Cold Pizza to hot takes and how sensationalism reshaped sports news
Disclaimer: This article discusses sensitive topics, including racial dynamics and personal conflicts in sports media. Opinions expressed in cited sources, including X posts, do not necessarily reflect factual evidence and should be considered inconclusive unless independently verified. The author aims to present a balanced perspective based on available information, critically examining narratives without endorsing any single viewpoint.
Once upon a time, turning on ESPN meant a straightforward rundown of the day’s sports action. A ticker scrolled scores across the bottom, while highlights played alongside analysis from anchors like Chris Berman and Tom Jackson, breaking down NFL plays with enthusiasm and expertise on shows like NFL Primetime. The focus was clear: stats, scores, and strategy. Sensationalism wasn’t necessary—the games spoke for themselves.
Now, the sports desk has been replaced by a debate stage. Every story needs a scorching take, every headline needs to spark a reaction. And if there’s no controversy, someone will create one.
Analysis is now debate. Insight is now outrage. What started as edgy commentary evolved into what many call hot take culture—a media ecosystem where provocation trumps perspective, and personal attacks too often replace professional analysis. News revolved around superstars instead of the game. Remember when Lebron James dominated ESPN's airwaves. The Decision was him announcing where he was going in free agency. Every story was twisted to bring in a big name to draw clicks.
And in 2025, one controversy involving Caitlin Clark, Angel Reese, Robert Griffin III (RGIII), and Ryan Clark made it painfully clear how far sports talk has drifted from the game itself.
From Cold Pizza to hot takes
The origins of hot take sports media stretch back decades, but ESPN’s Cold Pizza poured gasoline on the fire. Skip Bayless and Woody Paige introduced a new programming model: argument as entertainment. With Jay Crawford moderating, they didn’t just discuss the news—they battled over it. ESPN leaned in. Embrace Debate became an unofficial motto.
And it worked—ratings soared. First Take, Undisputed, Speak, Around the Horn—the format spread across networks. Stephen A. Smith’s fiery monologues became appointment viewing. Charles Barkley’s unfiltered takes on Inside the NBA became viral hits. Social media made it even louder.
There’s nothing inherently wrong with strong opinions or passionate debate. But at some point, we crossed a line. The takes got hotter. The targets got more personal. And the focus shifted from what happened on the field to who said what off of it.
The Clark-Reese rivalry
Caitlin Clark and Angel Reese have been intertwined since their days on the AAU circuit—two elite prospects destined to collide. Reese’s Team Takeover defeated Clark’s All Iowa Attack in the 2019 Nike EYBL championship, foreshadowing what would become one of the most talked-about rivalries in modern women’s basketball.
That rivalry exploded into the mainstream during the 2023 NCAA Championship, when Reese taunted Clark with the “you can’t see me” gesture—a move Clark had made earlier in the tournament. While Clark and other players downplayed it as routine competitive fire, the media narrative was anything but subdued.
Reese, a Black woman, was vilified as unsportsmanlike. Clark, who is white, was widely praised for similar behavior. A 2025 Rice University study analyzing 700,000 tweets showed a “racialized tone” in reactions to Reese’s gesture, highlighting a troubling double standard.
Jemele Hill, A’ja Wilson, and others pointed out how Clark’s visibility and marketability—tied, in part, to her race—eclipsed the attention given to Black players. Clark herself acknowledged this in a Time interview, noting her awareness of white privilege. That admission, though thoughtful, drew backlash from conservative pundits like Riley Gaines and Megyn Kelly, who claimed Clark was being pressured to fit a political narrative.
May 2025: Firestorm reignites
In a WNBA matchup between the Chicago Sky and Indiana Fever, Clark committed a flagrant foul on Reese. Reese’s reaction—popping up and appearing to confront Clark—sparked another media frenzy.
RGIII posted on X, ““I know what hatred looks like. Angel Reese HATES Caitlin Clark. Not some basketball rivalry hate either. Hate.” The post exploded—7 million views and counting. His framing was clear: this wasn’t just a rivalry; it was personal.
Ryan Clark saw it differently—and called RGIII out publicly. He accused the former quarterback of painting Reese as a villain and Clark as a hero, feeding into a toxic, racially-coded narrative. Things escalated quickly.
When debate becomes personal
This isn’t just about Clark and Reese though it should be about their talent. It’s about what sports coverage has become.
On his podcast, Ryan Clark went beyond basketball, accusing RGIII of being out of touch with what Black women face, citing RGIII’s interracial marriage. Clark likened him to controversial commentators like Dave Portnoy and Keith Olbermann, who have previously criticized Reese, suggesting RGIII was joining them in “denigrating Black women” for clout.
RGIII fired back, calling Clark’s remarks “cowardly” and “spineless,” especially for involving his family. “Critique the take, not the person,” he said. “Leave wives and kids out of it.”
But Clark doubled down, calling RGIII a “phony” and referencing old professional tensions. What began as a disagreement over an in-game foul spiraled into a full-blown character war, fueled by platforms that reward outrage.
Manufactured villains and misguided heroes
This isn’t new. Sports media often creates heroes and villains—archetypes that fit into easy narratives and generate engagement. In the Clark-Reese case, that template collided with real-world issues: race, gender, privilege, and perception.
When RGIII said Reese “hates” Clark, it was analysis— but it was also trigger. It made people feel like they were forced to take sides. It overshadowed Clark’s elite shooting or Reese’s rebounding dominance. And when Ryan Clark responded by questioning RGIII’s personal life, it stopped being about basketball entirely.
This cycle hurts everyone. The athletes become avatars. The analysts become antagonists. And fans? They’re left with noise instead of nuance. Does anyone even know the final score of the game, or who won? It was the Fever by the way 93-58.
Kentucky’s BBN and the click economy
The same dynamic plays out with fanbases, especially ones as passionate as Kentucky’s Big Blue Nation. Pundits frequently poke BBN to stir engagement—mocking their expectations, questioning their loyalty, or calling them “delusional” for thinking they should be at the top of the mountain.
Need views or impressions, just mention BBN. 15.3 million viewers tuned in to coverage led by Kentucky’s 84–75 victory over Illinois in the second round. The tactic works and you can see why. But the result is just more division, more stereotypes, and less thoughtful discussion about a program with a deep, rich basketball history and rivalries.
No need to talk about how Chris Lofton torched the Cats, or how Jodie Meeks roasted the Vols; just say something bad about the programs involved and go viral. Research is gone, and it's all opinion now.
A line crossed, a game lost
Hot take culture has a cost.
It replaces storytelling with spectacle. It reduces rivalries to culture wars. It turns analysts into performers. And it pushes fans to care more about who’s getting “cooked” than who’s improving their free throw percentage.
Athletes are more accessible than ever—but that doesn’t mean they’re fair game for endless criticism. Not every shove is a scandal. Not every celebration is disrespect. Not every foul is malicious. Not every rivalry needs to become a referendum on society.
The Clark-Reese dynamic should be celebrated for what it is: two generational players pushing each other to new heights. Instead, they’re being used as chess pieces in a media machine that often values division over depth.
When coverage prioritizes controversy over content, it warps reality. It creates fake enemies and weaponizes opinion. It puts pressure on athletes to play roles instead of playing games. Allow these two wonderful athletes to do what they do best on the court.
A call for reset
We’re not going back to the 1990s. The sports world has changed—streaming, social media, and 24/7 coverage are here to stay. And spirited debate will always have a place.
But we can do better. We must.
Analysts need to stop crossing personal lines and focus on the game.
Networks must stop rewarding rage bait over research.
Fans can choose substance over spectacle.
Because when sports talk becomes combat, we lose sight of what brought us here in the first place: the love of the game.
Let’s bring that back.
Disclaimer: The views expressed in X posts and other sources are not necessarily factual and should be approached critically. This article aims to analyze trends in sports media without endorsing specific claims, particularly on sensitive issues like race and personal conflicts.