As I reflect on the WNBA’s 30th anniversary celebrations, I can’t help but feel a mix of admiration and frustration. The league’s milestone is undoubtedly a testament to the resilience and talent of its players, but the narrative being pushed feels incomplete. Personally, I think it’s a missed opportunity to not acknowledge the broader history of women’s professional basketball in the U.S. What many people don’t realize is that the WNBA’s story didn’t begin in a vacuum—it was built on the shoulders of a league that dared to dream big three decades ago: the American Basketball League (ABL).
One thing that immediately stands out is the timing. While the WNBA is celebrating 30 years, the ABL’s legacy is conveniently left out of the conversation. If you take a step back and think about it, the ABL was the trailblazer, launching in 1996 with a vision that was both bold and inclusive. Its founders, a trio of Bay Area entrepreneurs, weren’t waiting for the NBA’s approval—they were creating their own path. What makes this particularly fascinating is how the ABL prioritized player input and competitive salaries, something the WNBA would later adopt. From my perspective, this league was ahead of its time, yet its story is often reduced to a footnote.
The ABL’s downfall wasn’t due to a lack of talent or vision but because it couldn’t compete with the NBA’s corporate muscle. In my opinion, this is where the narrative gets interesting. The WNBA’s success wasn’t just about timing or talent—it was about leveraging the NBA’s resources and connections. What this really suggests is that the ABL’s failure wasn’t a failure of the idea but of the system. A detail that I find especially interesting is how many ABL players went on to become WNBA stars, yet the league’s impact is rarely credited.
This raises a deeper question: Why are we so quick to erase the pioneers who paved the way? The ABL’s story isn’t just about basketball—it’s about the risks women take to create opportunities in a male-dominated industry. Valkyries coach Natalie Nakase’s recent comments hit the nail on the head: ‘We wouldn’t be here if they didn’t build those leagues beforehand.’ What this really highlights is the interconnectedness of progress. The WNBA’s 30th anniversary should be a celebration of all who fought for women’s basketball, not just those who survived.
If you ask me, the ABL’s legacy is a reminder that history is often written by the victors. But it’s also a call to action. As we applaud the WNBA’s achievements, let’s not forget the leagues and players who came before. Their stories deserve to be told, not just for accuracy’s sake, but because they challenge us to think critically about how we value innovation and perseverance.
In the end, the WNBA’s 30th anniversary isn’t just about a league—it’s about a movement. And movements are never the work of a single entity. Personally, I think the real celebration should honor the collective effort of everyone who fought for women’s basketball, from the ABL’s founders to today’s superstars. Because, if you take a step back and think about it, that’s the only way to truly understand how far we’ve come—and how far we still have to go.
