In the whirlwind world of professional sports, success is a coveted but often fleeting state. For the WNBA, that success has arrived in the form of a cultural and financial renaissance so dramatic it feels less like a shift and more like a seismic event. Yet, as the league enjoys its highest ratings, biggest crowds, and most lucrative deals in history, a surprising and unsettling narrative has begun to emerge from within: a deep-seated resentment toward the very person who made it all possible. This internal strife, according to veteran sports commentator Colin Cowherd, isn’t just an unfortunate side effect; it’s a betrayal of the highest order, and a dangerous game of self-sabotage.

In a fiery on-air segment, Cowherd didn’t mince words, taking aim directly at the WNBA’s veteran players and what he sees as their “rampant jealousy” toward rookie sensation Caitlin Clark. He painted a picture of a league suddenly flush with cash and attention, all thanks to one person, yet filled with players determined to bite the hand that is feeding their entire ecosystem. Cowherd’s central thesis is that the WNBA, a league that has spent over two decades as a financial burden and an afterthought, has been given a golden ticket to mainstream relevance, and some of its most seasoned players are doing everything in their power to tear it up.

Before Clark’s arrival, the WNBA was, by most financial metrics, a struggling enterprise. Cowherd recalled a league where players flew on budget airlines, sometimes having to pay for their own bottled water. Games were frequently played in half-empty arenas that echoed with the sound of a sparse crowd. Merchandise sales were an afterthought. The league was an investment that had yet to pay off, and the public, for the most part, wasn’t paying attention. But then came Caitlin Clark, an athlete so compelling she was referred to as the “golden goose,” an offensive prodigy with a swagger and a skillset that was, as Cowherd put it, “must-watch television.”

The numbers tell a story that is hard to dispute. Since Clark’s arrival, the WNBA has experienced an earthquake of attention. Merchandise sales have skyrocketed by an astonishing 500%. League-wide attendance has jumped 40%, with teams that were once considered financial burdens now having waiting lists for season tickets. The league that once struggled for airtime and respect now enjoys chartered flights and the kind of media coverage that had been a fantasy for decades. Cowherd painted a vivid, and cutting, comparison, describing the league’s transformation as going from a “Motel 6 in a sketchy part of town to a Four Seasons in the shopping district.” His point was blunt and unforgiving: when your circumstances improve that dramatically because of one person, you don’t complain about her success; you keep your complaints to yourself and enjoy the upgrade.

Yet, as Cowherd pointed out, instead of gratitude, what has emerged is a palpable sense of resentment. And nowhere was this more apparent than in the results of the WNBA All-Star voting. The process is a mix of fan votes, coach votes, and player votes. While fans, the very people paying for tickets and merchandise, overwhelmingly voted Clark as the top guard in the league, her fellow players ranked her a distant ninth. Ninth. The single biggest draw in the sport, the player who has single-handedly been responsible for their upgraded hotels and sold-out arenas, was deemed unworthy of a top spot by her peers. Cowherd didn’t mince words, labeling the move as pure “pettiness.” He highlighted the hypocrisy of a league whose players spent years complaining about a lack of media coverage, only to turn around and shun the very person who brought it to them.

This resistance isn’t just limited to voting results; it’s a physical reality that plays out on the court every game. The hard fouls, the aggressive targeting, and the dismissive attitude Clark has faced all season stem from the same root of resentment that was made so apparent in the All-Star voting. Cowherd argued that some veterans, who feel they have paid their dues over a long and unheralded career, simply cannot handle a rookie changing the game they thought they owned. To put the phenomenon into proper perspective, Cowherd made a bold but fitting comparison: he labeled Caitlin Clark as the WNBA’s Michael Jordan.

The parallels are striking, and they are not accidental. Both Jordan and Clark entered their respective leagues as flashy, generational talents who immediately became must-watch television. Jordan turned the NBA into a global powerhouse, and Clark is now doing the same for the WNBA. Both endured immense physical punishment from threatened veterans who saw their established hierarchy challenged. The infamous Detroit Pistons famously instituted the “Jordan Rules,” a brutal strategy built on relentless physical aggression to wear him down. Cowherd made the case that Clark has faced similar tactics, with officials often struggling to protect their biggest asset from a barrage of cheap shots.

The team-building parallels, Cowherd explained, are just as telling. The Chicago Bulls, seeing the brutal reality of the situation, knew they had to protect their superstar and acquired enforcer Charles Oakley to serve as his bodyguard. In a modern echo of this strategy, the Indiana Fever, understanding the threat, traded for Sophie Cunningham, a player described as a “black belt at age six,” to serve as Clark’s protector. Cowherd’s analysis was simple: when you have a generational offensive talent who humiliates opponents with their skill, the response from those opponents is always physical. It is the ultimate, if brutal, compliment.

This isn’t hazing anymore, Cowherd insists; it’s a desperate attempt to stop a force of nature that cannot be stopped. Clark is already dominating offensive stats, and just like Jordan, this early adversity and physical punishment will only serve to forge her into a stronger, more resilient competitor. The WNBA now finds itself at a critical crossroads. The league is on a hot streak, and its future profitability hinges on capitalizing on the Clark phenomenon. The players can either ride the wave to unprecedented prosperity, or they can allow their own resistance and pettiness to get swept away by the unstoppable tide.

Some players, to their credit, have already chosen the former. Teammates like Aliyah Boston, Kelsey Mitchell, and Sophie Cunningham have wisely embraced playing alongside a superstar, understanding that her success lifts everyone. They are building chemistry and positioning themselves as integral parts of a historic movement. They will be remembered as collaborators in the WNBA’s rise, not as bitter obstacles who tried to hold it back.

Cowherd’s final prediction was a stark warning to the holdouts and the “jealous” veterans. The momentum is unstoppable. Clark is the WNBA’s jet fuel, the Steph Curry that will never be traded. The league is at its least profitable point of what will be a lucrative decade, all thanks to her. The internal squabbling, the on-court cheap shots, and the petty voting only serve to delay the inevitable. The WNBA can either unify behind its superstar and become a mainstream fixture, or it can fracture, leaving the bitter veterans behind while the rest of the league thrives. The choice, as Cowherd made clear, should be obvious. Stop fighting the golden goose and start collecting the golden eggs.