by Angie Kanellopulos, president emeritus
The events that engulfed first the Spirit and then the NWSL as a whole in the summer and fall of 2021 boggle my mind even today. Looking back at it half a decade on, everything that occurred in the latter half of that year all blends and blurs together. But I remember with startling clarity when the first dominoes fell.
First, a quick lesson on the players in this drama is necessary. In late 2018, Steve Baldwin became majority owner of the Spirit. Bill Lynch, the previous majority owner, maintained an ownership stake in the team. They hired Richie Burke as the new head coach of the Spirit and brought on Larry Best as the team’s first CEO. Michele Kang joined the ownership group in December 2020, but Baldwin remained majority owner.
On August 10, 2021, the Spirit announced that Burke would be stepping down from his duties due to health concerns and would move into a front office position upon his return from treatment. The following day, August 11, Washington Post reporter Molly Hensley-Clancy published an article titled “‘He made me hate soccer’: Players say they left NWSL’s Spirit over coach’s verbal abuse.” The article detailed horrific accounts from players of emotional, verbal, and racial abuse by Burke. I read the article. I read it again. Then I reached out to the other Squadron leaders to figure out how the hell we were going to respond to this. What followed these initial events is where things start to blur for me.
What remains clear is that I immediately felt entirely out of my depth. I was a hospital worker still reeling from the impact of COVID-19, with absolutely no PR background and a very narrow experience in crisis management. Suddenly I’m at the forefront of tailoring the response from the oldest and largest of the Spirit supporters groups that would satisfy my own feelings of morality, match the expectations of those who chose me to lead them, and, most importantly, l amplify the players’ voices. The Squadron leadership team collaborated on ideas and then opened the floor to the wider Squadron membership for additional input and to gauge people’s feelings.
The path we ultimately settled on was a series of incrementally escalating statements and actions that would be dictated by the action, or lack thereof, of the team’s ownership. There were many, many smaller moments throughout, however the bigger moments were:
8/13 — The Squadron publicly releases a video of members expressing support for the players.
At this point we were still trying to figure out what meaningful action even looked like. We wanted to avoid centering ourselves in the story and we wanted the players to know they were believed, supported, and not alone.
We also privately assembled gift bags for each player with small items and a note of encouragement and solidarity. It felt important that the support not only be public-facing. We wanted the players themselves to directly feel it too.
8/22 — the first home game after the news dropped debuted new banners and reworked chants that expressed our support of the players.
8/29 — The first truly memorable moment arrives thanks to the banner heard around the league.
The brainchild of Rose Room co-founder and Squadron member Douglas Reyes-Ceron, the banner was plain and succinct:
Sell the Team, Steve.
The aforementioned Steve [Baldwin] handled the banner with all the grace and subtlety you would expect. Stadium security approached Doug and threatened to remove him from the stadium if he didn’t take it down, which of course guaranteed the loudest possible amplification of the message.
Following the threatened removal, Doug, the Uproar (the visiting North Carolina Courage supporters group), and the Spirit supporters collaborated to chant “Sell The Team, Steve.” Despite the match itself being a 0–0 draw between two teams fighting for playoff position, the home and away supporters groups joined together in the final minutes to make sure Baldwin heard exactly how we felt.
9/4–9/12 — The Dumpling Scandal
The Spirit were forced to forfeit two league matches over what the league described as violations of COVID-19 safety protocols.
A local sports personality, who did not have a history of reporting on the Spirit, tweeted that a dumpling-making party hosted by Kang is being investigated by the league as the reason for the outbreak.
At the same time, more and more reports surfaced about the toxic environment players and front office staff had endured for years. It felt like every other day brought another leak, another allegation, another reminder of how deep the dysfunction ran.
9/21 — The Washington Post publishes another article about the Spirit and allegations of a toxic work culture for female employees.
The article asserted employees reported to NWSL investigators about “a misogynistic, ‘old boys’ club” culture in the male-dominated organization, including the use of degrading nicknames for female players and staff by a top executive.”
The article further stated that Baldwin brought on Larry Best, who was “well-known for handing out nicknames” and joked several times that a Spirit player should be called “Dumb Broad.” The article stated that Baldwin and Best, together, hired Burke “over concerns raised by staff and others close to the team that Burke had acted abusively to youth players.”
The article highlighted that Kang raised several concerns about the organization to Baldwin, including Best’s treatment of female employees.
9/23 — The Squadron releases a public statement declaring that we no longer had confidence in Baldwin’s ability to lead the Spirit and called for him to sell the team.
More importantly, we announced that normal game day activities would cease indefinitely. That was not a decision anyone took lightly. A part of the reason supporters groups exist is to create atmosphere. We sing, wave flags, organize tifos, and help make matchdays feel alive. Choosing silence — or at least the absence of normal supporter culture — felt fundamentally unnatural to many of us. Ultimately we concluded that continuing as normal would communicate complacency. In the statement, we made our position clear: until new ownership publicly committed to creating a safe environment for players and staff, and established a legitimate vetting process for leadership positions, we would withhold the energy and labor that supporters groups routinely provide for free.
9/26 — In the first home game since the cessation of game day activities, a new banner is introduced stating “Can You Hear Us Now”
That day also included a memorable moment: Kang visited the supporters section personally. She thanked supporters for continuing to apply pressure and reminded us that while the broader league reckoning mattered, we could not allow what was happening in DC to disappear into the larger story. The message was simple: keep pushing. And we did.
9/30 — Everything escalates.
That morning, The Athletic published an investigative report detailing allegations of sexual coercion and abuse by an NWSL coach, along with allegations that multiple clubs had enabled or concealed his behavior.
Suddenly what had felt like a Spirit crisis was undeniably a league-wide crisis and the emotional tone around the league changed almost instantly. Anger turned into something deeper and heavier. There was a growing realization that these failures were systemic rather than isolated.
That same day the Squadron launched a fundraising campaign benefiting the NWSL Players Association. We pledged to match up to $1,000 in donations. In a response that overwhelmed us, just under $2,500 was raised within the first 24 hours.
10/6 — Washington Spirit players release an unprecedented collective statement asserting no confidence in Baldwin’s leadership and urging him to sell the team to Kang.
10/9 — The policy of suspending normal game day activities remains in place.
Instead of drums, chants, and flags we organized sign-making stations outside the stadium and encouraged fans to make their own messages visible.
That day also included a memorable moment: Kang visited the supporters section personally. She thanked supporters for continuing to apply pressure and reminded us that while the broader league reckoning mattered, we could not allow what was happening in DC to disappear into the larger story. The message was simple: keep pushing. And we did.
11/1 — After conversations with players and members, the Squadron decides to resume organized game day activities for the playoff run.
By that point, the players had made clear how much visible support still mattered to them during matches. We never wanted our protest to unintentionally isolate the very people we were trying to support.
Even so, resuming chants and matchday energy did not mean we believed the situation had been resolved. To reinforce that distinction, we simultaneously urged fans not to purchase new merchandise or renew season tickets until ownership changed hands.
The message remained clear: support the players, not the regime.
11/20 — Against the backdrop of one of the most chaotic and painful seasons in league history, the Spirit win the NWSL Championship.
Even now, it is difficult to fully process the emotional contradiction of that night. The season had included abuse allegations, league-wide scandal, ownership battles, public protests, player statements, media firestorms, and near-constant uncertainty. And somehow, through all of it, the players still won.
There was joy. There was pride. And there was exhaustion.
The championship never felt separate from everything that happened before it. In many ways, it felt inseparable from the players’ refusal to break under the weight of it all. A Team of Destiny in every sense.
At every step of the process, the leadership of the Squadron wanted to make sure we were using and amplifying the message the players themselves were putting out. That same fall the NWSLPA launched their No More Side Hustles campaign, which called for better wages and contract protections for players across the board in the NWSL. We championed this message, as well as the No More Silence campaign that started after the Athletic’s sexual coercion article was published, with banners, stickers, and any other amplification we were able to provide. This included across social media as well as the numerous local and national media outlet interviews members participated in. This desire to amplify the message held true when the Spirit players released their statement urging Baldwin to sell the team to Michele Kang. The “Sell the Team, Steve” banner and chant evolved to include the Michele caveat.
It cannot be stressed enough how amazing the rest of the NWSL supporter groups were during this stretch of time. They helped amplify our message across social media and even adopted “Sell The Team, Steve” banners of their own. Our section for the Championship game saw no less than 4 of these banners hung on the rails. Despite our two teams going head-to-head for what would be the first championship in either team’s history, the Chicago supporters joined us for a Sell The Team chant that came across clearly both in stadium and on the broadcast.
I truly believe it took both the internal pressure of the players and the external pressure of the supporters to effect the change we were calling for. And though a certain Steve attempted to circumvent that demand by selling to someone other than the person everyone wanted him to sell to, Michele Kang went ahead and out-business’d that man to get us over the final hurdle with her ultimate acquisition of the Spirit. It wasn’t an immediate fix and there was, and remains to be, a lot of work to be done, but I am so proud of the Squadron and everyone involved during that time. And I am so excited for the future of this team and this supporters group.
Much love and Rise Up, DC!
