Rhyne Or Die: The Chicago Sky Got Torched by a Cartoon Monster

The Chicago Sky lost a road game to the Atlanta Dream 88-70.

Meanwhile, for the Dream, Rhyne Howard didn’t just hit nine threes. Howard turned into the strongest Dragon Ball Z character, a glitch in the simulation, a fever dream with braids and a Fortnite sniper rifle.

By the time the Chicago Sky realized they were in a shootout, Howard had already lit the building on fire and walked out with 36 points, 9 made three-pointers and a huge grin.

No conscience. No chill. Just vibes and buckets.

This wasn’t basketball. This was a screensaver set to “chaos.” Rhyne wasn’t playing the game — she was modding it live.

 

“I just say she’s my Rhy or Die,” Karl Smesko said postgame, smiling like a man who made a joke and then watched it become prophecy. “Apparently there’s some cartoon I’m not aware about…Big Whis?” said karl smesko.

Big Rhy.

Big problem for Chicago.

Howard was scoreless in the first quarter. Just a decoy. Let ‘em sleep. Then came 11 in the third. Then came the barrage. Three after three after three. Deep ones. Stepbacks. Leaners. Logo launches. “Rhyne caught a heater,” Marsh said. “It was tough to stop that.”

Yeah, bro. She caught the heater and turned it into a damn war crime. I’ve seen less violence in a John Wick sequel. If you listened closely, you could hear the controller disconnect sound every time she pulled up.

Even Ariel Atkins, who sees everything, knew it. “We should’ve done a better job containing Rhyne,” she said. “We should’ve tried to fix it earlier.”

Tried to fix it? Sis, that wasn’t a leak in the boat. That was the iceberg. You don’t fix it. You grab a life jacket and pray the band keeps playing.

The fourth quarter was a crime scene. Howard dropped 11 more. Atlanta went on an 18-3 run. Chicago flatlined. At some point the WNBA should’ve just pulled the plug and gone to commercial.

The Heist in High Heels

Chicago in this contest had their moments, sure.

“I thought it had its good moments,” Tyler Marsh said postgame like he was describing a first date that ended with a ghost text. “Ariell gave us what she could.”

Atkins did more than that. She gave buckets, played point, and tried to duct tape this game together with defense and post feeds. She was out there on the floor like a mechanic with no tools, just trying to keep the car from blowing up.

 

“I’m not trying to become a point guard,” she said. “I’m not going to be Sloot. I can’t do that… nobody can.”

But tonight, Atkins had to. No choice. You play the hand you’re dealt.

Unless Rhyne Howard’s holding the whole damn deck.

Superstars Angel Reese and Kamilla Cardoso combined for 24 points and 18 rebounds.

That’s muscle. That’s presence. That’s paint dominance.

But in a shootout, post play is like bringing a spoon to a gunfight.

 

“I think Mil and A did a phenomenal job of finishing tonight,” Atkins said. “We gotta continue to feed them.”

But you can’t feed the post when the roof is on fire. You can’t work your offense when the other team is out there doing a live reenactment of Call of Duty: Buckets Edition. And defensively?

 

“Still finding that consistency with that starting group,” Marsh admitted. “There’s some good things to take away and build on.”

That might be true, but right now, the Sky are taking L’s and building a highlight reel for everyone else. They’re getting passed around on WNBA Twitter like a meme. Every time Rhyne hit another three, a poor intern at the league office had to make a new video clip.

“You always have to see the bigger picture,” Marsh said. “There are areas that we are growing at.”

He’s not wrong. This team is young. This team is learning. They’re trying to install a new identity with new personnel, new systems, new everything. That stuff takes time. The Sky are in year one of a blueprint. And sometimes the blueprint gets torched by a flamethrower.

But tonight?

Tonight was a Rhyne Howard mixtape.

Tonight was a reminder that progress is ugly.

Growth is painful.

And sometimes, the villain wins.

Sometimes, she does it with a headband, a grin, and nine pieces of artillery from deep.

Rhyne didn’t just catch fire — she became the fire. And Chicago? They just got burned. Badly. Like sunscreen-at-midday-in-Miami badly.

Go ahead and hang this one in the Louvre. Frame it in braids and neon.

Big Rhy is real.

And she’s not done torching.