In 2024, when asked about the new eyeballs on the WNBA, Angel Reese famously declared, “The reason why we watching women’s basketball is not just because of one person. It’s because of me too” [02:55]. It was a statement of defiance, a rallying cry for the league’s established stars against a narrative they felt was erasing them.

Fast forward to 2025. A reporter begins a question to Reese, referencing that very statement: “A year later, do you feel like…” He never finished. Reese cut him off, her face a mask of finality, and delivered two words that signaled the end of the war: “Next question” [00:11].

That curt dismissal was more than just a media dodge; it was a white flag. It was the silent, resigned acknowledgment that the debate is over, the battle is lost, and the new reality has been cemented. Caitlin Clark’s arrival in the WNBA wasn’t just a tide; it was a tsunami. And for many within the league, the year-long reaction to her presence wasn’t a celebration, but a painful, public, and costly five-stage process of grief [02:15].

It began, as it always does, with Denial. Before Clark even laced up her professional sneakers, the “old guard” was openly skeptical. Pundits and players, including the legendary Diana Taurasi, issued warnings: “Reality is coming” [04:44]. The consensus was that the college phenom, who had just broken the NCAA’s all-time scoring record, would be humbled by the pro level. The hype, they insisted, was just that: hype. They expected her to fail, or at least be average.

But that’s not what happened. Clark’s very first game pulled in 2.1 million viewers, the most-watched WNBA game in over two decades [05:12]. Every arena she entered sold out. Her jersey sold more than any other athlete’s in any sport. The denial was shattered, and it quickly festered into stage two: Anger [05:27].

If the league couldn’t humble her on the scoreboard, they would try to do it on the court. The anger manifested physically. It was the notorious off-ball hip check from Kennedy Carter, a cheap shot that sent Clark sprawling [05:41]. It was the relentless, “unnecessary contact” [06:04]. It was the hard screens and off-ball hits that refs, in a seemingly collective decision, “pocketed their whistles” for [06:15]. It was a pattern, an unspoken strategy: “Let her get hit” [06:23]. They were trying to snuff out the hype by physically breaking the woman at the center of it.

But Clark, though visibly “exhausted, bruised, and mentally drained” [06:28], didn’t fold. She came back from the Olympic break stronger, playing at an MVP level and breaking the rookie assist record. The physical intimidation had failed.

So, the league moved to stage three: Bargaining [06:53]. This was the narrative war. Since they could no longer deny her talent, they had to devalue the reason for her fame. Suddenly, the conversation, amplified by players and media, was no longer about her unprecedented skill. It was about her privilege. It was a “propaganda playbook” [08:41] that insisted her popularity was due to her race, not her record-breaking assists [08:14]. Her fans weren’t “real” WNBA fans; they were just “little girls” flocking to see a “white girl from the middle of America” [07:47]. This was the league’s collective ego trying to negotiate with a new reality it couldn’t control.

But the “Caitlin Clark Effect” was never just a narrative. It was, as the video states, “math, money, and momentum” [11:18]. And this is where the bargaining stage collapsed under the weight of undeniable facts.

First, seasoned champions—players with rings and options like Natasha Howard and Dana Bonner—actively chose to sign with the Indiana Fever in the offseason [09:02]. The team that was once an afterthought was now “the destination” [09:34]. Second, the league schedule was torn up and rewritten. An unprecedented 41 of the Fever’s 44 games were slated for national television [10:21]. Third, the arena upgrades. Teams like the Chicago Sky, who typically play in a 10,000-seat arena, moved their game against Clark to the 21,000-seat United Center [09:43].

Then came the number that ended all arguments. A single preseason game—an exhibition—sold out a 15,000-seat arena in Iowa [10:36]. The average ticket price was a staggering $650. That one game, with no stakes, generated nearly $9.75 million [11:00]. This wasn’t hype. It was an economic earthquake. The league’s bitter narrative was no longer just petty; it was financially self-destructive.

This brought on the fourth stage: Acceptance [11:37]. The tone began to shift. Players who were once silent or skeptical started to give her “real credit” [13:33]. The mentality of “when one player eats, we all eat” began to surface [12:03]. They began praising her rookie assist record as “crazy” [12:32], finally acknowledging the elite court vision behind the flashy logo threes.

The final, symbolic moment of acceptance—the event that sealed the new world order—was her homecoming exhibition game in Iowa [13:40]. It wasn’t just a game; it was “theater” [14:49]. The 1.3 million viewers who tuned in [14:00] weren’t just a WNBA record; they beat NBA preseason ratings, the previous year’s WNBA Finals Game 1, and any MLB spring training game in 20 years [16:40].

Knowing all eyes were on her, Clark delivered the “star quality” moment everyone craved. She pulled up and sank a three-pointer from the exact logo spot where she had broken the NCAA scoring record [14:36]. It was storytelling. It was a perfectly executed “I told you so.” But the most telling image came after the final buzzer. The opposing Brazilian national team didn’t just shake her hand. They “mobbed” her [15:52], smiling, laughing, and posing for selfies as if they had just met Michael Jordan [16:04]. In their eyes, they had.

Now, the league is “scrambling to get on the right side of history” [18:20]. The narrative is no longer about her privilege but about her “Mamba mentality” work ethic [19:06]—showing up at the gym at 8 a.m. after high-profile events. She is “bigger, stronger” [19:12], and the haters have either started praising her or, more tellingly, have fallen silent.

That silence is the fifth and final stage of grief. It’s the resignation that the world has changed, and the person they tried to deny, break, and diminish is the one responsible for it. The debate is over. The grief has passed. All that’s left to say is, “Next question.”