When an expansion team enters a professional sports league, we all know the drill. You brace yourself for early struggles, sparse crowds, and a long, painful multi-year rebuilding process while the front office begs for patience.
Nobody gave the Golden State Valkyries that memo, and frankly, I am thrilled they ignored it.
In a surprising 24–9 campaign, the WNBA’s newest franchise has turned the league narrative upside down. Sitting comfortably in second place behind Minnesota after winning 14 of their last 16 games, Golden State isn't just winning—they are dominating. They've completely shattered my expectations of what an expansion team can achieve, proving that startups don't have to wait their turn or beg for scraps at the bottom of the standings.
To truly appreciate the magic of what we are watching in the Bay Area, you have to look back at how brutal traditional WNBA expansion historically was. When the Chicago Sky entered the league back in 2006, they stumbled to a dismal 5–29 finish. Two years later, the Atlanta Dream dragged themselves through a painful 4–30 campaign. I fully expected Golden State to endure similar growing pains, but head coach Natalie Nakase's squad skipped the awkward toddler phase entirely. After making history as the first expansion franchise to reach the postseason last year, they completely bypassed the sophomore slump and elevated straight into legitimate championship contention.
They did it by rejecting the idea that you need a single superstar savior to carry the load. Instead, the Valkyries wear opponents down with an aggressive, deep rotation that pumps in a staggering 36 points per game off the bench. Behind veteran spark plugs like Tiffany Hayes and dynamic young perimeter threats like Janelle Salaün, they play an unselfish style of basketball that is an absolute joy to watch.
If this fast, modern, perimeter-heavy style of play feels familiar, it’s because I’ve seen this exact movie before. The parallels between the Valkyries’ rapid rise and Joe Lacob’s early takeover of the Golden State Warriors are undeniable. When Lacob bought the Warriors, he boldly guaranteed a championship within five years, a promise that sounded crazy until it came true. When he launched the Valkyries, he made the exact same five-year championship promise, and he is backing it up with the same blueprint.
The Valkyries rely on youth, unselfish ball movement, and relentless three-point volume, channeling the iconic "Strength in Numbers" philosophy that defined the early Warriors dynasty. Even the electric energy at Chase Center—affectionately dubbed "Ballhalla"—takes me right back to the chaotic, deafening days of old Oracle Arena.
The real secret behind both of these legendary crowd environments comes down to pure accessibility. When Lacob first bought the Warriors, you could regularly grab upper-deck Oracle tickets for $15 or $20, filling the seats with diehard, loud fans who cared deeply about every possession. While Chase Center pricing has risen across the board, Valkyries entry-level tickets remain reasonably priced between $25 and $40. That price point keeps real, high-energy fans in the building rather than corporate suits, creating a genuine home-court advantage that visiting opponents dread.
Which brings me to the elephant just down the hallway. As I watch the Warriors prepare for another long NBA season, I can’t help but feel a dark cloud of fatigue hanging over the franchise. Fan excitement feels noticeably muted, bogged down by a sense of inevitability rather than genuine hope. While the Valkyries are young, deep, and ascending toward a bright future, the Warriors look like an aging, top-heavy roster desperately clinging to a closing window.
Steph Curry remains an absolute icon, but expecting a 38-year-old superstar and a 36-year-old Draymond Green to magically carry a thin bench through an 82-game NBA grind feels more like delusional nostalgia than a real sports strategy. The roster lacks high-end youth, boasts few elite future prospects, and lacks the bench depth required to compete with the league's rising powers.
It leaves me asking a painful question: with a clear, working blueprint of success sitting right in their own building, why can't the Warriors front office see that starting fresh is better than hanging onto the past?
Watching the Valkyries play with speed, joy, and structural balance proves to me that fans aren't afraid of a rebuild; we fear aimlessness. Bay Area sports fans embraced the Warriors back in 2010 because they offered a clear vision centered on fresh talent and unselfish basketball. Watching the Valkyries execute that exact same strategy today is a refreshing reminder of how fun a team on the rise can be.
There is no dishonor in recognizing when an era has run its course. Trying to squeeze one last nostalgic playoff run out of a fading core only delays the inevitable and drags out the decline. I sincerely hope the Warriors' decision-makers take a long look down the hall, take a page out of the Valkyries' playbook, and realize that starting a new chapter isn't something to fear—it's the only way to build something great again.
