“If Those Stats Make You Mad,Then You’ve Come to the Right Place”: Theorizing a Women’s Sports Media Counterpublic

Media Representation of Women's Sport

Early scholars interested in how sport constructs normative understandings of gender turned to sports journalism as a central site of analysis. These studies pointed to mass media’s symbolic annihilation of women athletes (Kane, 1996). In the little coverage that women athletes did receive, they were trivialized and sexualized by reporters who focused more often on the athletes’ sex appeal rather than their athletic ability (Duncan & Hasbrook, 1988; Pirinen, 1997).

As time went on, outright sexualization became less prominent in coverage. However, outlets still portrayed women as inferior to men. Longitudinal analyses of coverage found that outlets increasingly focused on women athletes’ roles as (heterosexual) mothers and wives (Bruce, 2016). Well into the 2000s, daily coverage of women’s sport often framed the athletes and their accomplishments as “lackluster compared to those of men’s” (Musto et al., 2017, p. 573). International competitions like the Olympics emerged as exceptions to these findings; however, the equitable coverage disappeared once daily coverage resumed (Billings & Young, 2015; Coche & Tuggle, 2023).

With the development of the Internet and the proliferation of online news, scholars were hopeful about the potential for progress online (Hardin, 2011). Some early studies of gender representation within digital spaces found encouraging results related to equitable coverage (e.g., Cunningham, 2003; Kian et al., 2009), but most point to the persistence of hegemonic masculinity in mainstream online news as well as legacy institutions (Cooky et al., 2021). Scholars have found feminist potential and the proliferation of counterhegemonic narratives within niche spaces online. The blogging network, Women Talk Sports, became the focal point of studies interested in how women and fans of women’s sports (FoWS) critically engaged with masculinist tropes in mainstream sports media (Antunovic & Hardin, 2012; Hardin, 2011; Lisec & McDonald, 2012). Scholars have also turned to women athletes’ self-representation on social media to analyze how the athletes interact with feminist ideologies and supplement lacking women’s sports coverage (Scovel, 2023; Thorpe et al., 2017). The present study builds upon this turn away from the mainstream.

In sum, looking back upon the genealogy of women’s sports media research, review articles outline shifts in how women’s sport is covered in mainstream spaces (Antunovic & Cooky, 2025; Bruce, 2016; Fink, 2015). But aside a few exceptions, reviews indicate a relatively consistent finding: hegemonic masculinity is present and thriving within the sports and sports media industry. It manifests in the amount and thematic narratives of women’s sports coverage in mainstream media which devote an estimated 10% of their sports coverage to women’s sport and rely on gendered role model discourses (Antunovic & Cooky, 2025). Given the consistency of these findings, feminist sports media scholars have called for new theoretical and conceptual frameworks that highlight potential counternarratives within sports media that can complement the extant literature on women’s sports media. Continued analysis of the unbalanced coverage is important to hold mainstream outlets accountable, but these are not the only actors within the “public sphere” of the sports industry.

Counterpublics

Critical cultural scholars in the late 1980s and 90s introduced the notion of counterpublics (also referred to as counter publics, subaltern counterpublics, or multiple publics throughout the literature) as a direct response to Habermas’s (1989), The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere. Habermas’s (1989) notion of the bourgeoise public sphere as the arena for democratic and rational speech required the bracketing of social difference inaccessible to non-white, non-male members of the public (Fraser, 1990; Squires, 2002). In response, Fraser (1990) contended that alongside the dominant public sphere exist counterpublics – or “parallel discursive arenas where members of subordinated social groups invent and circulate counterdiscourses, which in turn permit them to formulate oppositional interpretations of their identities, interests, and needs” (p. 67). Fraser (1990) pointed to the feminist press and publishing practices of the 1970s as an example of a counterpublic. Within this counterpublic sphere, feminist writers, artists, and intellectuals were able to circulate materials attuned to building a collective consciousness of womanhood and to advocate for their political aims within the broader public sphere (Fraser, 1990).

Fraser’s (1990) definition has since been widely cited and expanded upon as scholars developed the notion of counterpublics across various contexts. For Warner (2002), publics and counterpublics provided language to problematize public/private divides within discussions of queer sexuality. Further operationalizing the notion of counterpublics, Warner (2002) contended that a public involves three components: the imaginary, or a group of strangers bound relational through discourse; the social, or a dialectic between address and attention; and the material where discourse surrounding queer sexuality takes on corporeal form. What makes the public “counter” then has been a question long addressed in the counterpublic literature (Asen, 2000; Jackson & Kreiss, 2023; Warner, 2002).

To further explicate the notion of counterpublics beyond reductionist identity lines or one-dimensional political action, Squires (2002) developed a vocabulary for multiple public spheres. These modes of publicity operate differently based upon access to resources and social power relationships with dominant publics. This was especially pertinent for the context of the Black Public Sphere which Squires (2002) worked to theorize. She noted that systemic racism in the United States impacts the ability for people of color to effectively participate in democratic speech. Therefore, it is essential for folks utilizing counterpublics as a theoretical concept to take historical context and systems of power to into account (Jackson & Kreiss, 2023; Squires, 2002).

Across the definitions provided in just this brief overview, one can see that it is difficult to locate one clear and concise definition of counterpublics or counterpublic theory. Addressing the varying approaches to conceptualizing counterpublics, Jackson and Kreiss (2023) highlighted the critical roots of the term and stated that a counterpublic must involve a critical interrogation of power among social structures. Operationally, Brouwer (2005, 2006) synthesized across the counterpublic literature to define three key features of a counterpublic: “oppositionality, constitution of a discursive arena, and a dialectic of retreat from and engagement with other publics” (p. 3). These components of counterpublicity come together to form the counterpublic. In other words, Brouwer’s (2005, 2006) operationalization incorporates Fraser’s (1990) notion of subordinated social groups, Warner’s (2002) emphasis on discourse within material space, and Squires’s (2002) vocabulary of multiple responses (e.g., retreat and/or engagement) while attending to power differentials.

Sporting counterpublics

Extensive political communication scholarship has taken up the notion of counterpublics as outlined by some combination of the conceptualizations outlined above (see, Jackson & Kreiss, 2023). However, as the following section shows, counterpublics need not only occur in traditionally conceived “political” contexts.

Steele (2018) explored the notion of publicity and counterpublicity within the Black blogosphere. Her analysis of pop culture and entertainment blogs highlighted the blogs’ function as spaces for people of color to speak back against mainstream entertainment media’s representational practices and build a shared sense of community online. While not pertaining to the “overly political” (p. 213), Steele (2018) contended that the blogs “are making the everyday political.” Moreover, the study showcases the importance of considering entertainment media as viable conduits for collectivity and advocacy.

McInroy et al.’s (2022) survey of LGBTQ+ youth similarly explored the role of entertainment media and fandom in forming counterpublics. Their survey found that LGBTQ+ youth participating in online fandom communities (OFCs) described their OFCs as counterpublics, “in which discourses were being developed by marginalized communities challenging dominant mass media narratives” (p. 637). McInroy et al.’s (2022) findings spanning fandoms (respondents ranged from tabletop role-playing gamers to viewers of popular CW show The 100), reflect Kunert’s (2021) findings specific to women’s soccer fandom on Tumblr. Although Kunert (2021) did not describe the Tumblr users’ perceptions of their fandom specifically in the terms of counterpublics, the interviewees’ responses likely indicate some form of counterpublicity. Tumblr existed as a “safe space” (Kunert, 2021, p. 257) for the women-identifying fans to discuss sport outside of the purview of other social media platforms where they felt masculine sporting culture dominated discourse.

Indeed, a few other scholars have utilized the concept of counterpublics within sport sociology and sport communication research – although not all specific to women’s sport. This small body of literature revolves around the intersection of sport and social issues (Kim & Chung, 2018; Trimbur, 2019), alternative media organizations (Forde & Wilson, 2018; Nichols, 2024), and networked communities (Trott, 2022).

Like Steele’s (2018) provocation that television entertainment blogs should be considered as counterpublics, scholarship on sporting counterpublics interprets sport as a venue for discussion and advocacy surrounding social issues. For example, as athlete activism came into the fore of political discussions in the United States following Colin Kaepernick’s national anthem protests, Trimbur (2019) contended that sport is “opening up a new counterpublic” (p. 253) for fans and athletes to engage in political discussions typically deemed beyond the realm of sport. Outside of the United States context, Kim and Chung (2018) described the collective action of media professionals, activists, and nongovernmental organizations as a counterpublic in opposition to South Korean government and Olympic Organizing Committee discourses surrounding the ecological impact of the Pyeongchang Winter Games. Both Trimbur (2019) and Kim and Chung’s (2018) work illustrates how counterpublics form in response to specific social issues – systemic racism and environmental modernization, respectively.

Forde and Wilson (2018) and Nichols’s (2024) assessments of sporting counterpublics pertain to alternative media organizations. The outlets’ counterpublicity results from their marginal location in the sport media complex and their attention to socio-political issues. It is from their marginal location that the sports media activist outlets contributed to changing the broader sport media landscape (Forde & Wilson, 2018). Both sets of authors note limitations to this model for change, though. Forde and Wilson (2018) concluded their analysis of four sports media activist outlets by noting the impact of financial precarity upon niche media organizations’ ability to make long-lasting change. Only one out of the four media outlets Forde and Wilson (2018) included in their study still actively publishes content as described in the analysis. Additionally, Nichols (2024) questioned the potential of alternative skateboarding media as constituting a counterpublic given their masculine dominant content and reliance upon privately owned social media platforms.

Despite concerns over the viability of counterpublic spaces operating within social media platforms, an extensive body of literature points to the existence of networked counterpublics on social media (see Jackson et al., 2020; Jackson & Foucault Welles, 2015). Regarding sporting counterpublics, Trott (2022) found that women cyclists utilized Facebook groups as a “virtual clubhouse” to “connect, coproduce, and engage in knowledge sharing practices” (p. 4056) and “subvert mainstream coverage of cycling” (p. 4068) within the male-dominated cycling industry. The gendered context of the cycling industry and the groups’ existence as spaces intentionally created for women and gender diverse cyclists is central to the groups’ formation as a counterpublic. From their already marginalized position within the sport media complex, the women and other gender diverse folks utilized the Facebook groups to advocate for inclusion and produce counternarratives to mainstream coverage of women’s cycling (Trott, 2022).

Rather than considering a specific Facebook group or fandom as a counterpublic, the present study interrogates the potential counterpublicity of online women’s sports media and thus its constitution as a counterpublic. If mainstream sport media institutions represent the dominant public sphere of sport storytelling, then how might the notion of counterpublics shed light on the discursive work and positioning of media outlets existing within the margins?

“Sports fans who don’t fit…the mold”

Central to the constitution of a counterpublic is its exclusion from dominant public spheres – whether that be because of one’s social identity (Fraser, 1990), historical access to resources and power (Jackson & Kreiss, 2023; Squires, 2002), or decision to self-separate for safety and community building reasons (Squires, 2002; Trott, 2022). The six women’s sports media outlets affirmed scholarly findings that women’s sport and women’s sports media have historically been excluded from mainstream sports discursive arenas (Cooky et al., 2021). They did so by noting their decisions to create spaces entirely separate from mainstream media where men’s sports are the norm and by referencing statistics related to women’s sports coverage and their intent to change them.

In most cases, the outlets acknowledged the exclusion of women’s sport was the result of external forces, and in some, the outlets noted their decisions to purposely exclude themselves. The GIST described itself as “a multimedia destination that’s made by and for sports fans who don’t fit (or maybe don’t want to fit) the traditional avid sports fan mold” (The GIST nd, para. 4). The notion of the sports fans who don’t fit or don’t want to fit exemplifies the agency of both the creators of the newsletters and the subscribers to seek out a separate space to discuss and read about sports, like the Facebook groups outlined in Trott’s (2022) work. The GIST positioned itself and its subscribers as different from the traditional sports fan stereotype which would embrace the violence and patriarchy of the sport media complex (Messner, 2002). That difference was a point of distinction and pride. Similarly, as exemplified by its name, Just Women’s Sports conveyed its exclusive devotion to content about women’s sports. In this way, JWS made explicit its choice to separate itself from mainstream outlets that cover both men’s and women’s sports.

The remaining outlets cited external forces rather than choice as the reason for their exclusion from mainstream sports media. The marginalized status of women’s sports media was the impetus for starting The IX. The newsletter articulated a sense of moral responsibility to provide coverage for the stories, athletes, and sports journalists who, The IX argued, “deserv[e] more of a spotlight.” Their commentary on who is and who is not included in the spotlight of mainstream sports media showcases the site’s awareness of current representational practices within sports media and the lack of existing coverage of the sports they cover.

Other outlets addressed the exclusion of women from sports journalism positions and women athletes from sports journalism stories more explicitly by referencing industry statistics to “prove” women’s exclusion from mainstream sports media. In the opening sentences of Power Plays’s “About” page, journalist Lindsay Gibbs noted that women’s sports receive only 4% of sports media coverage, and women make up 13% of sports reporters and editors. Gibbs then invited readers in: “If those statistics make you angry, then you’ve come to the right place.” The statistics add legitimacy to her claim that “inequality in sports isn’t an accident” and provides reason and motivation to work toward positive change regarding gender representation in sports media. To build their case for “leveling the playing field” (The GIST, nd, para. 1), The GIST utilized similar industry statistics. They placed the oft-cited 4% statistic near the top of the page and articulated their intentional separatism further down the page. An outlier in this regard, the Burn It All Down podcast did not explicitly reference the exclusion of women from mainstream sports discourse. However, the podcast’s slogan, “the feminist sports podcast you need,” (Home, Burn It All Down, nd, para. 2) associated it with feminist politics – which have long been interested in interrogating and combating the exclusion of women from the public sphere (Fraser, 1990).

As the only outlet studied that focused solely on the experiences of Black women in sports media, #BlackRosie Media drew attention to the intersecting lines of exclusion experienced by the Black women content creators to whom it caters. Creator of the outlet, Erica L. Ayala cited the lack of visibility and under-compensation of “Black women, melanated creators, and co-conspirators in [their] mission” (Ayala, 2022, para. 3) as the motivating factor for creating #BlackRosie Media. Within the context of a sport media landscape that is especially hostile to Black women in sport (Razack & Joseph, 2021), #BlackRosie Media operates out of a position furthest from the center of mainstream sport media; something Ayala noted by citing statistics regarding the invisibility of Black women in the industry. Moreover, recent critiques of Howard Megdal’s (founder of The IX) work by users on Black Twitter and calls to recognize the white saviorism present within recent discussions of women’s basketball indicate that even within online women’s sporting spaces Black women athletes and creators face further discrimination (Whitaker, 2023; Zhou, 2024).

Regardless of how the outlets chose to acknowledge exclusion from the broader public sphere, each creator expressed a need to develop new discursive spaces to fill the gaps persistent in the mainstream. The “About” pages provided the outlets an opportunity to communicate their intent and to frame their efforts as a form of resistance and reform with respect to communities (e.g., “Black women and melanated creators”) and content (e.g., what “the current sports landscape just doesn’t provide”). When considering these sites as part of a women’s sports media counterpublic, the outlets’ intent to subvert mainstream representational practices and their commentary on their own exclusion can be seen as similar to the (re)presentational work done amongst other online counterpublics whether in sporting spaces (e.g. Trott’s [2022] cycling counterpublic) or entertainment (e.g. Kunert’s [2021] LGBTQ fandoms or Steele’s [2018] blogs). As #BlackRosie Media reminds readers, though, the experiences of the writers and athletes covered within this space are not homogenous, and there is still work to be done to make these spaces fully inclusive and welcoming to all.

“It is up to all of us to build it ourselves”

Having established their position as storytellers and the home of stories excluded from mainstream sports media, the six women’s sports media outlets positioned themselves as go-to places for women’s sports news and, for some, critiques of mainstream sports media. They utilized specific strategies – direct address and informal tone, definition of audiences, clarification of content expectations – to develop their discursive arena(s) and set the bounds and expectations of this online space. These strategies establish the relational and material dimensions important to conceptualizations of counterpublics (Brouwer, 2005; Warner, 2002).

The outlets engaged in direct addresses to audiences as a strategy for identifying and building community amongst audiences. At the conclusion of the introduction to Power Plays, Gibbs implied a relationship with her readers: “We’re going to build this together.” She called on readers to “share with a friend,” followed with a call-to-action button. This theme of building something together was present across multiple outlets. They used first- and second-person pronouns to address their audiences and interpolate them as co-creators of this women’s sports space. At a micro-level, this practice invited audiences into the specific conversation at hand, and at a macro-level, it rallied audiences to a broader mission of fighting for gender-equity within sport and sports media.

Moreover, the use of direct address coupled with informal language blurred the line between content creator and audience – these were not dispassionate journalists reporting the news, but “friends” interested in lively conversation about women’s sports. On their “About” page, The GIST wrote, “Think of us as your witty, sports-obsessed best friend.” BIAD’s host bios including professional credentials and the hosts’ personal interests and hobbies humanize the journalists. Here The GIST and BIAD recast the outlet/subscriber relationship as a friendship rather than a payoff between two distinct parties. In Warner’s (2002) terms, the outlets’ attempts to dissolve boundaries between writer/subscriber showcase the relational nature fostered within the sites. Seekers of women’s sporting news come to the sites where they are addressed as friends and co-conspirators in the mission of growing women’s sports news coverage. These examples show how the outlets utilize style and tone to build community and establish a common cause with their audiences.

In addition to addressing audience members directly, the outlets also outlined who their content was for, further establishing the group identity formation central to a counterpublic (Fraser, 1990). For some of the outlets, their intended audience was broad: any fans of (women’s) sport. JWS promised to “bring fans the moments that matter” (Just Women’s Sports, nd, para. 2). The GIST assured readers that the outlet was made “by and for sports fans” (The GIST, nd, para. 4). BIAD directed their attention even wider, including a review on their homepage that stated, “you don’t even need to be a sports fan to enjoy it.” Additionally, with a goal to bring more visibility to women’s sports, the outlets’ intended audience is ever growing as they cultivate new FoWS through their coverage.

Some outlets were more specific in defining their intended audience, though. Ayala (2022) stated that she created #BlackRosie Media specifically for Black women. Gibbs of Power Plays defined her audience in part by their emotions: “Power Plays is a newsletter for people who are sick of hearing bullshit excuses, and ready to see equality for women in sports.” In both cases, these clear definitions of audiences outline not only who the content is for, but also who it is not for. While non-POC readers are certainly welcome to read #BlackRosie Media, the financial goals and community events Ayala outlined on her page were directed specifically toward Black women creators in women’s sports. For Power Plays, Gibbs had no patience for the “naysayers” who accept “bullshit” excuses like market forces as arbiters of the status quo in sports media (Gibbs, nd, paras. 7-8). As these examples show, the outlets’ definitional work regarding their audiences further establishes the inward facing community they are trying to build.

The final strategy that the outlets used to define their discursive arenas was previewing the sort of coverage audiences could expect in terms of form and publishing schedule. JWS, for example, indicated that their daily sports news covered everything from “jaw-dropping performances to off-court fits” that showcase the “energy and hype that defines women’s sports” (Just Women’s Sports, nd, para. 2). BIAD, Power Plays, and #BlackRosie Media made appeals to common language rooted in feminist politics, previewing their advocacy and political content. BIAD and Power Plays invoked phrases and words like “tools of resistance” (HOSTS – Burn It All Down, nd, paragraph 2) and “rage” (Gibbs, nd, para. 14), in addition to referencing the relationship between sports and #BlackLivesMatter, #MeToo, and #EqualPay within their “About” page and host bios. #BlackRosie Media’s name itself can be read as an explicit reference to hashtag activism and its popularity within digital black feminism (Steele, 2018). In doing so, these outlets made clear the integration of sport and politics within their content.

The about pages also served as spaces for the outlets to outline their publishing schedules. The GIST came close to constant production and dissemination, producing three different newsletters that hit subscribers’ inboxes up to four times a week, a twice-weekly podcast, and daily social media. The IX outlined their unique publishing schedule involving a newsletter dedicated to a specific sport six days of the week. Similarly, JWS’s stated mission to produce content that is “100% women’s sports, 100% of the time” (Just Women’s Sports, nd, para. 1, emphasis added) indicated daily coverage. These specific details regarding how and where folks can find women’s sports coverage are especially important given the difficulty FoWS face in searching for women’s sports news (McClearen, 2024; Phillips & Antunovic, 2022). Moreover, this practice establishes the material and temporal aspect of the online community the outlets are developing. They have set schedules and expectations for publishing.

To maintain connections or “burn it all down”?

Finally, counterpublics involve a dialectic of retreat from and engagement with other publics (Brouwer, 2006). For some counterpublics, focusing solely on inward community building remains paramount; whereas others may choose to direct their attention outward and engage with dominant publics (Squires, 2002). The six women’s sports media outlets’ expressed ambivalence toward mainstream sports media and the violent, patriarchal values the ideological center of sport leverages for profit (Messner, 2002). The outlets expressed dissatisfaction with the state of contemporary sports media yet maintained connections (at times, begrudgingly) to mainstream sports spheres. Rather than cutting themselves off completely, the outlets noted their willingness to engage with mainstream sports media and utilized commercial models common among online news (e.g. paywalls and venture capital funding). Despite these similarities to mainstream spaces, the outlets shared the goal of wanting to change the center, while operating at the margins.

As their funding models showcase, traces of mainstream trends lingered. Commercialism has been key to men’s sports’ success (Messner, 2002), and as Gibbs wrote in her justification for creating Power Plays, the main factors that apologists cite for the exclusion of women’s sport are market related. Yet commercialism can be seen within these niche outlets, as well. To support operating costs, the outlets have each developed strategies to bring in revenue, described on their “About” pages. Power Plays and The IX permit full access to their content and archives only with a paid subscription, $72 and $60 a year, respectively. JWS boasted its strong base of venture capital funds and listed notable investors: wealthy, high-profile athletes and business leaders. JWS, The GIST, BIAD, and #BlackRosie Media noted that they sell branded merchandise.

These funding models show that although the outlets may be intent on creating online spaces specific to women’s sports media and news, they must remain financially viable within the larger sports media marketplace to do so. As Forde and Wilson (2018) stated in their analysis of sports media activist blogs, financial security is the biggest hurdle to change within the sports media landscape. Therefore, to build the “cross-pollinated world of women’s sports that you simply cannot get anywhere else” (The IX, nd), the women’s sports media outlets must signal their legitimacy, in part through taking measures to showcase financial security. Furthermore, building an infrastructure for financial stability takes on greater importance in women’s sport where the financial folding of media outlets and leagues are common (Keller, 2002). The efforts made by outlets to signal financial security – among them naming funders, building subscription models, and selling merchandise – serve as recognition of the precarity of women’s sport and of digital media. The reality of the precarity of women’s sports news is even more prescient for BIAD – which has been on hiatus since 2022 due to financial struggles.

The outlets also conveyed their legitimacy via their mainstream sports journalism credentials. At BIAD and Power Plays, Gibbs and her co-hosts, cited their bylines from prominent media outlets including ESPN, Sports Illustrated, Bleacher Report, The New York Times, and USA Today. Given BIAD and Power Plays’s disdain toward the sports media establishment, it might seem hypocritical that they would marshal that same establishment for legitimacy. That wasn’t lost on Gibbs, who wrote in her newsletter, “Have I convinced you to trust me yet? I hope so because, goodness, does listing my credentials make me feel icky” (n.d., para. 25). Even as the outlets try to distinguish themselves, they are dependent on the mainstream’s commercial success and cachet.

Considering these outlets through the lens of counterpublics, then, allows for a more nuanced understanding of their maintenance of ties to the mainstream. In some ways, these outlets do run “parallel” (Fraser, 1990) to mainstream outlets, especially in terms of funding models and reliance upon well-known bylines. However, their dedication to highlighting women’s sports precisely because of mainstream outlets’ oversight shows how the outlets exist as spaces counter to mainstream sports media, as well. As these outlets grow, close, and new ones emerge, conceptualizing them as part of a broader women’s sports media counterpublic would allow for scholars to assess how women’s sports media negotiate the tensions between assimilation into the mainstream or the development of new models. Ultimately, in the precarious world that is women’s sport, connections to mainstream outlets may prove essential unless or until they can truly “burn it all down.”