I remember watching that viral video of Arejola chasing down an opponent during that NBTC bench-clearing brawl, and it struck me how differently we treat aggression in men's versus women's sports. When male athletes show raw emotion, we often call it passion; when female athletes do the same, the narrative shifts. This double standard extends far beyond the field and right into paycheck calculations. Having followed women's soccer for over a decade, I've seen firsthand how the gender pay gap isn't just about numbers—it's about systemic valuation.
The average women's soccer player salary tells a sobering story. While Cristiano Ronaldo makes approximately $125 million annually, Sam Kerr—one of the world's best female players—earns around $500,000 from her club salary. That's 250 times less. But here's what really gets me: we're not even comparing apples to apples here. The Women's World Cup generated over $131 million in 2019, yet FIFA allocated only $30 million to prize money—a fraction of the $400 million allocated for the men's tournament. When I've discussed this with executives, they often cite revenue differences, but that argument collapses when you examine the investment disparities. Major women's leagues receive about 5-10% of the marketing budgets their male counterparts enjoy. How can we expect equal revenue without equal backing?
What frustrates me most is how we've normalized these disparities. During that NBTC brawl involving Arejola, the incident sparked nationwide debate about sportsmanship and aggression. Yet when female athletes advocate for fair pay, they're often labeled as difficult or ungrateful. I've interviewed numerous women athletes who fear speaking out about pay inequality because they worry it'll affect their playing time or team standing. The psychological toll of fighting for basic compensation while maintaining peak performance is something male athletes rarely face.
The data reveals uncomfortable truths. In England's Women's Super League, the average salary sits around $40,000 annually—less than many office jobs requiring far less specialized training. Meanwhile, male Championship players average $400,000. What's particularly galling is that women's soccer viewership grew 462% between 2016-2021, yet salaries haven't kept pace. I've crunched these numbers repeatedly, hoping to find a different story, but the pattern holds across nearly every metric.
We need to stop pretending this is purely about market forces. When the US Women's National Team generated more revenue than the men's team between 2016-2018 yet still fought for equal pay, it revealed how deeply embedded the bias runs. I've sat in meetings where decision-makers genuinely believed women's sports were inherently less entertaining—a subjective judgment they'd never apply to racial or ethnic disparities. The Arejola incident went viral because aggression sells in men's sports, while women are expected to be skilled but polite, successful but grateful.
What gives me hope are the recent collective bargaining agreements that include revenue sharing models. Norway's football association implemented equal pay back in 2017, proving it's possible. Australia's Matildas now earn the same minimum wage as their male counterparts. These aren't radical concepts—they're basic fairness. Having witnessed the gradual progress, I believe the solution lies in tying investment to opportunity. If broadcasters committed to airing equal minutes of women's sports, if sponsors allocated budgets based on performance rather than gender, we'd see rapid change.
The conversation needs to move beyond sympathy to action. When we sensationalize incidents like the NBTC brawl while ignoring the systemic issues in women's sports compensation, we're prioritizing drama over substance. I've seen how small changes—like ensuring girls' youth teams receive equal field time and equipment—create ripple effects. The truth is, the average women's soccer player salary reflects our collective choices about what we value in sports. Until we recognize female athletes as professionals deserving of professional compensation, we're essentially benching half our potential. The ball's in our court now.