Dawn Staley vs. Kim Mulkey might be more compelling than Caitlin Clark

Kim Mulkey and Dawn Staley hate each other. They’re combatants in the most compelling and heated feud perhaps in the history of sports.

So far, their mutual disdain remains concealed or at least unacknowledged. They feign a shared admiration that the sports media sell to avoid the burden of addressing the complexities of a sour relationship analogous to the culture at large.

LSU made Kim Mulkey the highest-paid coach in women’s basketball for the express purpose of destroying Dawn Staley. It’s a labor of love.

Staley and Mulkey are the Obama and Trump of women’s college basketball. You can clearly see the fault lines whenever the schedule dictates that Staley’s South Carolina Gamecocks face Mulkey’s Louisiana State Tigers.

The schedule cooperated on Sunday, pitting the Tigers and Gamecocks in a clash for the SEC postseason title. As usual, an ugly war ensued. For the better part of four quarters, the teams exchanged elbows, shoves, taunts, and trash talk. At one point, LSU star Angel Reese pulled the hair of South Carolina center Kamilla Cardoso, a 6-foot-7 import from Brazil.

Finally, with two minutes to play, emotions exploded. Cardoso shoved 5-foot-10 Flau'jae Johnson to the ground. Both benches cleared. No punches were thrown. Nothing really happened. It wasn’t a brawl. It was a scrum. The game stopped for 20 minutes as referees sorted through footage and tossed players from both teams from the game.

Top-ranked and undefeated South Carolina went on to win, 79-72.

Staley apologized for the incident.

“I just want to apologize to the basketball community,” she told ESPN before pivoting to a defense. “When you’re playing in championship games like this in our league, things get heated. No bad intentions. Their emotions got so far ahead of them that sometimes these things happen. I just want to apologize for us being a part in that. Because that’s not who we are and that’s not what we’re about. But I’m happy for the players that were able to finish the game and get us another championship.”

Mulkey is a bit more transparent than Staley. Mulkey offered no apology. She knows exactly what and who LSU and South Carolina are. They’re brawlers. The players are proxies for a war between their feisty, undersized coaches. They play a physical brand of basketball that the SEC allows.

“Let me say this,” Mulkey said in her postgame press conference. “Do you realize there was only one foul called on each team with two minutes left in the fourth quarter? Are you kidding me? That might have created some of that. Not the way we play. We’re going to foul your ass. They’re going to foul your ass. You only blew the whistle one time? Think about that now.”

A year ago, Iowa coach Lisa Bluder respectfully described rebounding against Staley’s squad as like “going to a bar fight.” Staley, never reluctant to play the race card, complained long and loudly that Bluder’s description was racially motivated.

Staley fancies herself coaching a beautiful style of play. She thinks she’s Muhammad Ali and that the Gamecocks float like butterflies and sting like bees. They don’t. They’re Big George Foreman. They win with brute force and intimidation. Everyone knows it.

“We’re not scared of South Carolina,” Angel Reese said following the game. “And I’m going to repeat that. We’re not scared of South Carolina. A lot of people are scared of them. We came in and battled, and battled, and battled.”

What is at the root of the blood feud between Staley and Mulkey?

Envy. Jealousy. Entitlement. Legacy. Power.

Women’s college basketball is America’s hottest sport. Its growth and traction extend beyond the Caitlin Clark phenomenon. The NBA’s pursuit of international relevance and one-and-done rule destroyed American men’s basketball. Men’s college basketball has never been more irrelevant. Its decline has fueled the women’s game. The women’s players stay for four or five years, build large brands, and create compelling narratives.

Women’s college basketball is a really big deal. Staley and Mulkey are brawling over who will reign as queen of the game.

Sports media has crowned Staley queen. She’s in national TV commercials opposite former Duke men’s coach Mike Krzyzewski. Each off-season, she’s rumored as a potential head coach in the NBA.

Corporate media fawns over Dawn Staley. She’s black. She’s been romantically linked to a former player (Kaela Davis) and her longtime assistant coach (Lisa Boyer). She patrols the sidelines in androgynous hoodies, sweatsuits, and jackets intended to catch the eye of her allies. Staley checks all the right boxes.

The reality is, Staley’s coaching résumé does not match Mulkey’s.

Kim Mulkey has won four national titles. Staley has won two. Mulkey is the only person to win a national title as a player, an assistant coach, and a head coach. Mulkey is white. She was married for 20 years and has two kids. She patrols the sidelines in what could best be described as “Cougar gear,” flamboyant outfits intended to make women jealous and men intrigued. Mulkey does not check all the boxes. She often says things that infuriate the mainstream media.

Here’s an example: Mulkey did not rally around Brittney Griner when the WNBA player was incarcerated in Russia. Mulkey coached Griner at Baylor. Staley, of course, spoke out in support of the LGBTQ+ icon.

Two years ago, Staley complained that Louisiana State University did not provide Nikki Fargas, a black coach, the same level of support as Kim Mulkey. Mulkey did not take the bait. She expressed admiration for Staley.

Trust me, LSU lured Mulkey away from Baylor and quickly made her the highest-paid coach in all of women’s basketball for the express purpose of destroying Dawn Staley. It’s a labor of love.

The feud between Mulkey and Staley will fuel women’s college basketball after Caitlin Clark enters the WNBA abyss.