Phoenix, AZ
During the WNBA All-Star Game warm-ups, players took the court wearing shirts that read, "Pay Us What You Owe Us" — a slogan that sparked applause from progressive sports media and social justice activists. But behind the theatrics lies a hard economic truth: the WNBA has been hemorrhaging money for over two decades. The numbers don’t lie, and this demand isn’t about fairness. It’s about entitlement disconnected from reality.
The WNBA was founded in 1996 and has yet to turn a profit. According to estimates, the league has consistently operated at an annual loss ranging from $10 million to $20 million. For context, the NBA generates roughly $10 billion annually in revenue. In contrast, the WNBA brings in less than $200 million. In 2018, NBA Commissioner Adam Silver acknowledged the league was losing over $10 million per year, and nothing since then suggests that tide has turned.
If professional basketball were purely a business endeavor, the WNBA would have been shuttered years ago. It survives because the NBA subsidizes it, providing essential financial backing, marketing support, and logistical resources. In short, the WNBA is a charity program for elite women athletes. That’s not a slur — it’s a fact. The NBA props up the WNBA. Without it, there would be no league.
WNBA players often cite the percentage of league revenue that NBA players receive as justification for their demands. NBA players take home about 50% of league revenue. WNBA players currently receive closer to 20%. But this argument collapses when you remember that the WNBA doesn't generate comparable revenue. You can't split profits that don't exist.
Kelsey Plum recently argued, “I’m tired of people thinking that (we) players are asking for the same type of money as NBA players… we are asking for the same percentage of revenue shared within our CBA. NBA players receive around 50% of shared revenue within their league, whereas we receive around 20%.” While that may sound reasonable in theory, the comparison falls apart under scrutiny. The NBA generates billions in profit and operates without subsidies. The WNBA, on the other hand, survives largely on NBA funding and has not been profitable in its entire history. Sharing revenue from a business that loses money means there is less to share in the first place — and what is shared is already disproportionate to what the league earns.
To illustrate the flawed premise of demanding 50% revenue sharing: if the WNBA generates roughly $200 million annually — which is on the generous end of most estimates — then 50% of that revenue would equal $100 million.
That $100 million would have to cover all player salaries league-wide. With 12 teams and 12 players per team, that comes to 144 players. Divide $100 million by 144, and the average salary would be around $694,000. Sounds great — until you realize that would leave the other 50% of revenue to cover every other operating cost: travel, staff salaries, marketing, arena fees, insurance, production costs, and more. And even that presumes a break-even year, which the WNBA has never had.
Now consider the reality: the league reportedly loses between $10–$20 million per year, meaning there isn’t even 50% of revenue available to share. They're spending more than they make. So demanding a revenue share increase is like arguing over how to split a pizza that hasn’t even been paid for yet.
To illustrate: the average WNBA player salary is around $147,000. Top players like Breanna Stewart make just over $250,000. Caitlin Clark, the league's newest star, will make $76,000 in her rookie year. That might sound paltry next to multimillion-dollar NBA contracts, but it reflects reality: NBA arenas sell out. WNBA games struggle to fill sections.
If there's one person singlehandedly lifting the WNBA from obscurity, it's rookie Caitlin Clark. Her college performance shattered NCAA viewership records. Since joining the WNBA, ticket sales and merchandise have surged, particularly for the Indiana Fever. The problem? Clark has been met with resentment rather than celebration from many WNBA veterans.
Instead of rallying around Clark as a rising tide for all boats, some players have dismissed her attention as a symptom of racism or "white privilege" — despite the fact that her popularity is generating millions in new revenue. In short, Clark is doing what no player before her has managed to do: make people care. And that newfound attention may be the league's best shot at sustainable profitability. Yet rather than embrace her, the same players demanding to be "paid what they're owed" are undermining the one player actually generating value.
The idea that WNBA players are underpaid because they are women ignores the simple economics of professional sports: athletes get paid based on how much money they help generate. The NBA players aren’t paid more because they’re men. They’re paid more because the league earns billions. It’s not sexism. It’s capitalism.
If the WNBA wants to earn more, the formula is simple: generate more revenue. Fill arenas. Sell merchandise. Grow your TV audience. Corporate sponsors and media deals don’t exist in a vacuum — they follow consumer demand. And for over 25 years, the demand just hasn’t been there.
The slogan "Pay Us What You Owe Us" assumes there is some unpaid debt. But what is actually owed? Salaries in any industry are based on value, not virtue. Being a professional athlete is a privilege. Being paid six figures to play a game that loses money is already a gift.
The WNBA’s model only exists because of the generosity of the NBA. And the fans who have stuck with it. If anything is owed, it's gratitude to the institution that has kept the league alive for nearly 30 years. Players should be asking what they can do to grow the sport — not what they're entitled to.
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