In the cutthroat world of sports endorsements, brands don’t just buy an athlete’s talent; they buy a narrative. They invest millions in a story of dominance, victory, and cultural influence. When Shaquille O’Neal, the new President of Reebok Basketball, announced Angel Reese as the brand’s first major signing in years, the narrative was clear. Reese, the “Bayou Barbie,” was positioned as the next culture-shifter, an heir to the legacies of Shaq himself and Allen Iverson—mavericks who didn’t just play the game, but changed it. A signature shoe was announced for 2026. The stage was set.

But the narrative has taken a dark and unexpected turn. Instead of becoming famous for her dominance, Angel Reese has gone viral for her struggles. Her rookie season with the WNBA’s Chicago Sky has been defined not by highlight-reel plays, but by shockingly inefficient scoring and a series of missed layups that have left commentators laughing and social media buzzing. The endorsement deal, once hailed as a stroke of genius, is now being called one of the “priciest misfires” in recent memory, trapping Reebok in a marketing nightmare: How do you sell a performance basketball shoe for an athlete who is most famous for her on-court failures?

The crux of the issue lies in a set of statistics so unusual they are hard to comprehend at the professional level. Reese has taken the third-most layup attempts in the entire league, yet she is converting them at an abysmal rate of just 31.5%. For context, most professional players, especially those who operate near the basket, are expected to make 70-80% of their shots from that range. Her overall field goal percentage of 44.4% is deceptive, masking a deep inefficiency that has become painfully public.

The problem crystallized in one now-infamous 12-second clip during a game against the New York Liberty. Reese grabbed an offensive rebound and went up for a simple putback, which was blocked. She got the ball back and tried again. And again. And again. Four straight attempts right under the basket, four straight misses. The sequence was so astonishing that it immediately became a viral meme, a symbol of her season-long cold streak. These aren’t just isolated incidents; they are part of a consistent pattern of struggle that has had a tangible impact on her team.

The Chicago Sky currently languish with a 7-21 record, and while Reese is a phenomenal rebounder, her offensive woes are a significant contributing factor to the team’s struggles. The situation has created a bizarre paradox. In the five games Reese missed due to a back injury, the Sky went 0-5, proving they are a worse team without her presence on the court. However, a deeper dive into the analytics reveals that in those same games, certain team offensive metrics actually improved. This suggests that while her energy and rebounding are essential, her inefficiency on offense may be dragging down the team’s overall play, creating a confusing puzzle for the coaching staff and front office.

This on-court drama has snowballed into a full-blown crisis for her corporate partner, Reebok. The brand invested in Reese for her “culture-shifting potential,” hoping to capture the magic that made her a collegiate champion and a media sensation. What they got instead was a different kind of viral fame—fame rooted in mockery. The clips of her missed shots and “what was that” moments have generated millions upon millions of views, but this is not the kind of engagement that sells sneakers. As one commentator noted, this is viral infamy, not viral greatness.

The situation has reportedly sent waves of concern through Reebok’s marketing department. The plan was to build a campaign around a dominant, game-changing athlete. The reality is that their star ambassador is the subject of widespread online ridicule for her fundamental struggles. According to industry insiders, the whispers have already begun. Will Reebok be forced to pivot? Can they market a “performance” shoe when the athlete’s performance is the primary issue? There is talk that the brand may consider shifting her signature line from performance to lifestyle, a quiet admission that her on-court credibility is compromised. Others wonder if the deal might be delayed or if Reebok is looking for an exit strategy.

This ordeal highlights a strange and modern phenomenon: the “paradox of failure.” In the hyper-saturated attention economy of social media, any form of virality can be seen as a win. Failure, drama, and controversy often generate more clicks, comments, and shares than quiet, consistent success. An athlete’s struggles can become a profitable content stream for media outlets and meme accounts. But this type of fame is fleeting and toxic for the brands involved. It’s a sugar rush of engagement that lacks the nutritional substance of genuine admiration and respect.

Reebok is now at a critical juncture. The company bet its re-entry into the competitive basketball market on Angel Reese. They are tied to her narrative, for better or for worse. As she works to find her footing in the professional ranks, the clock is ticking. Every missed layup, every viral blooper, further complicates the task of building a successful signature shoe line. The story of Angel Reese and Reebok has become a cautionary tale about the perils of modern sports marketing, where the line between fame and infamy is dangerously thin, and where a multi-million dollar investment can become a viral joke overnight.