The rise of the WNBA in 2024 has been unlike anything the league has seen before.

Much of this renewed attention has been driven by Caitlin Clark, the Indiana Fever’s rookie phenom whose scoring ability, charisma, and national fan base have created a surge of interest and television ratings.

But alongside Clark’s rise has been the story of her so-called rival, Angel Reese of the Chicago Sky—a player who, rather than capitalizing on her opportunity to shine, has increasingly become the subject of ridicule both on and off the basketball court.

This weekend provided yet another example of how quickly Reese’s reputation has spiraled.

Once celebrated as the outspoken star who helped LSU capture a national championship, she now finds herself mocked not just by rival fans, but even by sports satire accounts like NBA Sentinel.

One viral post joked that a homeless shelter in Chicago returned donated Angel Reese jerseys and shoes because “they were of no use.

” While harsh, the meme reflects a broader reality: Reese’s play has not matched the hype, and her insistence on clashing with Caitlin Clark and her supporters has left her as more of a cultural punchline than a respected professional athlete.

The problem begins with the supposed rivalry between Reese and Clark.

On the court, there simply isn’t one.

Clark is a transcendent scorer, capable of reshaping defenses and setting league-wide viewership records.

Reese, by contrast, is a role player whose primary skill is rebounding.

When Chicago faced Indiana in one of their most anticipated matchups, Reese scored just four points.

Her team lost by 30—even as Clark sat out.

The numbers do not lie.

Comparing Clark and Reese side by side is dishonest when viewed purely through the lens of basketball skill.

Clark is a foundational franchise player.

Reese is, at best, a complementary piece.

Yet Reese has leaned into the rivalry narrative, throwing shade at Clark, dismissing her fans, and even suggesting racial undertones in the widespread support Clark receives.

By doing so, she has not only failed to elevate her own brand but has actively created animosity among WNBA fans who see her as jealous and petty.

Instead of embracing Clark as a friendly rival—or even as a fellow trailblazer bringing more eyes to the league—Reese has chosen hostility.

It is a miscalculation that continues to damage her reputation.

What makes Reese’s predicament worse is that her off-court image often overshadows her actual basketball contributions.

She garners attention with pregame runway walks, glamorous outfits, and carefully curated social media posts.

Clips of her strutting into arenas in designer fashion circulate widely online, but when the games begin, her play rarely lives up to the spectacle.

In practice footage that circulated this weekend, she was shown working on contested layups—yet even then, the defense applied against her looked half-hearted.

On the court, she is hesitant, often rushing to get rid of the ball rather than taking open shots.

Announcers, in an effort to be generous, have praised her for passing up forced attempts, but the truth is clear: her confidence and effectiveness are fading.

Reese herself has spoken tearfully about being sexualized, complaining that her physical presence as a 6’3” athlete makes her a target.

Yet in the very same breath, she leans into a hyper-sexualized image by posting videos emphasizing her appearance.

The contradiction reveals a lack of self-awareness—one that critics are quick to seize upon.

At her best, Reese is an energy player.

She rebounds aggressively, hustles on defense, and provides a spark when surrounded by more talented scorers.

But when thrust into a starring role, her limitations are exposed.

Teammates have grown visibly frustrated with her tendency to rebound her own misses multiple times in a single possession, padding her box score while killing offensive rhythm.

Fans see it too.

What looks like effort on paper—double-digit rebounds—often masks inefficient shot selection and poor finishing near the rim.

Comparisons to Dennis Rodman, often thrown around by commentators, are misplaced.

Rodman was a defensive genius who could guard all five positions, tip rebounds to teammates, and sacrifice scoring entirely for the sake of winning.

Reese, by contrast, lacks that level of defensive versatility and basketball IQ.

To compare her to “The Worm” is not only inaccurate but insulting to Rodman’s legacy.

The truth is Reese is not a franchise cornerstone.

She is a role player.

And there is nothing wrong with that—if she embraced it.

But her ego and public image project something far bigger than her game can deliver, leaving fans to mock her rather than celebrate her.

The cruelty of social media has only amplified Reese’s struggles.

Every missed layup, every awkward possession, every exaggerated pregame outfit becomes meme fodder within minutes.

Accounts like NBA Sentinel, with massive followings, pile on.

Jokes about her being a “laughingstock” or a “meme player” are shared more widely than any highlights of her actual performance.

For a generation of athletes who live online, this type of ridicule can be devastating.

Reese may be making seven figures in endorsements today, but fame built on infamy rarely lasts.

At some point, the jokes outweigh the contracts, and brands no longer want to associate with an athlete viewed as unserious or unskilled.

It does not have to be this way.

Reese still has the opportunity to reshape her image, but it would require humility and self-awareness.

The smartest move would be to stop antagonizing Caitlin Clark and her fan base.

Publicly acknowledging Clark’s contributions to the WNBA—while positioning herself as a competitor who respects the game—would go a long way toward repairing her reputation.

She could frame herself as part of the movement Clark has accelerated rather than as an embittered foil.

On the court, Reese needs to double down on her strengths: rebounding, defense, and hustle.

By fully embracing the role of a defensive anchor and energy player, she could carve out a long career.

Teams value players who know their role and execute it without ego.

Off the court, she should be cautious about overexposure.

Every viral outfit or flashy video provides short-term clicks but deepens the gap between her image and her performance.

Until her game catches up, less may be more.

The problem, however, is that Reese may not have the temperament to make such adjustments.

Her fan base, which thrives on her defiance and bold personality, might view any softening toward Clark as a betrayal.

And Reese herself appears to genuinely believe she is a star on Clark’s level, despite mounting evidence to the contrary.

Without that self-awareness, the memes and ridicule will only continue.

Already, she seems shaken on the court, rushing possessions and playing tentatively.

It is possible that the criticism has humbled her—but whether she embraces that reality remains to be seen.

Angel Reese entered the WNBA with enormous visibility and financial opportunity.

She had the chance to be one of the league’s most recognizable faces, riding the wave of excitement generated by Caitlin Clark’s arrival.

Instead, she has stumbled into a role no athlete desires: the butt of the joke.

Her feud with Clark, her overreliance on image over performance, and her refusal to embrace the role she is best suited for have all combined to make her one of the most polarizing figures in the sport.

She could still turn things around—by showing humility, embracing her strengths, and respecting her peers—but the window for that transformation is closing quickly.

The lesson of Angel Reese’s young career is clear: in the world of professional sports, hype and personality may grab headlines, but only skill and self-awareness sustain respect.

Without them, even the brightest stars can quickly become memes.