I finished the latest season of Running Point in two days. Not two leisurely weekends. Two days. And I am not even a little sorry about it.
Let me be clear upfront: this is not a TV review.
The Los Angeles Waves won the championship, yes that’s great. But that is not why I am writing this. I am writing this because Running Point is one of the most unexpectedly important things to land on mainstream television for women who work in, love, or have ever been curious about the world of sport. It deserves more than a star rating.
For those who haven’t watched yet — go fix that immediately — the short version: Isla Gordon, played by Kate Hudson, unexpectedly steps in to run her family’s professional basketball team. She walks into a front office full of men who didn’t ask for her, a locker room that isn’t sure about her, and a family that fundamentally underestimates her.
Beside her, every step of the way, is her best friend Ali, played by Brenda Song — sharp, loyal, and lowkey indispensable. Their tandem is, and I mean this with my whole chest, pure magic. The kind that is difficult to manufacture these days.
Here is what matters most beyond the performances: Running Point is genuinely light and fun. That sounds like a small thing. It is actually enormous.
Women’s leadership in sport has largely been told to us through the lens of struggle — the documentary, the biopic, the think piece. All necessary. But there is a specific kind of power in seeing a woman run a sports organization in a show that is also just… enjoyable. Where you are laughing one moment and nodding the next. The show’s message never tasted like medicine.
Mainstream media has a reach that industry panels and leadership reports simply do not.
When Running Point lands on Netflix and gets binged by millions of people who may never have thought twice about who runs a sports franchise, something shifts. Representation that feels aspirational and accessible at the same time is rare. This show manages both. And for young women out there wondering if a seat in upper management of a sports organization could ever belong to them, this show makes the answer feel obvious.
What the show captures with surprising accuracy is the entry cost. The politics Isla navigates — being talked over, having her decisions framed as emotional rather than strategic, watching people look past her to the men beside her — that is not dramatic license. That is a Tuesday for a lot of women working in sports.
I have sat in rooms like that. Most women I know in this industry have. Running Point does not hand Isla the credibility she deserves just because she’s the protagonist. She earns it slowly, painfully, through decisions that do not always work out. Young women watching are not just seeing a fantasy. They are seeing a preview.
The show also makes a quiet, consistent argument that emotional intelligence is not the opposite of strategic thinking — it is what makes strategy sustainable.
Isla holds her organization together through genuine connection. She sees her players and employees as people. She knows when to push and when to listen.
Women have long been told that emotion in the workplace is a liability. Running Point makes the case that it might actually be the answer.
The Ali behind every Isla — loyal, essential, flowers long overdue — only reinforces that point. Women do not succeed in male-dominated spaces alone. They succeed together.
The Waves won the championship. But if you watch this show and all you take away is the scoreline, you have missed the better story.
The better story is Isla walking into a room that was not built for her and remodeling it anyway. It is a show on one of the biggest platforms in the world saying, clearly and without lecture: women belong here. In the front office, in the ownership box, in the decisions that shape what sport looks like and who it belongs to.
For women already in that room, it’s a mirror. For the ones who haven’t found their way in yet — as a player, an executive, a marketer, a fan — it might just be a door.
The Waves’ championship might already be forgotten by next season. Though what this show gives us beyond each season’s script — perspective, possibility, hope — that lives beyond the scoreboard.