When Forbes released its 2025 “Most Powerful Women in Sports” list, the reaction was immediate—and explosive. Social media lit up, sports talk shows weighed in, and fan bases across the WNBA found themselves on opposite sides of a heated debate. At the center of the storm stood Sophie Cunningham, ranked an eye-catching No. 4, sharing space on the list with billionaires, franchise owners, and global executives.

What surprised many wasn’t just Cunningham’s inclusion—it was her placement.

Landing inside the top five of a list traditionally dominated by owners, commissioners, and corporate leaders signaled something bigger than individual success. It suggested a shift in how power is defined in modern sports. And yet, just as quickly as Cunningham was celebrated, the conversation turned controversial when fans noticed another major name missing entirely: Angel Reese.

The contrast fueled endless speculation, emotional reactions, and accusations that quickly overtook nuance.

According to Forbes, Cunningham’s estimated $8.1 million in total earnings during her rookie year—largely driven by endorsements, branding deals, and off-court ventures—played a major role in her ranking. That figure reportedly dwarfed her actual WNBA salary, highlighting a reality that has become increasingly common for elite women athletes: the court is only one piece of the financial puzzle.

Within hours, online discourse escalated. Some fans framed Cunningham’s ranking as validation of business acumen and strategic positioning. Others questioned the criteria, arguing that influence, cultural relevance, and visibility should outweigh revenue alone. And inevitably, comparisons to Reese dominated the conversation.

But beneath the noise lies a deeper, more important question: What does “power” really mean in sports today?

Forbes has long defined power not simply by popularity or performance, but by a combination of financial impact, decision-making leverage, brand reach, and the ability to shape industries. By those standards, Cunningham’s placement becomes easier to understand—even if still surprising.

Her off-court success reflects a growing trend among athletes who understand that longevity and influence are built through ownership, partnerships, and positioning beyond the game itself. Cunningham has leveraged her platform into lucrative sponsorships and business relationships, turning limited league salaries into a much larger financial ecosystem.

That doesn’t diminish her athletic contributions—but it reframes them within a broader economic context.

The backlash, however, reveals how emotionally invested fans have become in individual narratives. Angel Reese, one of the most visible and polarizing figures in women’s basketball, has built a massive following and undeniable cultural presence. Her absence from the list felt, to many supporters, like a snub—especially given her influence on ratings, engagement, and conversation.

Some online commentary went further, speculating about Reese’s reaction and framing it as “furious” or driven by jealousy. But it’s important to note that no verified statements or public reactions from Reese support those claims. Much of the narrative emerged from fan interpretation rather than fact, underscoring how quickly speculation can become accepted truth in the social media age.

That tendency says less about the athletes and more about the environment surrounding women’s sports today—an environment where growth has outpaced understanding.

Reese and Cunningham represent two different but equally valid forms of influence. Reese’s power lies in cultural impact, visibility, and connection with younger audiences. She dominates conversations, trends regularly, and has helped reshape how women’s basketball is discussed and consumed. Cunningham’s power, as recognized by Forbes, lies in financial leverage, brand monetization, and economic reach.

One form is louder. The other is quieter—but both matter.

The controversy also highlights a structural reality of the WNBA. League salaries remain modest compared to the attention and revenue generated by top players. As a result, “power” often exists outside official contracts. Endorsements, investments, and media presence have become the primary vehicles through which athletes build wealth and autonomy.

Cunningham’s reported earnings—roughly 115 times her base salary, according to fan calculations—didn’t emerge overnight. They reflect years of positioning, networking, and understanding how value is created beyond the box score. That approach doesn’t make her more deserving than others; it makes her differently leveraged.

At the same time, Reese’s absence from the list raises legitimate questions about how institutions measure influence in women’s sports. Does cultural impact count as power if it doesn’t immediately translate to financial dominance? Should lists like this evolve alongside the changing dynamics of athlete branding?

Those questions are worth asking—but they’re rarely helped by framing rivalries where none may exist.

What’s often lost in moments like this is perspective. Forbes’ list is not a ranking of talent, importance, or moral worth. It is a snapshot—based on specific criteria—of how power manifested in a particular year. Inclusion or exclusion doesn’t invalidate an athlete’s significance, just as ranking doesn’t guarantee universal approval.

Yet the reaction itself proves something undeniable: women’s sports now command attention intense enough to generate real controversy. That, in itself, is progress.

A decade ago, such a list would have passed quietly. Today, it sparks debate because fans care—deeply—about representation, recognition, and fairness.

Sophie Cunningham’s ranking challenges assumptions about who belongs in conversations about power. Angel Reese’s absence challenges assumptions about how power should be measured. Together, the moment exposes a growing tension between traditional metrics and modern influence.

Perhaps the real takeaway isn’t about rivalry at all.

It’s about evolution.

Women athletes are no longer fighting just to be seen—they are negotiating how they are evaluated, rewarded, and remembered. As that negotiation continues, moments like this will feel messy, emotional, and polarizing.

But they also signal something important: the stakes are higher now.

And in a sports landscape where power takes many forms, there may be room—eventually—for more than one definition to coexist.