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When Caitlin Clark entered the WNBA she brought along an audience unlike any the league had ever seen: millions of casual fans who weren’t necessarily interested in women’s basketball, but were nonetheless intrigued by this ponytailed wonder shooting three-pointers from the half-court logo. Three years since she became a household name at the University of Iowa, the 24-year-old Indiana Fever star hasn’t just become a potent vessel for culture-war anxieties and grievances. She has been cast in the role of a victim under siege from jealous rivals, negligent referees and league officials who resent her popularity and influence. Every snub becomes an obvious clue in hindsight for her most extreme fans, every controversy an open-and-shut case.

Last week, the WNBA released a poster to commemorate its 30th anniversary, and it hit the internet like a Magic Eye picture from the 1990s. Rubberneckers looked right past the 20 players who made the cut and started asking about the one who didn’t: Clark. “I assume the back side is just a photo of CC,” one Facebook user snarked. “I mean she saved the league.”

The fact that other towering figures in the WNBA’s history were left off the poster – Candace Parker, the league’s only rookie-year MVP; Diana Taurasi, the league’s all-time leading scorer; Tamika Catchings, the double-double machine who carried the Fever to their only championship in 2012 – was largely lost on the Caitlin stans. So too was a more mundane explanation: that WinCraft, the company that produced the poster, reportedly did not have the rights to use Clark’s image. Any irony in Clark’s absence simply reinforcing her fame was quickly overtaken by something more familiar: the unwavering sense from the Caitlin zealots that she had been excluded deliberately. By whom exactly is something the conspiracy theorists did not elaborate on.

That framing would only intensify when taken together with Indiana’s game against Phoenix, when a collision between Alyssa Thomas and Clark sent the Fever guard to the floor and sparked an uproar over the nature of the contact – what appeared to some viewers as Thomas’s fist connecting with Clark’s throat. Fever coach Stephanie White would later set the tone for the discussion, calling the play a “cheap shot”.

Thomas wasn’t called for a foul in the game, which Clark exited with what her team described as a back injury. The league then reviewed the incident and suspended Thomas for one game – a ruling that drew criticism from Phoenix coach Nate Tibbetts. “This was not a thorough investigation [by the WNBA] in my opinion,” he said, adding that the league made no effort to get the Mercury’s side of the story. “The people in this league know who [Thomas] is. The one thing she is not is cheap.”

But that did not go far enough for Clark’s most ardent fans. After years of bad-faith discourse about Clark on social media and conservative television, many of them find it hard to see her as anything other than a damsel in distress. By their reckoning, the league didn’t go far enough in punishing Thomas. Some have decided to dole out their own dismal form of justice: Thomas said she has received racist abuse and death threats since the incident.

On sports talk giant WFAN, former NFL quarterback Boomer Esiason dropped his usual slate of football and baseball hot takes to vociferously defend Clark, airing the same old grievances.

“She’s a straight, white basketball player, and she is not being treated with any sort of respect whatsoever,” he said. “If I were Caitlin Clark, I would seriously consider going to play overseas somewhere and get the royal treatment.” Most true WNBA fans took Esiason’s comments for what they were: the rantings of a pundit who hasn’t much followed the sport since Bill Clinton was saluting WNBA champions at the White House.

One of the burning frustrations of the Clark era is the degree to which the narratives surrounding her have reinforced the WNBA’s impulse to shield players from criticism, even as the league insists on being covered as seriously as the NBA. All the while, the most obvious Clark story – that her struggles are the ordinary growing pains of a young superstar – is missed. That vacuum has allowed conspiracy-minded fans to run amok. They approach every controversy like the Magic Eye picture, convinced they’ll find Clark at the center if they stare long enough.

The suggestion that Clark is being targeted because she is an anomaly in a league that skews Black and queer is not just a slight to the many white stars who have graced the league, from Rebecca Lobo to Sabrina Ionescu. It amplifies a deeply entrenched hierarchy with rigid, almost fundamentalist roots in American life at a moment when the nation’s politics are once again sharpening against Black women and the LGBTQ+ community – this time at breakneck speed.

Suggesting that Clark should leave the WNBA to play overseas ignores the difficulties such moves brought to her predecessors who were forced to play outside the US in order to make a decent living. Brittney Griner’s detention in Russia is the most visceral reminder of what those journeys could entail. And while Clark’s popularity has helped drive a recent rise in WNBA salaries, it is only one factor among several: others include leagues like Unrivaled, the collapse of the college amateur system and the sustained advocacy of players who came before her – all of which Clark has readily acknowledged.

But the thing that’s truly hard to comprehend about the Caitlin casuals is this: what kind of fan tells their favorite player to take her ball and bounce? Or, worse: tells her opponents to cut her some slack lest the government be forced to step in? What kind of superstar can’t take the knocks? While there’s no question that defenses play Clark tough – sending extra defenders at her, bumping her to disrupt her rhythm and timing – it’s also just sports. The Celtics and Pistons beat on Michael Jordan like a heavy bag in his early NBA seasons. Long before Clark arrived, other women pioneers learned that breaking barriers often meant absorbing punishment; it’s just the bad luck of WNBA debutantes that they’ve traditionally had to take their lumps along with wildly inconsistent officiating.

Nancy Lieberman, the Caitlin Clark of the pre-WNBA era, recalled a coaching symposium decades later at which Pat Riley stunned her with a reflection on her history-making stint on the Lakers’ summer league team in the 1980s. “What am I gonna do with her?” the Hall of Fame coach recalled of those early days at the Lakers helm. “She’s running my stuff. They beat the crap out of her. She tried starting two fistfights, and she didn’t even cry. Every day she showed up in practice like she was the best player. I would be coaching sometimes and feel overwhelmed and start thinking about what Nancy taught me.”

That was news to Lieberman, who was working toward yet another milestone basketball career as an NBA assistant. She remembered thinking: “I taught you something?”

That, in a sense, is what the league’s anniversary poster is meant to commemorate: a standard of greatness built across generations, not recency bias. Clark is a fine basketball player, comfortably among the top-five leaders in scoring and assists. But she’s not without her faults. Three years in, she remains under-sized (guards her height typically carry more muscle), a limited defender and a frequent complainer when calls go against her.

But instead of placing the burden on her to meet lofty expectations, casual fans attribute Clark’s growing pains to her environment instead, not unlike a helicopter parent insulating their child from the harsh realities of the world. It doesn’t seem to matter what it is – her coach, her teammates, her elders, USA Basketball – it seems everyone is out to get their Caitlin. Even Clark’s desperate efforts to quiet her loyal mob over the last few years are shrugged off or ignored altogether.

It’s a protective impulse that carries the whiff of something older. A desire to turn Clark into a kind of basketball tradwife – someone who needs protecting – rather than wait for her to evolve into a dominant force. But that fantasy will crumble in a league choc-a-bloc with established superstars like A’ja Wilson and newcomers like Paige Bueckers and Olivia Miles drawing attention with their spectacular play. In a game that rewards work ethic and tenacity as much as skill, Clark started out as a perfect role model – the gritty Midwesterner who played the game with reckless abandon. But the longer her unhinged fans cast her as the target of a grand conspiracy, the more they risk making her into a poster girl for perpetual victimhood, and perhaps one beyond rescue.