Basketball is more than just a game—it’s culture, currency, and community all rolled into one. When Nancy Lieberman, a trailblazing legend of the sport, spoke candidly about Caitlin Clark and her emerging status in the WNBA, she wasn’t just offering advice; she was issuing a call to action. Her message was rooted in wisdom drawn from decades of navigating the intersection of sport, fame, and opportunity. Lieberman’s plea for WNBA players to “embrace” Clark “if she happens to be the cash cow right now” wasn’t about deference to stardom. It was about survival. About strategy. About solidarity.
Caitlin Clark, the record-shattering rookie out of Iowa, is many things to many people. To some, she’s a phenom who breathed life into women’s college basketball, dragging historic ratings behind her every move. To others, she’s a lightning rod—a symbol of change, and with it, all the tension change invites. She is not the first great rookie to enter the WNBA. But she is perhaps the first to do so in an ecosystem so starved for attention and so primed for a breakthrough that her arrival became a cultural moment, not just a sports story.
Lieberman knows what it’s like to be the face of a movement. Her words were less about Clark herself and more about how women’s sports have long been conditioned to survive on less—less money, less media coverage, less institutional investment. Now, with Clark turning cameras, clicks, and corporate sponsorships toward the WNBA at unprecedented levels, the entire league is basking in a visibility it has never known. That’s not something to resist. That’s something to ride.
And yet, the tension is real. Some veterans have expressed frustration at the immediate attention Clark has received. From All-Star snubs to rough plays to passive-aggressive media comments, it’s clear that Clark’s presence, while lucrative, also represents a shift in power dynamics. It’s a shift that can feel threatening to players who’ve been grinding for years with little fanfare, fighting for every ounce of respect and recognition. Their work made the WNBA possible. Watching a 22-year-old become its face overnight might feel like a shortcut through a road they paved with blood, sweat, and tears.
But as Lieberman reminds us, embracing Clark isn’t about erasing the contributions of others. It’s about understanding that when one of us rises, the potential exists for all of us to rise. If Clark is the cash cow right now, then let her graze. Let her feed the ecosystem. Let her open the floodgates for endorsement deals, ticket sales, broadcast contracts, and expanded fanbases. Let her presence challenge corporations, sponsors, and networks to invest not just in her, but in the players she shares the court with. Visibility has a multiplier effect, and Clark’s glow can reflect onto others if the league handles it correctly—and if the players can find unity in the moment.
Consider the larger context of professional sports. The NBA didn’t fight Michael Jordan’s dominance. They promoted it. They turned him into a global brand, and in doing so, created space for his teammates, rivals, and successors to thrive in a better-funded, more visible league. Steph Curry revolutionized the game and brought millions of new fans to the NBA—not everyone shoots like him, but everyone benefits from the wave he created. Sports are filled with icons who become commercial engines, often lifting their leagues with them.
The WNBA has never had someone like Clark in this modern era of digital media and name-image-likeness deals. She has the fans, the brands, the media interest, and the on-court production to be that engine. This isn’t to say other players aren’t as talented or deserving of attention. Quite the opposite. But the spotlight isn’t always distributed fairly—it flows where public imagination is drawn. Right now, Clark is the magnet. That doesn’t mean others should step back. It means they should step up, step beside, and capitalize on the moment. Because moments like this are rare in women’s sports, and squandering one out of resentment would be a historic mistake.
There’s also a generational component to all this. The league is evolving in real time. Younger players are entering the WNBA already accustomed to building brands, managing social media, and attracting sponsorships. They understand that the business of sports is increasingly about personality, narrative, and connection. Clark didn’t just come into the league as a scorer—she came in as a storyline. That’s not her fault. It’s a reality shaped by the world around her. How the league responds to that story will define the next decade.
Lieberman’s comments aren’t a dismissal of the frustration some veterans may feel. She knows the game. She knows the grind. But she also knows opportunity when she sees it. And this, she argues, is not a time to divide—it’s a time to unify. Not around Clark as an individual, but around what her rise could mean for everyone.
There are already signs that this approach is working. WNBA arenas are selling out. Merchandise is flying off the shelves. Ratings are higher than they’ve ever been. It’s not just Clark’s doing, but she is undeniably a major catalyst. Sponsors who once overlooked the WNBA are now paying attention. Young girls are watching. Fathers and sons are tuning in. The league’s profile is changing in real time.
What comes next depends on whether the league and its players can see the forest for the trees. It’s easy to get caught up in ego, legacy, and fairness. But sports, like life, are rarely fair. They reward timing, charisma, and sometimes just sheer luck. The key is what you do when the door cracks open. Do you resent the person walking through it, or do you walk in behind them and hold it open for the next?
Clark’s journey won’t be without challenges. She will stumble. She will be targeted. She will learn. But if she is embraced—not blindly, not naively, but strategically—then her success can become a lever, a launching pad for a league that’s long deserved more. Lieberman’s voice carries weight because she’s seen what happens when women in sports are ignored. She also knows what can happen when they are celebrated.
The WNBA doesn’t need a savior. It needs stars, plural. It needs stories. It needs rivalries, highlights, and icons. Clark is one chapter in a much longer book, and her arrival doesn’t negate the chapters that came before. Instead, it offers a rare and precious chance to write new ones—with more readers, more reach, and more reward.
The lesson here is about perspective. It’s about playing the long game. Embracing Clark is not about agreeing with everything she does or saying she’s better than anyone else. It’s about recognizing the potential she brings to open doors that have long been locked. And once those doors swing open, there’s room for many to walk through—veterans, rookies, legends, and future stars alike.
Nancy Lieberman isn’t just speaking to WNBA players. She’s speaking to a movement. To anyone who believes that women’s sports can be more than a niche, more than a seasonal curiosity. She’s asking the league to think bigger. To see that unity is not weakness, and that sometimes the best way to get what you deserve is to support the one who, for whatever reason, happens to get it first.
Because at the end of the day, this isn’t just about Clark. It’s about legacy. About what kind of league the WNBA wants to become. About whether it will shrink from the spotlight or lean into it. The ball is in their court now. The cameras are rolling. The fans are watching. And history is waiting to be made.
