As an original WNBA player, Liberty’s Sue Wicks reflects on the league’s growth at 30 years

Sue Wicks, an original member of the New York Liberty, celebrates on the sideline at a game. Courtesy of New York Liberty

(Editor’s note: The WNBA is celebrating its 30th anniversary, commemorating the first contest between the New York Liberty and Los Angeles Sparks with a game on Sunday. Sue Wicks, a Women’s Basketball Hall of Famer, was a forward on the original Liberty roster.)

By Sue Wicks

Dear Liberty,

On June 21, 1997, I stood in Los Angeles for the first game in WNBA history and knew we were part of something historic. Now, as you celebrate the Liberty’s 30th season, I find myself back in that moment as I watch you carry this franchise forward.

I knew it was historic because I was wearing “Liberty” across my chest. I spent years overseas, playing for small crowds, building a life in basketball because I loved it. Then, suddenly, there were lights, cameras, national television — attention and care placed on our game in a way we had never experienced. It felt like women’s basketball was finally being treated as something worthy.

The gravity of it was not subtle. A league led by Val Ackerman. Rebecca Lobo standing beside me. Lisa Leslie. Kym Hampton. Cynthia Cooper. Sheryl Swoopes. Everyone wanted to get the moment right because everyone understood that it mattered. For players who had spent so much of our lives making something out of very little, walking into that kind of presentation felt extraordinary.

Coming home to New York made it even more personal. I grew up here, so I knew what basketball means to New Yorkers. I knew the pride, the responsibility and the edge that came with representing this city. To put on that uniform, to see my name on it, to stand there with my family and friends watching, and to hear the national anthem in my own country after so many years overseas overwhelmed me. I had tears streaming down my face, not just once, but repeatedly, because every time I stood there, I felt a little girl’s dream coming true.

Still, those early days, as magical as they were, were also fragile. We didn’t know if the league would last. After games, we hugged not just to say, “good game,” but “we did this” and “I hope we get to do it again tomorrow.”

That’s the foundation you stand on. It was built by dreamers, not daydreamers — women who gave everything to something that had promised nothing in return. Our dream was simple: that it would last, and that the next generation would walk in with more confidence and more power than we had.

Now I watch, and I see that dream expanding. Fans don’t just watch your games — they know your stories, your lives, your joy. They’re connecting with the full truth of who you are. You are champions, mothers, wives, leaders, shooters, defenders, creators, artists, activists, businesswomen and dreamers. You are funny, fierce, glamorous, serious, generous and complicated. That’s not just progress for basketball. That’s progress for culture.

I feel that deeply when I think about representation. When I played, living openly came with weight. Today, I watch players share their lives — love, family, identity — not as confessions but as celebrations. That is a beautiful step forward.

I was proud to ride on that first WNBA float in the 2016 Pride Parade in New York — our league was among the first to show up for the community so visibly. That was the Liberty reaching into the fabric of this city once again.

Breanna Stewart, you embody that with grace, your excellence, your leadership, your commitment — to this team and to the game. You are a role model not only for LGBTQ+ athletes but also for anybody trying to balance greatness, family, community and purpose. You have changed what future players believe is possible. You are more than a generational player. You are one of the players who changed what generations after you will believe is possible.

Sabrina Ionescu, watching you shoot still feels like witnessing something new. The creativity, the confidence, the work — you’ve redefined what greatness can look like.

Jonquel Jones, you are the foundation. The quiet force that makes everything work. What you do may not always be loud, but it wins.

Betnijah Laney-Hamilton, you carry the soul of this franchise. That grit, that edge, that connection to what Liberty basketball has always been — you bridge the past and the future.

Marine Johannes, you bring joy. You remind us that the game can still feel unpredictable and full of imagination.

That’s what this team does; it creates something people want to be part of. When fans walk into Barclays Center, they feel it. A shared belief that something special might happen. That’s New York.

And New York will ask everything of you. It will test you, but when it loves you, there is nothing like it. I saw that with my teammate Teresa Weatherspoon. The city felt her authenticity and claimed her.

And New York tested us in ways none of us could have imagined. After Sept. 11, we grieved with our city, visiting firehouses, sitting with families, standing with New Yorkers at the Concert for New York. I was never prouder to wear a Liberty jersey than in those days, when this team became part of the city’s healing. We came out on the other side stronger, braver and more together. That, too, is what it means to be New York’s team.

Now the city has claimed you.

Watching you win the first championship in franchise history in 2024 meant more than I can say. It felt like years of belief finally meeting the moment — but this is not the end of the dream.