When the cameras went live on Good Morning America, the audience saw a sight that sent shockwaves through the sports world. It wasn’t a reigning MVP, a league champion, or a decorated Olympian. It was Sophie Cunningham, WNBA player for the Indiana Fever, sitting comfortably under the prime-time lights, talking about the Kansas City Chiefs and eating Arby’s steak nuggets.

To the casual viewer, it was a harmless celebrity segment. But to the WNBA establishment and its legion of “diehard” fans, it was a grenade.

The internet immediately lost its mind. Forums and social media feeds exploded with a single, furious question: “Why her?”

This is the story of how one player, who has never been an MVP or even a consistent All-Star, strategically built a media empire that has made her, by all measurable metrics, the second most popular player in the entire WNBA. It’s a story that has players, fans, and executives in shambles, forcing a league at a critical tipping point to confront an uncomfortable new reality: the algorithm may be more powerful than the All-Star.

The Uncomfortable Truth: She is “Number Two”

Let’s be clear. When we talk about popularity, we are not talking about the opinions of old-school pundits or the votes of basketball purists. We are talking about the cold, hard data of the 21st-century attention economy.

“By every single metric that actually matters—clicks, views, engagement, social media reach—Sophie Cunningham is number two in this league,” one media analyst noted, a statement that seems to make traditionalists’ blood boil. “Not third, not fifth. Second. Only behind Caitlin Clark herself.”

This is the reality that is making so many people uncomfortable. In a league that boasts generational talents like A’ja Wilson, a multiple-MVP winner and champion, or Breanna Stewart, a consensus GOAT-in-the-making, how did Cunningham leapfrog them all in mainstream relevance?

The answer is simple: she understood the game within the game. While others were mastering the pick-and-roll, Cunningham was mastering the algorithm. She figured out the new blueprint for athlete stardom before half the league even understood what TikTok was.

The “Villain” Arc and the Arby’s Coup

Cunningham’s rise wasn’t an accident; it was a masterclass in brand building. She didn’t just play the game; she created a character. She embraced controversy, transforming from just another player into a “certified villain.”

This persona was cemented during the infamous incident with JCS Sheldon, where Cunningham, in a move that the internet exploded over, “absolutely took her down.” The clip went nuclear. Fans were outraged, hot takes flooded the airwaves, and Sophie Cunningham became unforgettable. And in the modern media landscape, “unforgettable” is far more valuable than “universally liked.” As the saying goes, villains sell. Villains get engagement.

But controversy alone isn’t a career. The masterstroke was yet to come. It didn’t involve a basketball; it involved a t-shirt.

Cunningham, a self-proclaimed “genuine fan” of Arby’s roast beef sandwiches, made “a little TikTok.” The brand noticed. They sent her a shirt. She wore it. The internet did the rest. The post blew up.

This single, seemingly innocuous moment of branding genius led to a major national sponsorship. Arby’s, a massive, mainstream corporation, looked at the entire WNBA roster—filled with MVPs, champions, and gold medalists—and said, “We want that one. The girl who went viral.”

That’s how she ended up on Good Morning America. Not as a basketball analyst, but as an Arby’s spokesperson. She sat there on national television, selling steak nuggets to millions of Americans, bridging the gap between basketball and mainstream culture. She made the WNBA relatable to people who have never watched a game, all while talking about Patrick Mahomes and Travis Kelce.

That, right there, is power. It’s the kind of power that 20 points per game, in today’s market, simply can’t buy.

Building an Empire While Sidelining Superstars

The GMA appearance is just the tip of the iceberg. Cunningham isn’t just a player; she’s a media mogul in the making. Her podcast, “Show Me Something,” is part of Colin Cowherd’s prestigious “The Volume” network. And it’s pulling in staggering numbers.

In a statistic that should terrify the WNBA’s old guard, Cunningham’s podcast is currently outperforming Angel Reese’s “Unapologetically Angel” on YouTube. Think about that. Angel Reese, a college phenomenon and one of the league’s brightest young stars, is being beaten in the content game.

Critics are quick to attribute Cunningham’s relevance to the “Caitlin Clark effect,” arguing she’s just riding the coattails of her superstar Indiana Fever teammate. While the proximity to Clark’s supernova fame is undeniably a factor, the podcast numbers prove Cunningham is not just a sidekick. She has built her own lane, her own audience, her own identity. People are tuning in to hear Sophie, not just to get gossip about Caitlin.

This is what separates her. She is leveraging the Fever’s success while simultaneously maintaining her own brand, her own revenue streams, and her own empire.

The WNBA’s Identity Crisis: Production or Popularity?

This is where the league finds itself at a fundamental crossroads. What does it reward? Do you promote the legacy and production of a player like A’ja Wilson, arguably the best basketball player on the planet, who dominates on both ends of the floor? Or do you embrace the engagement and reach of a player like Sophie Cunningham, who is, without question, one of the most watchable?

The two things, as Sophie has proven, do not always overlap.

Traditionalists are enraged because they see Cunningham’s fame as unearned. They believe it’s about the game, the stats, the rings. They hate that she’s popular because she understands content, rich because she understands marketing, and famous because she understands virality.

But if you understand how modern media works, her rise makes perfect sense. Arby’s didn’t sponsor her because she’s the best at basketball. They sponsored her because she moves product. Because when she posts, her audience engages, and that audience buys things.

Sophie Cunningham represents the new blueprint for athlete-celebrity. It’s not just about what you do on the court; it’s about your reach, your engagement, and your ability to monetize attention. She didn’t try to be the best player; she became the most interesting player. And in the attention economy, “interesting” beats “talented” almost every single time.

The Game Within the Game

The hate is only going to get louder. People will continue to scream that she doesn’t deserve it, that better players are being overlooked, that she’s all style and no substance.

But they are missing the point. While they are busy debating her “merit” on Twitter, Sophie Cunningham is cashing checks. While they’re questioning her legitimacy, she’s booking her next national television appearance.

Her appearance on Good Morning America wasn’t just a segment; it was a statement. It was a declaration that she belongs in the mainstream conversation, that she can talk to America about sports and culture and fast food and make it all seem natural. That is a skill set beyond basketball. That is star power.

Whether the WNBA establishment or its fans like it or not, Sophie is forcing them to reckon with this new reality: popularity is currency, virality is value, and engagement is equity. The players who understand this will thrive. The ones who don’t will be left behind, wondering why they are more talented but far less successful.

Sophie Cunningham just changed the game again, and she did it on national television, with a mouthful of Arby’s steak nuggets, being exactly who she’s always been: unapologetically viral, undeniably successful, and absolutely unstoppable.