As I reflect on the WNBA’s 30th anniversary celebrations, I can’t help but feel a mix of admiration and unease. Personally, I think the league’s longevity is a testament to the resilience of women’s basketball, but the narrative being pushed feels incomplete. What many people don’t realize is that the story of professional women’s basketball in the U.S. didn’t start with the WNBA—it began with the American Basketball League (ABL), a detail that I find especially interesting. If you take a step back and think about it, the ABL’s existence challenges the WNBA’s monopoly on this history, and that’s a conversation worth having.
The Forgotten Pioneers
The ABL’s founders were visionaries. In my opinion, their willingness to take a risk in 1996—when the NBA was still dragging its feet—deserves far more recognition. They built a league that prioritized player input, offered competitive salaries, and drafted Olympic champions. What makes this particularly fascinating is how their approach contrasted with the WNBA’s corporate-backed launch. The ABL’s downfall wasn’t due to a lack of talent or ambition; it was about resources. As Anne Cribbs noted, the NBA’s influence was insurmountable. This raises a deeper question: Would the WNBA have succeeded without the ABL paving the way—and failing?
The WNBA’s Selective Memory
One thing that immediately stands out is the WNBA’s framing of its 30th anniversary. While it’s technically the 30th season, the league’s roots are more complicated. The ABL’s bankruptcy in 1998 didn’t erase its impact. Many of its players became WNBA stars, and its legacy lives on in the very structure of the league today. From my perspective, the WNBA’s reluctance to acknowledge this history feels like a missed opportunity. Celebrating 30 years of greatness is commendable, but ignoring the struggles of those who came before feels disingenuous.
What This Really Suggests
If we’re honest, the WNBA’s success is built on the ABL’s failure. Natalie Nakase’s acknowledgment of the ABL’s role is refreshing, but it’s not enough. What this really suggests is that the WNBA’s narrative isn’t just about survival—it’s about erasure. The ABL’s story is inconvenient because it reminds us that the WNBA wasn’t the first to dream big. It was just the one with the right backers. This isn’t to diminish the WNBA’s achievements, but to highlight the complexity of progress.
Looking Ahead: What’s Next?
As we celebrate the WNBA’s milestones, I can’t help but wonder: What does the next 30 years hold? Will the league continue to sideline its predecessors, or will it finally give credit where it’s due? Personally, I think the WNBA has a chance to redefine its legacy—not by rewriting history, but by embracing it. The ABL’s story isn’t a footnote; it’s a foundation. And if the WNBA wants to truly honor its past, it needs to start telling the whole story.
In the end, the 30th anniversary isn’t just about celebrating how far women’s basketball has come—it’s about acknowledging how it got here. The ABL’s pioneers took a leap of faith, and their legacy deserves more than a passing mention. If you ask me, that’s the real story worth telling.
