Colin Cowherd Slams “Jealous” WNBA Stars for Betraying Their “Golden Goose” Caitlin Clark

The Women’s National Basketball Association is experiencing a cultural and financial renaissance, but the celebration has been soured by internal strife. While WNBA players have rightfully begun a campaign for a larger share of league revenue, their timing and tone have drawn sharp criticism, most notably from sports commentator Colin Cowherd. He took aim at veteran players like Kelsey Plum, who publicly took a jab at the very rookie sensation responsible for the league’s newfound fortune: Caitlin Clark. In a fiery on-air segment, Cowherd laid bare what he sees as rampant jealousy, comparing the WNBA’s current stars to a band that finally made it big but can’t stand their new lead singer.

Before Clark’s arrival, the WNBA was, by most metrics, a struggling enterprise. For over two decades, it was an investment that had yet to pay off. Players flew on budget airlines, sometimes having to pay for a bottle of water. Games were frequently played in cavernous, half-empty arenas. Merchandise was a non-factor. Then, in one season, everything changed. Clark, the “golden goose” as Cowherd calls her, brought an earthquake of attention with her from college basketball.

The numbers are staggering. Merchandise sales skyrocketed by 500%. League-wide attendance jumped 40%, with teams like the Indiana Fever going from financial burdens to having waiting lists for season tickets. The league that once struggled for airtime now enjoys private charter flights. Cowherd painted a vivid picture of this transformation, comparing it to going from a “Motel 6 in a sketchy part of town to a Four Seasons in the shopping district.” His point was blunt: when your circumstances improve that dramatically because of one person, you keep your complaints to yourself and enjoy the upgrade. Instead, some players seem determined to bite the hand that is feeding the entire ecosystem.

Nowhere was this sentiment more apparent than in the WNBA All-Star voting results. The process allows fans, coaches, and players to have their say. While fans overwhelmingly voted Clark as the top guard, her fellow players ranked her a distant ninth. Ninth. The single biggest draw in the sport, the player single-handedly responsible for their upgraded hotels and packed arenas, was deemed unworthy of a top spot by her peers. Cowherd didn’t mince words, labeling the move as pure “pettiness.” He pointed out the hypocrisy of a league whose players spent years complaining about a lack of media coverage and respect, only to shun the very person who brought it to them. The wave of success had arrived, Cowherd argued, but the players “don’t like what it looks like.”

This resistance isn’t just happening on paper; it’s visible on the court. The hard fouls, the aggressive targeting, and the dismissive attitude Clark has faced all season stem from the same root of resentment. Some veterans, it seems, cannot handle a rookie changing the game they thought they owned. To contextualize the phenomenon, Cowherd made a bold but fitting comparison: Caitlin Clark is the WNBA’s Michael Jordan.

The parallels are striking. Both Jordan and Clark entered their respective leagues as flashy, game-changing rookies who immediately became must-watch television. Jordan turned the NBA into a global powerhouse, and Clark is doing the same for the WNBA. Both endured immense physical punishment from threatened veterans. The Detroit Pistons famously instituted the “Jordan Rules,” a strategy built on relentless physical aggression to wear him down. Clark has faced similar tactics, with officials often struggling to protect their biggest asset.

The team-building parallels are just as telling. The Chicago Bulls knew they had to protect their superstar, so they acquired enforcer Charles Oakley. Seeing the writing on the wall, the Indiana Fever did the same, trading for Sophie Cunningham—a black belt at age six—to serve as Clark’s protector. As Cowherd explained, when you have a generational offensive talent who humiliates opponents, the response is always physical. It’s the ultimate, albeit brutal, compliment.

This isn’t hazing anymore, Cowherd insists; it’s a desperate attempt to stop a force of nature. Clark is already dominating offensive stats, and much like Jordan, this early adversity will only forge her into a stronger, more resilient competitor. The WNBA now faces a critical choice. 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 get swept away by their own resistance.

Some players have wisely chosen the former. Teammates like Aliyah Boston, Kelsey Mitchell, and Sophie Cunningham have 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.

Cowherd’s final prediction was a stark warning to the holdouts. The momentum is unstoppable. Clark is the WNBA’s jet fuel, the Steph Curry they will never trade. 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 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.