Just a few short months ago, the Women’s National Basketball Association (WNBA) was riding a wave of unprecedented momentum. Fueled by the “Caitlin Clark effect,” viewership was shattering records, merchandise was flying off the shelves, and a new era of mainstream relevance seemed not just possible, but inevitable. The league secured a monumental $2.2 billion media rights deal, a clear signal that the corporate world was finally ready to invest in women’s basketball. Five new expansion franchises were announced, with teams in Portland and Toronto paying a staggering $250 million each for a seat at the table. It was, by all accounts, a golden age.

But behind the dazzling headlines and sold-out arenas, a storm was brewing. Now, as the October 31st deadline for a new collective bargaining agreement (CBA) looms, the league finds itself on the brink of a self-inflicted disaster. The very foundation of this promising new era is cracking under the weight of a contentious and increasingly bitter labor dispute that threatens to halt all the progress that has been made.

At the heart of the conflict is a fundamental disagreement over money and value. The players, who last fall opted out of the current CBA, are demanding a bigger piece of the pie. They were reportedly offered a deal that would quadruple their current salaries, a significant increase by any measure. However, the players’ association has rejected this, arguing it’s not enough. They are demanding a larger share of the league’s overall revenue, a move that would fundamentally restructure the WNBA’s financial model.

This demand, while understandable from the players’ perspective, runs headlong into a harsh reality: the WNBA has never, in its entire history, turned a profit. While revenue is soaring, so are expenses. The massive media deal and expansion fees are critical injections of capital, but the league is still in growth mode. This creates a contentious standoff. How do you split a pie that is still, technically, in the red? The owners see the salary offer as a generous investment in the league’s future, while the players see it as a failure to recognize their true value in generating the league’s newfound popularity.

The consequences of this stalemate are immediate and catastrophic, particularly for the brand-new expansion teams. The Portland Fire and Toronto Tempo, having invested a quarter of a billion dollars each, are now caught in a state of suspended animation. Without a CBA in place, the entire league calendar is frozen. The expansion draft cannot happen. Free agency cannot begin. These new franchises are unable to sign a single player, build a roster, or even begin the crucial process of marketing their teams to their new home cities.

Imagine paying a fortune to open a new restaurant, only to be told you can’t hire a chef or even print a menu. This is the reality for Portland and Toronto. They are bleeding money with no clear timeline for when they can begin to build their businesses. The uncertainty is a death knell for a new franchise trying to build excitement and sell season tickets. The window of opportunity to capitalize on the league’s momentum is closing, and for these teams, it may slam shut before they ever get a chance to take the court.

The chaos extends to the entire league. With over a hundred players—out of a total of 144—expected to become free agents, the entire competitive landscape is shrouded in uncertainty. Teams cannot plan for the future, and players cannot secure their careers.

Adding another layer of complexity are the conflicts of interest simmering beneath the surface. Several prominent players involved in the CBA negotiations, such as Napheesa Collier and Breanna Stewart, are also co-owners of “Unrivaled,” a new 3-on-3 league. This dual role creates a clear conflict of interest. Are they negotiating for the best interests of all WNBA players, or are they leveraging the CBA talks to benefit their own separate business venture? Rumors are swirling that disagreements over players’ ability to participate in overseas leagues and rival competitions like Unrivaled are a major sticking point, further complicating an already fraught negotiation.

Perhaps most alarmingly, the off-court drama is beginning to poison the on-court product. The initial surge of excitement brought by Caitlin Clark is waning. A recent injury has sidelined her, and with other key players also out, the momentum that felt so unstoppable just a few months ago is visibly declining. Viewership has reportedly dipped, and a sentiment that was prevalent before Clark’s arrival is beginning to creep back into the discourse: that the game is becoming “boring” and “not fun to watch.”

This is the greatest danger the WNBA faces. The league is squandering its golden opportunity. At a time when it should be consolidating its gains and building on its success, it is mired in internal conflict. The bitter CBA negotiations are not just a business dispute; they are a threat to the very soul of the league. If the players and owners cannot find a way to come together, to recognize their shared interest in the league’s long-term health, they risk fumbling the bag in the most spectacular fashion. The golden era of the WNBA could be over before it truly begins, collapsing not from external pressure, but from within.