“free-angel-reese” till it’s backwards

Angel Reese didn’t skip a flight.

Reese didn’t throw objects, or a temper tantrum in a heated locker room exchange in frustration. She didn’t even show up late because she thought “team bus leaves at 11-ish” was a flexible guideline. What she did was scarier to the Chicago Sky: she said the quiet part loud.

The 23-year-old forward—the team’s All-Star, rebounding machine, TikTok magnet, and future centerpiece—looked around at a roster fighting uphill every night and basically said: “We need help.”

That was it. That was the crime.

Instead of listening, the Sky suspended her for the first half of Sunday’s game against the Las Vegas Aces for statements “detrimental to the team.”

Not for skipping practice, not for attacking a teammate. Suspended for daring to hold a mirror up to management. Coach Tyler Marsh called it a “top-down organizational decision,” while the team said they’d “handled it internally.”

Translation: We panicked.

Reese also sat out Friday after receiving her eighth technical foul of the season, further amplifying the optics that the league’s elite talent is being punished not for on-court actions but for honesty.

Meanwhile, Angel does her part on the court. Leading the league with 12.6 rebounds per game, 23 double-doubles, 14.7 points, and 3.7 assists. She is basically running a one-woman WNBA circus while the Sky’s tent is half-collapsed.

The production underscores the absurdity of the suspension. You’re benching the person carrying your franchise and talking about “moving forward as a team”?

That’s like hiring Gordon Ramsay and making him taste soup made from soggy bread—then disciplining him for saying it’s bad.

Honesty Isn’t a Foul… Unless You’re Angel Reese

Earlier this week, Reese told the Chicago Tribune,

I’m not settling for the same s— we did this year… [we] have to get great players.”

She also flagged concerns about the point guard position: “

We can’t rely on Courtney [Vandersloot] to come back [from an ACL tear] at the age that she’s at… We need someone younger, with experience, willing to compete for a championship.”

Translation: the roster needs serious help.

Reese isn’t asking to leave; she’s asking to win and that’s what makes this punishment feel so absurd.

As Monique Morris writes in Pushout, Black girls and women are disproportionately disciplined when they assert authority or refuse to stay quiet. Confidence is often mislabeled as “attitude,” leadership as “problematic behavior,” and speaking up as “insubordination.”

Her honesty exposes that double standard. Morris documents that Black girls are six times more likely to be suspended than their white peers and consistently face pushback when they challenge authority—even when the challenge is entirely justified—and Reese just got that memo in real time.

Consider the NBA playbook:

LeBron made his stance very clear during a 2017 postgame press conference:

It’s been a s**** 2017 so far… We’re not better than last year, from a personnel standpoint… we’re a top-heavy team. I just hope that we’re not satisfied as an organization… It’s like when you don’t have bodies. It’s tough. The f’ing grind of the regular season. We have a top-heavy team. We top-heavy as s**t. It’s me, [Irving], [Love]. It’s top-heavy.”

That wasn’t betrayal. That was strategy. LeBron knew the only way to wake up the front office was to torch them in public. And guess what? The Cavs got more help, and back to the Finals they went.

No one suspended him. No one dared. Because the Cavs understood what was at stake.

Kobe Bryant, meanwhile, was equally explicit during a string of radio interviews:

I would like to be traded, yeah… I just want them to do the right thing… Three years ago when I was re-signing they should have told me they wanted to rebuild… At this point I’ll go play on Pluto.”

That wasn’t polite.

That wasn’t subtle.

That was Kobe, the face of the franchise, saying the Lakers were wasting his prime. How did the Lakers respond? Did they suspend him? Did they fine him? No. They panicked, scrambled, begged him to stay—and then they went out and traded for Pau Gasol. Two years later, Kobe was back on top holding Finals MVPs.

That’s how you handle a superstar. You listen, you adapt, you get better.

Chicago Sky? They suspended Angel Reese for doing the same thing. Different decade, different league, same honesty. Men get results. Reese got a half-game timeout.

Reese’s Suspension is a Symptom, Not a Mistake

Honesty from a superstar should drive action, not punishment.

The book Pushout: The Criminalization of Black Girls in Schools details how Black girls are disciplined for speaking up and challenging authority. Essentially, “shut up and dribble.”

Sound familiar?

Reese’s situation mirrors that. She’s talented, outspoken, and Black—and suddenly she’s a problem. Reese didn’t break a rule. Didn’t disrespect anyone. Just had the audacity to ask for a better team—doing exactly what Kobe and LeBron did and got punished for it, and suddenly, she’s the villain. Reese’s punishment highlights this racial and gendered double standard in a league where the stakes are high and media attention is constant.

Instead of seeing her as a leader, Chicago treated her like a problem to manage. That’s not discipline. That’s institutional reflex.

That’s pushout in action, live on the WNBA stage.

Reese is raw, unfiltered, funny, and brilliant. Reese is the WNBA’s version of Gordon Ramsay yelling at soup that tastes like sadness and is a constant reminder that honesty, even when inconvenient, is more valuable than optics.

The Chicago Sky: Motel 6 WNBA Edition

If you know Chicago’s history, this isn’t new. Stars check in. Stars check out.

Players rarely stay:

• Sylvia Fowles wanted out in 2015 because she felt the franchise wasn’t serious.

• Elena Delle Donne forced her way to D.C. in 2017 and promptly won MVP.

• Candace Parker came, won a championship in 2021, and left for Vegas with a smile.

Stars asking to leave are standard fare. The Chicago Sky are basically the Motel 6 of the WNBA. Players check in, players check out and leave 0 star Yelp reviews on the way out.

So the Reese suspension isn’t shocking—it’s on brand. But this one stings differently. Reese isn’t a veteran with one last ring chase left. She’s the future. She’s the player you build around, not the one you punish into silence.

Suspending her doesn’t just risk losing a star. It risks proving her point in real time.

Here’s the funny part: Reese just increased her market value.

You think other franchises aren’t circling? You think GMs in New York, Vegas, L.A. aren’t watching this unfold? Their watching like hawks.

Reese is one of the most marketable players in the sport. She drives ratings, sells jerseys, pulls college fans into the W, and generates more headlines in a week than some franchises do in a month. If Chicago’s answer is suspension instead of support, somebody else will make the “Kobe treatment” offer when the time comes.

Chaos Is Coming, & We’re Here for It

Reese is the new wave of WNBA talent: outspoken, unstoppable, and unapologetic.

Chicago’s reaction—suspension instead of dialogue—proves her point more than it punishes her. Stars will always want change. Reese is asking for it in good faith, for the team she’s committed to. Punish that? You just repeat history.

The WNBA is evolving and Reese is at the center of it. Suspend her if you want. She’s still right. In a league where recruiting happens off the clock. Superteams are built in group chats before they’re built on whiteboards. Stars align their futures with friends.  Reese is already in the recruiting ecosystem. Her friends, her peers, her LSU connections—they’re all watching. And when the time comes, she’s either going to be a magnet for Chicago… or a magnet for somebody else.

Guess which outcome a suspension makes more likely?