Becky Hammon Called It an Ass-Whooping. Golden State Valkyries Called It Saturday

Kill Mode: The Valkyries Just Gave a contender a Funeral

In every great sports movie, there’s that one signature moment when the underdog realizes they’re not just lucky to be on the court — they belong. Cue the montage. Cue the swelling music. Cue the chaos.

For the Golden State Valkyries, that moment wasn’t a scene. It was a statement. A Rocky-running-up-the-steps, Ted-Lasso-believe-sign kind of moment.

It arrived fast and loud on a sun-splashed Saturday afternoon, in front of 18,000 rabid fans at Chase Center who are quickly learning they didn’t just inherit a WNBA team — they inherited a league-wide problem. A dragon, if you will. And she breathes threes.

Not for the Bay Area. Not for themselves. For everyone else.

The defending champion Las Vegas Aces came to town bruised but breathing, hoping to restore a little order to a W season that’s already felt like the upside-down. Instead, they got bodied 95–68, left with no answers, and a head coach who sounded like she was one more no-look turnover away from chewing through the scorer’s table like it owed her money.

Because this was more than just an upset. It was a vibe check.

From tipoff, the Valkyries played like the ones who’d been here before. They hunted rebounds like they were tracking deer. They swarmed passing lanes like their next paycheck depended on it. They turned broken plays into poetry, chaos into coherence. And they did it with a kind of joyful violence that said: we are not afraid of you.

Natalie Nakase, their first-year head coach and noted film junkie, calls it “Kill Mode.” It’s not about scoreboards or stats. It’s about emotional dominance. It’s about making your opponent feel like they’re drowning in your energy.

After the game, she explained it in the most chill, California way possible — like she wasn’t out there coaching a team that just dragged Vegas through a back alley and made them apologize for being rich.

 

“That’s something we talk about all the time. It’s not playing to the score, it’s playing to the possession,” Nakase said. “When we say kill mode, it’s playing at a high level every time down the court.”

That mindset bled into every possession.

Veronica Burton, today played like she’d been activated by a cheat code. She dropped 14 points, dished out 12 assists, grabbed seven boards, and somehow finished +40 in 32 minutes. That’s not just good — it’s mathematically disrespectful.

It’s so disrespectful, Burton set the single game record for WNBA’s plus/minus.

Nakase didn’t try to overhype it. She just said what was true.

 

“I think that’s just again V being open-minded, and her teammates trusting her.”

The Valkyries all came to play, it wasn’t just Burton.

Kayla Thornton played like every possession was personal. Mo Billings looked like she’d been summoned from a different dimension to harvest energy and wreak havoc. And the team defense? Suffocating. Annoying. Joyful. They looked like a group that likes making your life miserable.

Thornton, a veteran with championship pedigree, spoke afterward like someone who sees something bigger than just a random May win.

 

“We are locked in when we are together,” she said. “You can’t get complacent… we went back and watched film together as a team. The only way to get better is watching it, breaking it down.”

Meanwhile, on the other side of the sideline, Becky Hammon was watching her empire crumble in real-time.

Hammon’s Aces team had more turnovers than assists, their body language dipped before halftime, and every adjustment she tried was met with resistance or collapse.

The Aces looked like they didn’t trust each other — or maybe didn’t trust themselves.

When Hammon stepped to the mic postgame, it wasn’t a presser. It was a public reckoning.

 

“They outplayed us in every aspect of the game,” she said, her voice firm, her eyes somewhere between furious and resigned.

That was just the opening jab.

The Valkyries weren’t content with just landing a glancing blow. The haymaker came next — the kind that leaves you dazed and wondering if you accidentally stepped into a heavyweight bout instead of a basketball game.

From the sidelines, Las Vegas head coach Becky Hammon looked like she was watching a nightmare in slow motion — a film she didn’t want to star in. The kind of game where everything that could go wrong, did. Where mental lapses piled up like bad decisions in a reality TV show reunion. And when your season depends on focus and discipline, watching your team unravel like this is a special kind of torture.

 

“Being really soft mentality, just letting people punk us… instead of buckling down” said hammon.

Becky Hammon on Las Vegas Aces…It’s a good fashioned ass whooping..they outplayed us every aspect of the game.”

Hammon didn’t say it for dramatic effect.

She said it because she couldn’t believe what was happening right before her eyes. It was like watching someone fumble their keys in front of the door — except the door was a championship and the keys were, well, everything.

 

“I know in the first quarter we had a load of turnovers — I don’t know if we thought we were wearing black tonight.”

Translation: we were handing the ball over to the wrong damn team. Like, gift-wrapped and everything.

Hammon made one thing crystal clear: she wasn’t about to start coaching “effort.” Effort, in her world, isn’t something you teach or cajole. It’s something you have — or you don’t.

 

“Effort has to come from your heart… right now we not only have a heart issue but we have a head issue.”

That’s a double whammy even the most battle-tested teams fear.

A’ja Wilson, the two-time MVP and face of the franchise, tried to break it down. She’s seen every defense in the playbook, every junk scheme, every trick in the book. But even she had to admit — the Valkyries weren’t just scheming. They were swarming.

 

“Credit them on playing a great team defense,” Wilson said. “Individually, I don’t think they haven’t done anything I have not seen before… but collectively, they were hitting all the shots.”

Because this wasn’t a night for a single superstar to go nuclear — this was a team effort. Every deflection, every help rotation, every second-chance rebound — all of it added up. By the time the Aces realized they were in a real fight, the crowd was roaring, and Chelsea Burton was racking up +/- numbers that looked like Bitcoin charts in a bull market.

Even Chelsea Gray, the steady veteran and floor general for Vegas, sounded like she was searching for the team’s missing identity card — the one they used to flash with confidence every time they stepped on the court.

“That’s not an Aces team we’re used to seeing… we’re trying to figure it out.”

They’d better do it fast.

Because while Vegas is searching for answers, Golden State is building a blueprint. It looks like this: play hard, talk loud, run through brick walls, and keep receipts.

And when the final buzzer sounded, Nakase took a moment to show love to her former mentor — the same woman she used to study, admire, and text late at night with questions about how to lead.

“She’s the reason why I’m here,” Nakase said. “I would not be sitting here or be as confident as a head coach if it wasn’t for Becky.”

That’s the beautiful part. The Valkyries aren’t rejecting tradition — they’re remixing it. Nakase learned from the best. Now she’s applying pressure to the system she was raised in.

Becky built the blueprint.

Nakase just used it to break her.