SAN FRANCISCO — Tiffany Hayes covered her locs with a black plastic bag and held it on with a pair of purple Blenders goggles each player received. Some 45 minutes after the final horn sounded Saturday in Game 7, having clinched a 68-63 win for the Golden State Valkyries over the Atlanta Dream and the WNBA championship, her work was done. So she kicked off her shoes. The gray championship T-shirt covered her violet uniform. Her hands gripped the fruits of her labor, 26 pounds of sterling silver, crafted by Tiffany & Co. For Tiffany and Co.
"Come on, Chris," Hayes shouted to Chris Paul, the future Hall of Famer and close friend of the Valkyries. "Come get in this video."
Hayes, a 37-year-old guard, earned this indulgence. To slide in black WNBA socks across the marble floor in the Valkyries' locker room. And go live on social media with an NBA legend. And celebrate without restraint while clutching the trophy she'd chased for 14 seasons. Her 11 points and relentless defense in Game 7 only begin to declare her value to the league's surprising champions.
She's a Bay Area legend now. She grew up in Florida, went to college at UConn and played most of her career in Atlanta. But Hayes drips with Bay Area energy. Moxie groomed by defiance. Confidence that doesn't require reciprocity. That's why her voice became the locker room's belief. The veteran who convinced her teammates they could do this. Hayes spoke this possibility into their existence.
And they followed her because she demonstrated the resilience she preached. She sacrificed her body as tribute. So many of her drives into the teeth of defenses were needed to resuscitate their sputtering offense, to wrestle precious points from the brutal territory of the WNBA paint.
Hayes' build is slight, wiry, but her will is brick. Her father, Renard, credited the Hayes blood coursing through her veins, the life source for their family of athletes. It's how her dad managed 10 years in the Army, including a stint in Operation Desert Storm.
"She has the drive and the tenacity and the heart," her pops said. "She won't quit. That's what Hayes blood comes with."
Wearing her black No. 15 jersey, he pondered his daughter's perseverance. How she left the game and came back on her own terms, with a statement on her heart she wanted to make with her play. How she chose an expansion team some 3,000 miles from home to make one last push for the respect she's certain she earned. He said it's been hard to watch his daughter get knocked down so often, and get hit in the face so much that a black protective mask became part of her identity.
But she's still standing. And Hayes blood is now championship blood.
"I'm 37. My body hurts right now," she said when asked how it feels. "I ain't even getting to celebrate how I wanted to. I have to go sit down because my legs are burning. My body hurt. My heart feels good. But my body hurt."
Hayes, and this entire team, will echo for generations in the Bay Area. Their out-of-nowhere dominance, their playoff run, their penchant for survival in these WNBA Finals — this was stuff worthy of folklore.
The Bay Area anointed a new cast of heroes, and they are women. Champions. Indeed worthy of every ounce of the adoration this region bestows upon its sports stars.
This place has long made a habit of producing and celebrating extraordinary women athletes. But the Valkyries have ushered in something different. A new chapter in the Bay Area's rich athletic inheritance. Stars whose jerseys will become heirlooms, whose triumph will inspire a generation of children. These women belong in the pantheon populated by Joe Montana and Jerry Rice, Rickey Henderson and Dennis Eckersley, Buster Posey and Brandon Crawford, Stephen Curry and Draymond Green, Brandi Chastain and Natalie Coughlin. Names that evoke more than statistics and trophies, but conjure places and people, childhoods and memories. The Valkyries just gave this region another story worth passing down.
"I feel it is starting a powerful movement towards supporting women's sports," said Oakland native Alysa Liu, who won gold in women's figure skating at the Winter Games in February, America's first since 2002. "I can only hope that the stories about our Bay women athletes inspire more girls and women to get into sports and stay in sports."
Heartbreak, history suggests, is the secret ingredient in championship pedigree. The desperation to prevail, the composure to stomach the pressure, the conviction to trust one another — these qualities often sprout from the gut-wrenching depths of defeat. Greatness frequently requires reckoning with failure before the embrace of glory.
But these Valkyries didn't need that apprenticeship together. The franchise might be young. But the women who built it knew the cost of getting here. The fabric of this team is leather.
Natalie Nakase made belief a prerequisite rather than a reward. It wasn't something to be earned through stats or status, but the foundation of what they'd cultivate. The cornerstone of this accomplishment.
Her first head coach gig in the WNBA presented her with a collection of women needing to prove themselves, and her expansion team was their opportunity to convince the league, the world, of their value. She'd demand their best.
The diminutive coach carries a gigantic presence. She'd sit any player at any point in the game. She'd play any of them, too. Her obsessive competitiveness makes her a great strategist. But her secret sauce is getting the buy-in.
Part of it is because care remained at her core. The daunting challenges came with personal chats, deep dives into the women from whom she's demanding so much. She packed a five-game, two-week road trip in July with team dinners and played games designed to invite honest conversations. They spent hours into the night talking about what frightened them, what moved them, what made them tick. Often, basketball wouldn't come up. She saw them, and they felt seen.
After going 5-0 on the trip, which began in Atlanta and ended in Indiana, they were happy to go home, but sad to leave each other.
"That was the greenest flag," Valkyries star Gabby Williams said. "I knew we had something special on that trip."
But they'd also watched her maniacal bent in action. Making the postseason in their first season. Winning 32 games and the No. 2 seed this season. Sweeping the defending champions. Even fainting on the court.
"I thought she might've died on the floor," Golden State chairman Joe Lacob said, leaning on hyperbole to convey his shock at Nakase collapsing during a game in the first round . "That was crazy. I didn't see her go down. But then they said, 'Natalie's on the floor.' And I said, 'Oh my God.' It was unbelievable. When does that ever happen?"
That night, Lacob said he talked with Nakase in the locker room about eating food and drinking fluids. He said he knew what it was because his wife operates the same way, going all day without eating, too locked in on work.
And he knew whom he hired. A coach with technical brilliance, yes. But someone "relentless" and "so committed." He knew when he told her he wanted a championship in five years that she'd try to beat the deadline. Nakase's investment bordered on obsession. She called herself impatient, incapable of doing anything halfway.
So when the Valkyries fell behind 2-1 in the series after getting their doors blown off in Game 3 in Atlanta, Nakase's personality took over. Kaila Charles, a reserve wing, grew incensed at how little they responded to the Dream's aggression.
Nakase turned it up in Game 4, starting Charles as an adjustment. She attacked the rim, pressured the ball and barked back at the Dream.
"The one thing that really just boiled my blood," Charles said, "is that we weren't fighting hard enough. And they wanted it more than us. And that's something that we can control. … We may never come back to this stage, so take advantage of the opportunity. I didn't like how we were getting punked, and they were trying to say that we're soft. If we want this, we have to show pride whether we win or lose. And we have to fight."
That's a sentiment perfected around here. The Bay Area reserves a special affection for athletes, for people, who refuse to be intimidated.
And this championship adds a dimension to that tradition. These women didn't just fight for a trophy. They fought for their place in a league that hadn't always valued them, for opportunities that didn't always materialize, for careers that didn't unfurl as planned. In doing so, they gave a new generation of Bay Area girls and boys something to inherit.
The name that will ring the loudest after cementing her legend in Game 7, the woman who now carries the banner for the team etched into Bay Area pride: Gabby Williams.
Her 28-point second-half explosion . Her takeover under the most suffocating pressure. An array of shots that sent the sea of violet into hysteria, the decibels high enough to trigger Apple Watch warnings.
Williams not only sensed the magnitude of the occasion but practically begged for a chance to answer it. Down 6 at halftime, the intensity of the stage squeezed what life remained from the Valkyries' offense. Just 24 points in 20 minutes. They missed 10 of their 11 attempts from 3. The championship seemed to be slipping away. But Williams knew she just needed to get going.
She had 2 points on 1-of-4 shooting as the Valkyries' strategy held her back. Atlanta coach Karl Smesko proved a worthy adjuster. So, knowing they'd expect the offense to run through Williams, Golden State moved Williams off the ball, taking Atlanta's best perimeter defender, Rhyne Howard, out of the action. At the right time, they'd put the ball back in her hands, leaving the Dream with less time to readjust.
"We wanted her to kind of be a decoy a little bit," Golden State assistant Kasib Powell explained. "Set screens. Move off the ball. And she just kept coming to me like, 'When is it my time? When's my turn?' So when we told her it was her time, I mean, what she did was crazy."
The plan required Williams to rise to the occasion, overcome the chilly shadows of life off the ball, and heat up instantly. But the great ones need little more than space and opportunity.
She scored 15 points in the third quarter, including three consecutive 3s that snatched the momentum from Atlanta. Golden State led 45-44 entering the fourth quarter. Veronica Burton recharged the battery in the back of the Valkyries' closer.
"You've got another level you can get to," the Golden State guard told Williams.
Williams' older sister, Kayla, had already seen enough. She recognized this mode. She could see it in Williams' body language, her eyes. It's been the same since Williams was 11 and playing with older kids.
And this was the opportunity they'd talked so much about. The one Williams deserved but was never granted.
"There's a reason why she was picked to go to UConn out of Reno, Nevada," Kayla Williams said. "Reno is not a basketball town. She came out of there because she stands out."
Williams scored 13 more points in the fourth quarter, answering every Atlanta score with a retort. The biggest shot of the night came with the score tied at 57 with just over two minutes remaining. Williams pulled up from 31 feet, a high-arching 3 that carried as much risk as hope.
It shook the Richter scale when it splashed. The Valkyries never trailed again.
"One of the greatest finals performances ever," Lacob said, throwing up both hands for emphasis. "Men or women."
Chase Center, the billion-dollar edifice in Mission Bay, was erected to house such spectacles. Its walls will speak of what unfolded this Saturday night.
The novelty wasn't in the performance, though. This arena has witnessed plenty of greatness in its seven years of existence. Historic exploits permeate its architecture. But what distinguished this performance was the author of the magic, the Bay Area's new heroes.
They are women.
And they are champions.
This article originally appeared in The Athletic .
Golden State Valkyries, WNBA, Sports Business
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