“Angel Reese Suggests WNBA Players Could Sit Out to Demand Better Pay — And When You Dig Into the Numbers, It’s Not as Crazy as It Sounds”

In a league where passion, perseverance, and performance have long outpaced paychecks, Angel Reese’s recent comments about WNBA players potentially sitting out for better salaries struck a nerve across the basketball world. Critics rushed to call it naïve, entitled, or even unrealistic, citing that the WNBA has never turned a profit in its nearly three-decade existence.

But when you peel back the layers of the league’s financial structure, media dynamics, and labor history, Reese’s suggestion — bold as it may sound — starts to feel less like a reckless fantasy and more like a valid, overdue conversation about value, investment, and respect in women’s professional sports.

Let’s break it down.

What Angel Reese Said — And Why It Hit So Hard

In a recent interview, Reese stated:

“A lot of us know our worth. We know what we bring to this game. Sitting out for a bigger cause isn’t off the table if it means real change.”

The reaction was immediate and polarizing. Some applauded her candor and willingness to challenge the status quo. Others accused her of misunderstanding the business realities of the league she plays in.

But here’s the key point: Reese never claimed the WNBA was a financial powerhouse. Instead, she pointed to the disparity between what women’s players produce — culturally and athletically — and what they’re compensated. It wasn’t a threat. It was a mirror held up to the WNBA’s uneasy position in the modern sports landscape.

The WNBA’s Profit Problem: A Long, Complex History

It’s true — the WNBA has not posted a profit since its inception in 1996. It operates largely on NBA subsidies, national sponsorships, and broadcast deals that, while growing, still lag far behind the NBA.

But the idea that this means players shouldn’t demand more is a false equivalency.

Many industries operate at a loss while investing in long-term growth — from tech startups to entertainment platforms. Even in men’s sports, many minor league teams, development programs, and even some NBA franchises have operated at a loss during various periods.

Profitability isn’t the only measure of value or viability.

In fact, the WNBA has seen record-breaking attendance, spikes in merchandise sales, dramatic viewership gains, and unprecedented social media engagement — especially in 2024 and 2025, thanks in part to young stars like Caitlin Clark, Angel Reese, Aliyah Boston, Sabrina Ionescu, and A’ja Wilson.

That momentum is real. But the pay still doesn’t reflect it.

The Numbers: What Do WNBA Players Actually Make?

The WNBA’s current maximum salary is around $250,000, but most players earn far less — with the league minimum starting at roughly $65,000. In comparison:

The NBA league minimum for the 2024–2025 season is over $1.1 million.
Top male rookies often sign endorsement deals and rookie contracts worth tens of millions.
Some women’s players make more money overseas than in the WNBA — a long-standing issue that’s caused many stars to play year-round, risking injury and burnout.

And while endorsement deals can bridge the gap for elite players like Reese, Clark, or Ionescu, they’re not a sustainable solution for the entire league. Most players don’t have multi-million-dollar NIL legacies or sneaker contracts.

The real issue? Revenue sharing.

Revenue vs. Salary: The NBA Comparison Is Telling

In the NBA, players receive approximately 50% of basketball-related income (BRI). In the WNBA, that figure hovers around 20%, despite the league’s growing brand and cultural influence.

In other words, even if the WNBA isn’t profitable, the players are not receiving a fair share of the revenue it does generate.

Angel Reese’s implied argument isn’t “pay us like LeBron.” It’s “pay us our fair share of what we’re helping generate.” That’s a crucial distinction.

“Sitting Out”: A Risky But Powerful Labor Tactic

Reese floated the idea of players potentially sitting out to pressure the league — a radical idea to some, but not without precedent.

The history of labor movements in sports is filled with pivotal moments where athletes used their leverage to force change:

In 1964, NBA All-Stars threatened to boycott the All-Star Game — leading to the formation of the players’ union.
In 1970, MLB players staged a brief spring training strike that helped secure the league’s first collective bargaining agreement.
In the NFL, player strikes in the 1980s helped create the foundations for modern free agency.

And in women’s sports, we’ve already seen bold action:

The USWNT (U.S. Women’s National Soccer Team) led a high-profile fight for equal pay — and won a landmark settlement in 2022.
Women’s hockey players boycotted pro leagues in 2019 to demand a viable, unified league — leading to the creation of the PWHL.

In each case, athletes took real financial and personal risks to demand structural change.

Cultural Value Isn’t Reflected in the Paychecks — Yet

Reese, like Clark and others, has become a cultural icon. Whether it’s her unapologetic attitude, massive social media following, or commitment to growing the game, she embodies the kind of star power that has historically driven league-wide growth.

Yet, that cultural currency doesn’t always translate to financial security — especially not for rank-and-file players.

And that’s where Reese’s comment resonates: if this cultural movement is real, and if this audience is growing, then when will the economics catch up?

The “Unprofitable” Argument Ignores Who Benefits from the Status Quo

One of the most common clapbacks against players demanding higher pay is: “The league doesn’t make money, so how can it pay more?”

But that argument conveniently ignores how money is currently being distributed, who controls the league’s finances, and how investment works in professional sports.

For years, media rights were undervalued, marketing budgets were minimal, and women’s games were scheduled in poor time slots or barely promoted. This created a feedback loop: fewer viewers → less revenue → less pay.

Now, as interest spikes, players are pushing the league and owners to break that cycle — not by demanding luxury, but by demanding investment and equity.

Reese’s Message Is Bigger Than Her

It’s easy to dismiss Reese’s stance as “Gen Z entitlement” or a marketing ploy. But that misses the forest for the trees.

She isn’t just speaking for herself. She’s speaking for the 20-year-olds grinding for a minimum salary, the veterans who play overseas to make ends meet, and the next generation of girls who dream of going pro but wonder if it will be worth it financially.

Her comments are part of a broader shift in the WNBA — where players are no longer afraid to speak out on issues of compensation, scheduling, treatment, and respect.

It’s a cultural tipping point — and Reese knows it.

The WNBA Is at a Crossroads — And the Pressure Is On

The timing of Reese’s statement couldn’t be more potent.

The WNBA is experiencing unprecedented attention — thanks to the “Caitlin Clark Effect,” viral moments, and a new generation of players who are as media-savvy as they are athletic.

But that spotlight also brings scrutiny.

Fans, media, and players are all asking: What’s next?

Will owners increase revenue sharing?
Will sponsors step up?
Will broadcasters treat the league with the same weight as the NBA?
Will players finally see the value they create reflected in their paychecks?

If the answer is no, then it’s fair to ask — as Reese did — whether more drastic measures might be necessary.

Conclusion: Not Crazy, Just Courageous

Angel Reese didn’t say the WNBA is ready for a full-scale strike tomorrow. She didn’t demand a million-dollar salary today. She asked a question that needed to be asked, and she said the quiet part out loud.

That’s not crazy. That’s courageous.

The WNBA’s future depends not just on profitability — but on the league’s willingness to evolve, to invest in its players, and to reckon with the value they bring to the sport.

Sitting out might never happen.

But the mere possibility that players are even considering it should send a clear message:

They’re not just grateful to be here.
They’re ready to be heard.
And they’re not waiting another 28 years for change.