People often accuse me of hating Angel Reese. I don’t accept that description. It misses what I’m trying to do and, frankly, says more about how some people respond to criticism than about my reporting.
After spending more than two weeks traveling between San Francisco and Atlanta to cover the 2026 WNBA Finals, I came away with a stronger sense of a pattern I’ve seen throughout my coverage of Reese: for some of her supporters, criticism of her quickly turns into a judgment of the critic.
Why isn’t Angel Reese held to the same standard when fans attack her teammates?
During the Finals, I saw the same charge again and again on social media: criticizing Reese meant I had a problem with Black women. Hundreds of people called me racist for writing critically about one player.
One post stood out. On October 17, an account called Apex Jones shared a nearly six-minute video claiming it would expose my outlet and me for supposedly targeting Reese for years. The post called the outlet anti-WNBA and anti-Black women. The account had close to 10,000 followers, and the post drew roughly 1,100 likes and more than 220 reposts.
The video included questions I asked Reese about her move from Chicago to Atlanta. At media day on October 16, I asked what part she had played in the trade. Reese said Chicago was moving her and had worked with her on finding a destination. Atlanta wanted her, she said, and she wanted Atlanta.
I then asked how she thought about staying with a team to build a winner versus moving somewhere with a chance to win sooner. She talked about transferring from Maryland to LSU and wanting a coach who would challenge her. I asked questions; she answered them. That’s the job.
Apex Jones argued that I would have criticized Reese no matter what happened. When Chicago traded her, I questioned her value. When she reached the Finals with Atlanta, I questioned what joining an established contender said about her desire to build a winner. In his view, I had simply shifted the argument while keeping the same negative conclusion.
That criticism leaves out what I wrote earlier. In April, I suggested either that Chicago didn’t value Reese as highly as her most vocal supporters did, or that she had pushed for a trade. I wrote that it was possible she had asked to leave. Asking her in October what role she played in the move was a natural follow-up to that question.
I also wanted Reese to respond to a criticism that had been circulating: that she had forced her way out of Chicago to pursue a championship with Atlanta. I included her explanation. Giving someone a chance to answer their critics is part of fair coverage.
People can disagree with my opinion of Reese or with the questions I ask. But disliking my coverage of one basketball player isn’t evidence that I have a problem with Black women. Reese is an individual, and holding her responsible for her words and actions is not an attack on an entire group.
Have I been tough on her? Yes. My columns include strong opinions, and I sometimes use sarcasm on social media. But objections to my tone don’t, by themselves, address the substance of what I’ve written.
Reese provokes powerful reactions, whether people admire her or can’t stand her. That ability to draw attention matters in professional sports, and she deserves credit for it.
I’ve also been called obsessed with her. I’d say the audience is deeply interested in Reese. My post about her wearing a “Protect Black Women” shirt before Game 5 reached more than 1.7 million impressions and drew 3,400 replies on X. A post criticizing a play in Game 2 drew close to a million impressions and more than 1,300 replies. People were paying attention, and they had plenty to say.
If stories and posts about Reese weren’t attracting readers, I probably wouldn’t write about her as often. That’s the practical reality.
How I cover her depends on what she does. If she talks trash and then has a poor game, I’ll point that out. If she plays well, I’ll say so, too.
After Game 2, I wrote that Reese had dominated as Atlanta evened the series. After Game 3, I noted that her latest double-double helped the Dream take a 2–1 lead. She played exceptionally well in both games and helped Atlanta win. I had no hesitation about saying that.
I’ve praised her before, too. After a strong run with Chicago in June 2025, I wrote that I felt a responsibility to recognize when she played well. The story asked whether another good performance would quiet her critics.
Those examples rarely seem to make it into the conversation when people call me racist.
People sometimes say my reporting creates the narrative around Reese. I don’t think that’s right. Her own words and actions often shape the coverage. After Game 3, she taunted Golden State with a “too small” gesture and waved sarcastically as the players left the court.
Before Game 4, she said she could take away the Valkyries’ confidence and try to disrupt them. I attended Reese’s postgame news conferences after nearly every Finals game. After Games 2 and 3, she spoke with the confidence of someone who had already won a championship.
That’s her choice. Talk confidently. But if you invite a response, you have to be ready for one. Reese didn’t deliver the same way in the games that followed.
Across the final four games of the Finals, she scored 38 points on 12-for-45 shooting, made 26.7 percent of her shots, and turned the ball over 19 times. In each of those games, she had more turnovers than made field goals.
So my tone changed. After Game 4, my headline said Reese struggled following her bold comments as the Valkyries beat the Dream to even the series. That wasn’t an invented storyline. She had taunted her opponents and talked about getting into their heads, then scored eight points on two-for-12 shooting.
Apparently, noting that is racist.
In Game 7, Valkyries star Gabby Williams scored 28 points in the second half. Reese scored three, making one field goal. During the Finals, Reese said players become great when they win and affect winning. When Atlanta needed her most, she didn’t do that.
If Reese wants to be considered a superstar and one of the WNBA’s best players, she can’t disappear when a championship is at stake. For some fans, though, calling a critic a hater seems to end the discussion before they have to explain a poor performance.
There’s another thing I’ve noticed while covering Reese: her teammates and coaches stand up for her.
I was in Albany after LSU lost to Iowa in the 2024 Elite Eight. Flau’jae Johnson and Hailey Van Lith defended Reese forcefully. Van Lith said critics weren’t getting to Reese and praised her for continuing to show up despite the hostility. Johnson described her as caring and loving.
Her coaches have supported her as well. Kim Mulkey, who coached Reese at LSU, attended Game 3 of the Finals in Atlanta. In May, Dream coach Karl Smesko said Reese wanted to be held accountable and wanted to become the best player, despite already being an All-Star.
Reese also deserves credit for making herself available to reporters after every Finals game. Reporters were sent lists of players expected at the postgame podium, usually the night’s leading performers. Reese wasn’t on the initial list more than once, but she came out anyway.
As Atlanta’s most prominent player, she should have been available regardless. Still, I was impressed that the Dream made sure she appeared each time, including when she wasn’t initially scheduled. That was one of the more notable things I saw from Reese and the team during the Finals.
After Game 4, Reese accepted responsibility for her performance and said she would be better. I’d like to hear more of that from her. After Game 5, though, her explanation shifted. Asked about taking only eight shots and facing Golden State’s defense, she pointed to the officiating.
She said several Atlanta players were being fouled without getting calls. She did acknowledge the team’s shooting problems elsewhere in the news conference, but complaining about referees after a second straight poor game didn’t help her case.
My experience covering Reese also leaves me wondering how she handles criticism. During the Finals, I noticed she had blocked me on X. I cover the WNBA, and I’ve never tagged her or sent her a post directly. I do write about her; that’s part of my work.
I understand blocking people who send abuse or behave like trolls. But that’s different from blocking a reporter who criticizes your performance or public comments without contacting you on the platform. To me, it suggests a willingness to avoid coverage she doesn’t like.
My advice to Reese is straightforward: if you want to be treated like a superstar, accept that people will assess you like one. When you taunt opponents and then struggle, both things belong in the story. Take responsibility for the disappointing performances as readily as you celebrate the ones that meet your expectations.
And to Reese’s fans: support her, and defend her when you believe criticism is unfair. But explain why it’s unfair. Calling me a hater or racist isn’t an argument on its own.
If you believe Reese is among the WNBA’s best, hold her to that standard. You can support her without defending every choice she makes.
And please stop treating criticism of Angel Reese as criticism of all Black women.
