Passing the Fire: Why Caitlin Clark Broke My Heart in All the Right Ways
I never watched the WNBA before Caitlin Clark.
Not because I didn’t care about women’s sports, but because I had stopped hoping they’d ever be seen — really seen — without being mocked, underpaid, or sidelined. Then came this girl from Iowa. Not the daughter of a dynasty. Not a PR mannequin. Just someone who played with the kind of hunger that can’t be trained or packaged.
She’s only 23. Squarely Gen Z.
The same Gen Z people love to drag as “entitled.” But let’s get this straight: Caitlin Clark is the opposite of entitled. She doesn’t demand attention. She earns it. Quietly. Relentlessly. Game after game. And what does she get in return? Elbows. Snubs. Smears. And still she passes the ball like it’s holy.
She plays like someone who remembers what it’s like not to be seen.
She treats her teammates like equals, whether they’re rookies or veterans.
She doesn’t climb the ladder and kick it down, she rebuilds it on her way up.
And that’s why players like Sophie “The Enforcer” Cunningham have her back, not out of pity, but because loyalty recognises its own. She’s not just a teammate. She’s a movement in sneakers.
I wasn’t a fan at first. I was a witness.
And witnessing Caitlin Clark play is like watching lightning remember it used to be a girl.
She doesn’t own the court. She belongs to it. Every step, pass, glance is intentional. Not for clout, not for glory, but for the team. She’s building something with people, not above them.
So when the cheap shots started: body checks, eye pokes, silence from the league; that hurt.
Not because Caitlin’s fragile. She’s not.
Not because she needs defending. She doesn’t.
It hurts because we saw something rare: a young woman leading with humility, grit, and respect and the response was cruelty.
From women, no less.
From veterans who should’ve known better.
From players who benefitted from every door she helped open.
Instead of protecting her, they made her a target.
Instead of building with her, they chose to resent her.
But Caitlin? She didn’t break. She didn’t tweet back.
She kept playing.
She kept trusting.
She kept passing that ball like a damn torch.
People keep saying Gen Z is “entitled.”
But let’s be honest…it’s Millennials doing most of the finger-pointing.
The same generation that got dealt a bad hand, survived a recession, and instead of healing, became the gatekeepers of struggle.
They project their god-complexes like unpaid TED Talks, whining that Gen Z “has it easier” while ignoring the truth: Gen Z isn’t lazy. They’re tired.
Tired of fixing a broken system they didn’t create.
Tired of being told to smile while drowning in debt, war, and burnout.
Tired of playing nice while being called “sensitive” for setting boundaries.
Gen Z isn’t entitled. They’re survivors of inherited messes, pushing forward with less, while being mocked for dreaming differently.
And Caitlin Clark? She is their symbol.
She doesn’t boast. She doesn’t flinch. She works.
She shows up when she’s hurt. She keeps her teammates in the light.
And when she wins, she wins quietly, like someone raised on grit, not applause.
You don’t have to worship Caitlin Clark.
She’s not asking to be canonised.
But if you truly care about women’s sports, about fairness, about generational change: you should care what she represents.
Because she’s not just a player.
She’s a proof point.
A symbol of Gen Z’s fire: quieter, deeper, collaborative.
And if that threatens you, maybe ask yourself why.
I may not be on the court,
but I know a hero when I see one.
From the burned-out edges of Gen X and the weary heart of a Xennial
I see you, Caitlin. We all do.