A Look Back at Last Year's WNBA Standings and Final Rankings

I still remember opening my laptop last October, scrolling through the final WNBA standings with that peculiar mix of satisfaction and curiosity that only a true basketball nerd would understand. The Las Vegas Aces finishing at 26-10 wasn't particularly surprising—they'd been dominant all season—but what fascinated me was how teams like the New York Liberty managed to climb from mediocrity to genuine contention. Having followed women's basketball for over fifteen years, I've developed this instinct for spotting when teams have that special chemistry, that intangible quality that statistics can't quite capture. This year, more than ever, I noticed how communication and mutual support became the invisible scaffolding holding successful teams together.

There's a particular quote from the international basketball scene that's been rattling around in my head lately, something about teammates messaging each other to strengthen their resolve and push each other in games. "Big factor na rin yung mag-memessage kami sa isa't isa. Parang nakakalakas din talaga ng loob lalo and mas lalong mapu-push sa laro dahil nandun yung bawat isa sa amin eh." Roughly translated, it speaks to how messaging each other builds courage and pushes players further because they're there for one another. Watching the Connecticut Sun's remarkable 27-13 season, I saw this philosophy in action every time DeWanna Bonner would gather her teammates during timeouts, not with dramatic speeches, but with quiet, determined conversations that seemed to reset their collective focus. The Sun weren't the most talented roster on paper, but their 15-6 road record—best in the league—spoke volumes about their ability to maintain cohesion under pressure.

What struck me about last season's standings was how teams that invested in building genuine connections seemed to outperform expectations. The Chicago Sky finishing 18-18 doesn't look impressive until you consider they lost four key players to overseas commitments and still managed to stay competitive in nearly every game. I remember watching them against Seattle in August—the Storm were favored by 8 points, but Chicago fought back from a 12-point deficit to force overtime. You could see them constantly communicating, touching hands after every play, keeping that energy flowing even when the scoreboard looked grim. They lost that particular game 89-86, but the way they played together signaled something more important than a single victory.

The Aces' championship run exemplified this principle at the highest level. Chelsea Gray's transformation into a playoff superstar wasn't just about her improved shooting percentage—which jumped from 45.8% in the regular season to an astonishing 52.7% in the playoffs—but about how she connected with her teammates during crucial moments. I recall one particular play during Game 3 of the Finals where A'ja Wilson missed a defensive assignment, and instead of frustration, Gray immediately pulled her aside during the next timeout, speaking quietly with arm around her shoulder. That's the kind of leadership that doesn't appear in box scores but absolutely determines final rankings.

Meanwhile, teams that struggled with chemistry provided the counterpoint to this theory. The Indiana Fever's 5-31 record wasn't just about rookie growing pains or talent gaps—you could see the communication breakdowns happening in real time during their fourth-quarter collapses. They lost eight games by five points or fewer, which tells me they had the skill to compete but lacked that final ingredient of trust and connection that turns close losses into wins. Having covered the league since Diana Taurasi's rookie year, I've come to believe that what happens between games—the texts, the dinners, the shared moments off the court—matters almost as much as what happens during them.

The Seattle Storm's 22-14 season offered another fascinating case study. With Sue Bird retired, many expected them to drop significantly in the standings. Instead, they improved their winning percentage from .556 to .611, and from my perspective watching them throughout the season, a lot of that came from Jewell Loyd stepping into a new leadership role and consciously building those connective tissues with younger players. I spoke with one staff member who mentioned how Loyd would organize group chats that continued basketball conversations outside practice, creating what that Filipino quote describes—that strengthening of resolve through constant communication.

Looking at the final standings now, months later, patterns emerge that statistics alone can't explain. Why did Dallas, with arguably more individual talent, finish below Minnesota despite similar roster construction? Why did Atlanta start strong at 12-8 before collapsing to 14-22? I'm convinced it comes down to what happens in those invisible spaces between official games—the text messages after tough losses, the encouragement before big moments, the shared jokes that keep pressure from overwhelming purpose. The WNBA's compact 40-game schedule means every connection matters exponentially more than in longer seasons.

As I reflect on last year's standings, what stays with me aren't the numbers themselves but the human stories behind them. The way Las Vegas celebrated each other's successes with genuine joy, how Washington fought through adversity with collective resilience, even how Phoenix's disappointing 15-21 season seemed to stem from visible communication gaps during critical moments. The final rankings tell us who finished where, but they don't capture the thousands of small interactions that determined those positions. In many ways, last season confirmed what I've long suspected—that the most powerful stat in basketball might be unmeasurable, existing in the space between teammates who've learned how to lift each other up when it matters most.