In the world of sports, certain athletes transcend their game. They become cultural touchstones, drawing in viewers who might have never otherwise tuned in. Michael Jordan did it for basketball in the 90s, Tiger Woods did it for golf, and now, a rookie from Iowa is doing it for the WNBA. Caitlin Clark is not just a basketball player; she is a phenomenon, a solar system around which the world of women’s sports has begun to orbit. But while much of the conversation has centered on her record-breaking stats and television ratings, a crucial component of her meteoric rise has been quietly overlooked: the dads, grandfathers, and lifelong male sports fans who, for the first time, are making women’s basketball appointment television.

This isn’t just speculation; it’s a trend veteran sportswriter Christine Brennan has witnessed firsthand. While touring the country for her latest book, Brennan has been met with lines of fans stretching for hours, all eager to connect with someone chronicling this moment in sports history. Among the young girls with basketballs and mothers cheering on a new generation of heroes, a surprising demographic has consistently appeared: middle-aged men.

As Brennan recounted, the story she hears is almost always the same. Man after man, ranging in age from their 30s to their 60s, approaches her signing table and shares a personal confession. “I never watched women’s basketball before,” they’ll say. “I really didn’t even care about women’s sports.” These aren’t men who were hostile to the idea; they were simply indifferent. Their sports calendars were already packed with the NFL, Major League Baseball, and the NBA. Women’s sports existed in a separate sphere, one they acknowledged but never actively engaged with.

Until Caitlin Clark.

Now, these same men are planning their evenings around Indiana Fever games. They are invested. They are learning the names of other players, debating plays, and becoming genuine fans of the league. Brennan estimates she’s heard this exact story from nearly a hundred men across cities like Chicago, Washington D.C., and throughout the Midwest. It’s a powerful, on-the-ground confirmation of what the data has been suggesting: Clark’s appeal has broken through a barrier that has long stood between the WNBA and a massive, untapped audience.

So, what is it about Clark that has captured the attention of the “average Joe” sports fan? The answer seems to be rooted purely in the way she plays basketball. Her game is electric, defined by a swagger and skill set that feels familiar to those who have spent decades watching men’s sports. Her signature move—the logo-three—is a direct parallel to NBA superstar Stephen Curry, a player who similarly revolutionized the men’s game with his seemingly limitless range. Her court vision and daring passes create highlight-reel moments that transcend gender. She doesn’t just play the game; she entertains.

For a demographic conditioned by the fast-paced, high-scoring nature of modern men’s basketball, Clark’s style is an easy entry point. It’s a brand of basketball they already understand and appreciate. She has become a gateway, pulling in viewers with her individual brilliance and, in the process, exposing them to the talent that has existed in the WNBA for years. These new fans aren’t tuning in because of a social cause or a sense of obligation; they are tuning in because they want to watch great basketball, and Caitlin Clark delivers it.

This influx of new fans represents a monumental shift. It’s one thing to preach to the choir—to grow the game among existing fans of women’s sports. It’s another thing entirely to convert people who never even considered walking into the church. Brennan argues that to deny or downplay this aspect of the Clark phenomenon is to ignore the reality of the numbers and the anecdotal evidence pouring in from across the country. These men, who once saw women’s sports as a niche interest, are now vital participants in its growth. Their viewership, their merchandise purchases, and their social media engagement are all contributing to the league’s newfound financial and cultural capital.

Naturally, this explosive growth has led to what some have called the “Caitlin Clark effect,” or the idea that a rising tide lifts all boats. The proof is already emerging. Two years ago, Las Vegas Aces superstar A’ja Wilson, a two-time MVP and champion, received well under 100,000 All-Star votes. This year, with the spotlight on the WNBA brighter than ever, she is closing in on a million. Clark is leading the pack, but her gravity is pulling everyone else up with her. Fans who come to see Clark play the Aces are leaving as A’ja Wilson fans. The entire league is benefiting from the new eyes on the product.

Yet, this transformative moment has not been without its complexities. As Brennan notes, not everyone seems happy about this sudden change. Some of the discourse surrounding Clark has been fraught with tension, as if the new attention she brings is somehow illegitimate or unearned. The arrival of a new audience, particularly one that was previously absent, can be disruptive. It changes the conversation, shifts the focus, and forces a re-evaluation of the status quo.

But to be upset by this wave of new interest, Brennan suggests, is to miss the point entirely. Why would a league striving for growth and mainstream relevance be anything but thrilled to have converted a massive, previously indifferent demographic? To dismiss these new male fans as somehow less valuable is a disservice to the sport itself. Their passion isn’t a threat; it’s a triumph. It’s proof that the product on the court is compelling enough to win over even the most traditional sports consumers. These men are not misogynists for having overlooked the sport before, nor are they saviors for watching it now. They are simply sports fans who finally found a player and a league that captured their imagination.

The Caitlin Clark story is still in its early chapters, but her impact is already undeniable. She is bridging a gap that many thought was permanent, proving that the appeal of elite athleticism and captivating entertainment knows no gender. The hundreds of men lining up to talk to Christine Brennan are more than just anecdotes; they are the living, breathing proof of a paradigm shift. They are the faces of a new era for women’s sports—an era where the conversation is no longer about why people should watch, but why they can’t seem to look away.