This decade, the Los Angeles Sparks have seen an exodus of marquee players leave the franchise, and that's Curt Miller's fault. They're the only professional franchise in the city without a training facility, and that's Curt Miller's fault. Sparks' ownership has largely fallen asleep at the wheel, and that's Curt Miller's fault.
It's low-hanging fruit to pluck in blaming Miller for the current state of the Los Angeles Sparks. He was the latest head coach in a growing string of failed coaches, tasked with navigating the team through the tumult of stormy seas, and after two years and a 25-55 record, Miller and the Sparks mutually agreed to part ways last Tuesday.
Miller was never afforded a chance to succeed. He was a Michelin-caliber chef, forced to cook with ingredients from a pantry that hadn't been restocked in years. The real question is, how can you fault the chef when the cupboard has long been bare?
From the outset, Miller faced a mount Everest climb. His roster, ravaged by injuries and plagued by departures of star players, was a blend of patchwork young talent and role players. And yet, Miller kept his team engaged. He instilled a sense of fight, a connection that kept them in contention through most games. For three quarters, they hung with better-contending rosters, pushed them to their limits, and showed flashes of what could have been if he had the talent. But halfway through the fourth quarter, time and again, the wheels would fall off. But without a dynamic closer to put games away, the Sparks would stumble, the game would slip away, and Miller would be left shaking his head, not in defeat but in determination.
Miller was a leader who never gave up on his team in return, his team never gave up on him. They fought for him, night after night, even when the odds were overwhelmingly against them. Miller didn't have the requisite resources to win, let alone compete, in the modern WNBA. That's not his fault; that failure falls squarely on the shoulders of the organization.
The Sparks' slow descent began with something other than Miller. It started with Penny Toler and Derek Fisher, whose decisions and actions fractured the team's core and identity and ostracized and isolated other players. Toler's infamous locker room tirade and Fisher's mishandling of player concerns and relations fissured a once formidable foundation.
The Sparks hired Fisher, a championship player steeped in Laker lore, with promises of returning the Sparks to glory, but failed miserably to connect with the players or establish any sense of cohesion or credibility. By the time interim head coach Fred Williams took over, the damage had already been done, and it was profound.
But the genuine disappointment, the real heartbreak for Sparks fans, lies elsewhere. It's the complete lack of commitment from ownership. For a team that once symbolized excellence, a shining example of women's basketball in the City of Angels and the WNBA, the Sparks have been left behind by those who should ensure their success.
The Sparks are the only professional franchise in Los Angeles without a training facility. Let that sink in. There is no permanent locker room or dedicated weight room. There is no place for players to come to practice their shots or exercise. This team practices at El Camino College in Torrance, a far cry from the cutting-edge facilities their competitors enjoy. A community college. Before that they were in a warehouse in Torrance. Imagine trying to lure top-tier free agents to a team that doesn't even have a home. It's laughable, but the situation is far from funny. The Sparks are treated like the only team in Los Angeles without a championship. The Sparks are treated like an afterthought in Los Angeles.
This franchise boasts a rich history. It is one of the three original WNBA franchises, has three championships, and touts a legacy of legends like Lisa Leslie, Tina Thompson, Candace Parker, and Nneka Ogwumike. Despite it all, it feels as though the Sparks have been reduced to a line item in a balance sheet, a tax write-off for absentee owners who have neither the time nor the passion to invest in the team. The ownership group, which includes Magic Johnson and several Dodgers' owners, has the money, no one's doubting that. What they lack is commitment. They're invisible at games, absent from the community, and, most damningly, indifferent to the team's success.
The Sparks' decline is evident. Once a destination for stars, the team has seen key players like Candace Parker, Chelsea Gray, and even Nneka Ogwumike, who once defined the franchise, flee Los Angeles for Chicago, Las Vegas, and Seattle. What remains is a mere shell of a team, struggling to compete at the level the city of Los Angeles deserves despite Miller's best efforts.
The Sparks have fallen behind the WNBA's vanguard in every conceivable way. The league is surging in popularity, breaking viewership records, and the league's brightest stars are capturing the public's imagination. But in Los Angeles a lot of seats at Crypto.com Arena are empty, and the atmosphere is dead. Large swaths of fans who show up often take up chunks of sections and cheer for the opposing team. Once a powerhouse, the Sparks have become an afterthought, a team that stars flee from rather than flock to.
This doesn't have to be the case. There are countless opportunities to reignite the Sparks' flame and raise their cachet in the city. How is it possible that in a city teeming with culture, the Sparks haven't established partnerships with brands that resonate with their community? Los Angeles is home to icons, movements, and top name brands. Imagine the power of a Sparks jersey collaboration, an emblem of resilience and ambition on the court and the streets.
Opportunities are here and that would elevate the Sparks' visibility and connect them to the city's heart. But none of that has been pursued, and none appear to be on the team's radar.
The fall of the Los Angeles Sparks isn't just about a failure to win games, it's about a failure to care, believe, and invest. Ownership, with all its resources, should be building a team that reflects the promise and potential of women's basketball. Instead, they've let the franchise slip into irrelevance.
Ownership has discussed plans and changes, but action has yet to materialize over the years. There is no investment in a practice facility, no connection with the community, and no bold steps forward.
For all his tactical acumen and coaching prowess, Miller was left to steer a ship without a rudder or sails; he was asked to save a sinking ship. He did what he could, keeping the team competitive when the deck was stacked against him, but no strategy can overcome the structural rot within the organization when termites are at the helm. Miller's Sparks were never given a fair shot. These women battled through adversity, injuries, and the indifference of ownership, but Miller's inability to change the organization's fortunes was insufficient.
The saddest part is that this city wants to love the Sparks. Los Angeles is a town that adores its champions, a place that rallies around its sports icons. The fans are there, waiting, but they won't condone or support losing. But ownership abandoned these fans, leaving them to idly watch as their once-proud franchise crumbled.
There's still time to save the Sparks and restore them to their rightful place as a gem in the WNBA crown. But that time is running out. Magic Johnson says he'll get more involved and fix it. But will he? Or will the Sparks continue languishing in the shadows, reduced to a footnote in a city that expects so much more?
The ownership group can decide to convey their willingness to invest and care for this franchise. But until they do, the Sparks will remain exactly what they've become, an afterthought in this City of Champions, a team that deserves better but receives the bare minimum to keep the lights on and payroll met. And for the fans, the players, and the legacy of this once-great franchise, that's not good enough.
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