That's what it feels like to tune into a WNBA game these days.
It wasn’t a buzzer-beater, a triple-double, or even a record-breaking stat line that made headlines at the Minnesota Lynx game last week.
No, it was a moment of silence.
For George Floyd.
Let that sink in. Nearly five years after his death, the WNBA is still genuflecting at the altar of a man whose criminal record is longer than most players' careers.
There was not a moment of silence for the police officers ambushed in cold blood. Not a recognition of murdered children in the very neighborhoods supposedly uplifted by this "movement."
Just another politically choreographed performance that belongs more in a university humanities seminar than on a basketball court.
A League of Lectures
The WNBA has long been the grumpy scold of professional sports. It has a fraction of the viewership of men’s leagues and almost none of the humility. It doesn’t draw crowds; it draws controversies.
And it doesn’t seem to care.
Since the early 2010s, the league has gradually transformed itself from a fringe athletic operation into a political brand. In 2016, the Minnesota Lynx wore pregame warm-up shirts protesting police shootings, prompting off-duty security officers to walk off the job. That wasn’t the beginning, but it was a clear signal: the WNBA wasn't just dabbling in activism but diving headfirst.
The league's tone is less about competition and more about correction.
Fans tuning in for a game often find themselves trapped in a hostage video of identity politics, complete with hashtags, kneeling, and fists in the air. The WNBA doesn’t just want your attention; it demands your agreement.
And if you don’t cheer along with their latest cause, you might as well be sitting in the wrong arena.
The Lynx's George Floyd Obsession
The Lynx called for unity within a narrow, pre-approved ideological framework. It did not call for forgiveness, reconciliation, or healing; it was just a repetition of well-worn slogans.
What about the city Floyd left behind?
Minneapolis is still digging itself out of the ash heap that followed his death. Riots masquerading as protests caused billions in damage, gutted businesses, and eroded trust in public institutions. Entire neighborhoods were set ablaze. Hundreds of officers left the force. Violent crime exploded.
Where is the WNBA’s moment of silence for the convenience store owner who had to flee his livelihood?
For the kids caught in the crossfire of emboldened criminals?
For families who now live behind bars, not the kind made of steel, but of fear?
Crickets.
Griner vs. Clark: Welcome to the Big-Time
Brittney Griner’s return to the WNBA after her imprisonment in Russia was hailed as a triumph of human rights. She was given a hero's welcome and treated as a living martyr for bringing vape cartridges into a nation where the rules are harsh but clearly known.
But what do we see now? Not humility. Not grace. But venom. In a recent viral moment, Griner allegedly called Indiana Fever rookie Caitlin Clark a "trash f***ing white girl." The league tried to spin it, claiming she criticized a ref's call. But the audio and the contempt seemed directed straight at Clark.
Clark is easily the future of women’s basketball. Her college performances shattered viewership records. She plays with poise, humility, and an unmatched shooting range, and she has brought millions of new eyes to the sport.
Yet, instead of embracing her, WNBA veterans seem determined to haze her like a pledge at an Ivy League frat.
Is it jealousy? Maybe. Is it a desire to keep the ideological club exclusive? Likely. Either way, Griner’s actions and the league’s non-response tell you everything about what the WNBA currently values: attitude over ability, politics over professionalism.
Silence for Some, Scorn for Others
Moments of silence are sacred. They're supposed to honor universally recognized losses. Soldiers. Victims of terrorism. National tragedies. But the bar has been lowered to the pavement in today's WNBA. When silence is offered for George Floyd and not for the victims of the violence unleashed in his name, the gesture becomes grotesque.
Where is the league's pause for Officer Ella French, gunned down in Chicago? For retired police captain David Dorn, murdered during a riot? For the dozens of black children shot in drive-bys in Democrat-run cities every year?
There is no moment of silence for the 6-year-old in Minneapolis caught in a crossfire. Or the elderly woman carjacked by teens who thought her life meant nothing. The league doesn’t just ignore these lives; it erases them.
Because in the WNBA's worldview, only certain deaths matter.
Only certain victims get flowers. And only certain stories deserve to be told.
Basketball Takes a Backseat
There was a time when athletes left their politics in the locker room and let the game do the talking. That time has been buried beneath the rubble of slogans and virtue signals.
The WNBA's obsession with activism is the sports version of a company diversity seminar: long-winded, unproductive, and vaguely threatening.
This isn't about banning speech. It's about balance. Sports, at their best, unify. They give us something to rally around. But the WNBA doesn’t want unity unless it’s on its terms. If you disagree with their worldview, you’re not just wrong.
You’re a threat.
Every time the league chooses propaganda over play, it loses another potential fan. Americans want heroes, not hall monitors. They want excellence, not excuses. They want competition, not complaints.
Caitlin Clark gives them a reason to tune in.
Griner and the rest give them reasons to tune out.
The Market Has Spoken
Despite media hype and celebrity endorsements, the WNBA remains on life support. It survives only because the NBA covers its bills. The average WNBA franchise operates at a loss, and the league has yet to turn a consistent profit. Its ratings hover in the low six figures, and ticket sales are spotty at best.
Yet, instead of adjusting, it doubles down. More speeches. More ceremonies. More sanctimony. Less basketball.
Can you name the last WNBA MVP? Most Americans can’t. But they can tell you who knelt for the anthem, who gave the most sanctimonious press conference, or who insulted the one rookie actually drawing viewers. The league has become a parody of itself.
Final Buzzer: No Redemption Without Reflection
George Floyd's death was a tragedy. But his canonization is a symptom of a culture that confuses noise with nobility.
The WNBA is not evil. It’s just lost.
It abandoned the court for the courtroom, the scoreboard for the soapbox. It doesn’t want to be liked; it wants to be obeyed.
And yet, redemption is possible. All it takes is humility. If the league focused on fundamentals, basketball, teamwork, and sportsmanship, it might reclaim what little public trust it has left.
But until then, it remains that five-star steakhouse. You walk in for filet mignon and walk out with a protest pamphlet, an indigestion of sanctimony, and the sneaking suspicion you paid too much for the lecture.
