Loving the WNBA in a Season of Change

How can I follow the WNBA without being online? There must be a way because being online with the WNBA makes me want to drown myself. I hate all of you! And the biggest reason I can’t stand online WNBA discourse: it’s hardly ever about basketball.

Bomani Jones

Women’s basketball is on the rise. Many more people are watching at all levels. The players are securing the type of fame and notoriety that they have long deserved. Money is pouring in through exposure and expansion, and the paydays will soon follow.

But alongside the good tidings has come a growing fanbase, some of whom seem disinterested in respecting the WNBA’s culture, vibe, or history. All the things that I have cherished over 11 summers as a season ticket holder with the Los Angeles Sparks and cultivated as a fan of these athletes since before the league began.

I attended SXSW religiously between 2005 and 2011. In ‘05, the tech part of the festival was mostly a sideshow to the main event film + music tracks. Tech was active but quaint. There was little fanfare and a lot of camaraderie. It felt like we were all in on a secret: the internet was cool. By 2010, the event had grown so big that I half-jokingly said there were enough other black folks in attendance that I could afford not to like some of them. By 2011, I felt like an outsider and decided it would be my last.

A week before the 2025 WNBA season started, I worried that this summer might mirror my separation from SXSW. 

“This might be the summer where we start losing the magic,” I said in the group chat.

The online discourse was overwhelmingly driving that feeling of dread. After months of quiet, the battle lines reappeared in the culture war over Caitlin Clark and Angel Reese—stans vs. fans, bluster vs. reason, aggression vs. inclusion. The tribalism that is a hallmark of college basketball fandom was rearing its ugly head during the draft and training camp as social media stans caped for their school’s players and jumped in the mentions of any person who dared critique them. Wannabe basketball influencers delivered hot takes in bad faith, seeking attention and engagement. 

A play caught my attention while watching the opening weekend matchup of the Chicago Sky at the Indiana Fever with the sound off. I commented about it on Threads: an off-the-cuff observation that in most basketball conversations would be pretty milquetoast. It happened to be about Angel Reese in reaction to a hard foul from Caitlin Clark, though, and it brought to my doorstep the exact kind of interactions I don’t want to be having around this sport I love.

The home opener for the Sparks was the next day, and I was anxious like a kid on the first day of school. I often say that Crypto.com Arena has long felt like church. I go there to find fellowship, community, and to feel the spirit. Well, my spirit, at least. Even when we lose, those three hours are my respite. But this summer, there were changes afoot: our long-time in-arena host is with the expansion Golden State Valkyries; our long-time account reps had been replaced; there had been little communication from the organization about what to expect. 

I need not have worried, though. While some things had changed, the good vibes were in plentiful supply. Familiar faces greeted us everywhere, and friends new and old were all around us. Neither the bad actors present in Indy the previous day nor the ever-present online drama followed us into my sacred place.

I’ve been thinking a lot about my relationship with social media recently. The telltale signs that I need a break from the apps are here: increased time spent, decreased satisfaction with the experience, doomscrolling, and fomo.  Despite my frustration with some interactions, discussing the W online is still one of the best parts of today’s internet.

Unlike Bomani, I don’t hate this community. He must not run in the same circles I do because I still make meaningful connections with WNBA fans via online social spaces. I find plenty of folks who want to talk basketball. On a different episode of Jones’s podcast, Elle Duncan compared WNBA fans to NBA Twitter—caring and communicating about the whole culture of the sport from the games and its stars to fashion, jokes, memes, themes, and even the playful pettiness of fandom. All that is still here if you know where to look and who to give your time to. The rhythm, hustle, flow, and beauty of the W are also represented by its very online community. It might be dispersed across many networks but hasn’t gone anywhere. 

Just because the barbarians have broken through the gate, that doesn’t mean we have to cede our ground. I walked away from SXSW, but I’m not giving up on the WNBA. It’s my home. It’s our house. 

There’s too much magic amongst the mess. There’s too much love in the game.

Seasons change, we remain.