Blog

The intensity of the WNBA playoffs reached a boiling point when Indiana Fever star Caitlin Clark was visibly furious after a series of plays from Las Vegas Aces MVP A’ja Wilson, which many fans and analysts are calling outright dirty.

The highly anticipated matchup between the league’s rising rookie sensation and the reigning MVP turned into a physical battle that left everyone talking—not only about the star duel but also about the referees’ inability to control the chaos on the court.

From the opening tip, the Fever came out aggressive, with Kelsey Mitchell and Aliyah Boston setting the tone on offense. But it didn’t take long before tensions flared. Early in the second quarter, Clark was on the receiving end of a hard foul from Wilson while driving to the basket.

Though the officials called it a personal foul, replays showed Wilson making excessive contact, sending Clark crashing to the hardwood. Fans immediately erupted on social media, accusing Wilson of crossing the line.

Clark, usually composed under pressure, was clearly frustrated. Cameras caught her yelling at the referees, pointing out that this wasn’t the first time she had been targeted by overly physical defense. Analysts noted that Clark’s body language signaled she was fed up with the way opponents were trying to rough her up, particularly in high-stakes games.

“She’s had enough,” one commentator remarked. “The league’s brightest star is being bullied, and the officials are just letting it go.”

Wilson, for her part, continued to play with intensity, but the physicality only escalated. In the third quarter, she delivered a hard box-out on Clark that sent her stumbling toward the baseline. Again, no flagrant was assessed.

Fever coach Stephanie White was livid, storming the sidelines to demand an explanation. Her frustration mirrored that of Fever fans, who felt that the officiating was either blind to or deliberately ignoring dangerous plays.

Despite the rough treatment, Clark refused to back down. She responded with a fiery stretch of play, hitting back-to-back threes and dishing out assists that fueled Indiana’s momentum.

The Fever fed off her energy, going on a double-digit run that silenced the Aces’ home crowd. What was supposed to be a night of dominance for Wilson instead turned into a showcase of Clark’s resilience and leadership under fire.

The controversy, however, has overshadowed much of the game. On Twitter and Instagram, #DirtyPlays began trending, with fans posting slow-motion clips of Wilson’s hits on Clark.

Some accused the referees of favoritism toward the Aces, pointing out that Indiana had been whistled for several ticky-tack fouls while Wilson got away with plays that could have warranted ejections. The outrage even extended beyond Fever supporters, with neutral fans calling on the league to protect its marquee rookie.

Clark addressed the incident after the game in a fiery postgame interview. “I play hard, but there’s a difference between playing hard and playing dirty,” she said. “All I want is a fair shot. If the refs won’t call it, then we’ve got to keep pushing and find ways to win anyway.”

Her comments struck a chord with fans, many of whom praised her for speaking up about what they see as an ongoing problem in the WNBA—uneven officiating and targeted physical play against stars.

Meanwhile, Wilson downplayed the situation, saying, “It’s playoff basketball. Things get physical. That’s just part of the game.” While some defended her as a competitor who thrives on intensity, others criticized her for brushing off what they felt were dangerous plays. The divide has only fueled the debate about whether the WNBA is doing enough to balance physical defense with player safety.

The Fever ultimately thrived in the chaos, pulling away late and securing another massive playoff win. Clark, despite taking hits all game, finished with an impressive stat line that reminded everyone why she’s the most talked-about player in the sport.

Her fire seemed to ignite the rest of her teammates—Aliyah Boston dominated the paint against Wilson in the fourth quarter, and Lexie Hull came up with key defensive stops that sealed the victory.

For the WNBA, the moment is a double-edged sword. On one hand, Clark vs. Wilson is the kind of rivalry the league needs to draw attention and create storylines. On the other, the perception that referees are letting “dirty plays” slide could damage the league’s credibility. Fans have already begun tagging the commissioner and demanding answers, with some threatening boycotts if Clark isn’t better protected moving forward.

What’s undeniable is that Clark’s fury has galvanized both her teammates and her fanbase. Her refusal to back down against Wilson’s physicality has transformed the Fever into not just underdogs, but legitimate title contenders. And as long as Clark keeps answering adversity with big performances, the Fever’s run is only going to gain more steam.

The playoffs are about more than just wins and losses—they’re about rivalries, grit, and defining moments. For Caitlin Clark and the Fever, this battle with A’ja Wilson and the Aces may go down as the turning point of their season. But for the league, it’s a warning: protect your stars, or risk losing the momentum that Clark has singlehandedly brought to women’s basketball.

The WNBA world was rocked with shocking news when reports confirmed that Sandy Brondello, the elite coach of the New York Liberty, had been fired after another season of falling short of a championship.

Brondello, a seasoned tactician who guided the Liberty to back-to-back Finals appearances, was seen as one of the brightest coaching minds in the league. Her dismissal has sparked outrage from some fans, disbelief from others, and a wave of speculation about what comes next for the Liberty and the broader WNBA landscape.

In the middle of it all, the Indiana Fever and their rising superstar Caitlin Clark suddenly find themselves at the center of the conversation, with many now declaring that the time is ripe for them to take full advantage of the league’s shifting power dynamic.

Brondello’s firing didn’t come out of nowhere, but the timing was shocking. The Liberty had one of the deepest and most talented rosters in the league, boasting Breanna Stewart, Sabrina Ionescu, Jonquel Jones, and Courtney Vandersloot.

On paper, this was a superteam built to dominate. Yet despite their star-studded lineup, they repeatedly faltered when it mattered most, unable to topple the Las Vegas Aces or deliver on the championship expectations placed on them. Ownership and management were clearly unwilling to let another year pass without shaking things up, and Brondello became the first casualty.

For the Indiana Fever, this shake-up signals opportunity. The Fever, a young team anchored by Caitlin Clark and Aliyah Boston, have been making waves in the playoffs with fearless play and rapid growth.

While the Liberty now enter a period of transition with no clear direction, the Fever are rising at just the right moment. Clark’s electrifying play, combined with Mitchell’s scoring surge and Boston’s dominance in the paint, has positioned Indiana as the team of the future—and possibly even the team of the present.

Fans immediately took to social media after Brondello’s firing to draw comparisons between the crumbling of the Liberty’s superteam and the rise of Indiana. Many pointed out that while the Liberty assembled expensive veteran talent, the Fever have built around youth, energy, and natural chemistry.

“The Liberty bought their roster, but Indiana built theirs,” one fan tweeted, echoing the sentiment of thousands who believe the Fever represent the new face of the WNBA.

Caitlin Clark, of course, is at the heart of this conversation. Her rookie year has been a whirlwind of media attention, sold-out arenas, and highlight-reel moments. Now, with one of the league’s top rivals suddenly in disarray, her path to becoming the league’s defining superstar looks clearer than ever.

Analysts argue that the timing could not be better. “The Liberty’s collapse opens the door for a team like Indiana to step into the spotlight,” one ESPN commentator noted. “Clark has already proven she can carry the game to new heights. Now she and the Fever have a chance to take over completely.”

It isn’t just about opportunity on the court—it’s about the larger narrative. The Liberty’s stumble exposes the fragility of so-called “superteams,” while the Fever’s rise showcases the power of organic growth and homegrown stars.

This shift aligns perfectly with the league’s need to cultivate marketable new faces. For years, the WNBA has been searching for its breakout icon, and Caitlin Clark has delivered beyond anyone’s expectations. If the Liberty’s implosion clears the stage for Indiana, Clark’s ascension could become unstoppable.

Meanwhile, questions swirl about where the Liberty go from here. Do they rebuild around Sabrina Ionescu and Breanna Stewart with a new coach? Or does this firing indicate that ownership may pursue an even more drastic overhaul?

The uncertainty hanging over New York only strengthens the Fever’s position. As their rivals search for answers, Indiana is focused, cohesive, and hungry. That hunger was on full display in their playoff performances, where Clark’s leadership, Boston’s toughness, and Lexie Hull’s grit showed the Fever are no longer just a rebuilding team—they are legitimate contenders.

Some insiders believe that Brondello’s firing was less about her coaching and more about the league’s shifting priorities. With ratings, marketability, and fan engagement more important than ever, teams without strong postseason results are under enormous pressure.

The Liberty, despite their glitz and star power, failed to capture the imagination of casual fans in the same way Indiana has. The Fever’s underdog story, paired with Clark’s record-breaking popularity, has left fans more invested in Indiana than in New York’s high-profile roster. That reality may have forced Liberty leadership to pull the plug faster than they otherwise would have.

The WNBA, too, is watching closely. A league that has often been criticized for stagnant growth suddenly finds itself with the most talked-about rookie in sports. Every decision—from fines to officiating to marketing campaigns—seems tied back to Clark. Now, with the Liberty losing stability, it only strengthens the sense that this is Clark’s league to take.

If the Fever are to capitalize on this moment, they’ll need to stay locked in. They can’t afford to get caught up in the noise of Clark’s superstardom or the chaos swirling around other franchises.

Coach Stephanie White has preached composure and focus, and her leadership has been crucial in keeping the team grounded. This foundation will be the key to turning opportunity into reality.

The narrative surrounding the WNBA is shifting dramatically. The Liberty’s firing of Brondello isn’t just a coaching change—it’s a seismic moment that symbolizes the end of one era and the beginning of another. The so-called “superteam model” has cracked under pressure, while Indiana’s youthful, cohesive, and fearless approach has captured the hearts of fans everywhere.

Caitlin Clark and the Indiana Fever now face a golden opportunity. With their rivals scrambling, the stage is clear for them to establish themselves not just as playoff darlings, but as perennial contenders.

Clark’s rise, Boston’s dominance, and Mitchell’s steady veteran presence give the Fever the tools to build a dynasty. But more importantly, the Liberty’s downfall proves that what Indiana is building is stronger, more sustainable, and more in tune with what fans want to see.

As the dust settles on Brondello’s shocking firing, one thing is certain—the window of opportunity has opened wide for Caitlin Clark and the Fever. The Liberty’s collapse might just mark the moment Indiana’s rise turns into something unstoppable. For Fever fans, the message is clear: the time is now.

The WNBA world was rocked with shocking news when reports confirmed that Sandy Brondello, the elite coach of the New York Liberty, had been fired after another season of falling short of a championship.

Brondello, a seasoned tactician who guided the Liberty to back-to-back Finals appearances, was seen as one of the brightest coaching minds in the league. Her dismissal has sparked outrage from some fans, disbelief from others, and a wave of speculation about what comes next for the Liberty and the broader WNBA landscape.

In the middle of it all, the Indiana Fever and their rising superstar Caitlin Clark suddenly find themselves at the center of the conversation, with many now declaring that the time is ripe for them to take full advantage of the league’s shifting power dynamic.

Brondello’s firing didn’t come out of nowhere, but the timing was shocking. The Liberty had one of the deepest and most talented rosters in the league, boasting Breanna Stewart, Sabrina Ionescu, Jonquel Jones, and Courtney Vandersloot.

On paper, this was a superteam built to dominate. Yet despite their star-studded lineup, they repeatedly faltered when it mattered most, unable to topple the Las Vegas Aces or deliver on the championship expectations placed on them. Ownership and management were clearly unwilling to let another year pass without shaking things up, and Brondello became the first casualty.

For the Indiana Fever, this shake-up signals opportunity. The Fever, a young team anchored by Caitlin Clark and Aliyah Boston, have been making waves in the playoffs with fearless play and rapid growth.

While the Liberty now enter a period of transition with no clear direction, the Fever are rising at just the right moment. Clark’s electrifying play, combined with Mitchell’s scoring surge and Boston’s dominance in the paint, has positioned Indiana as the team of the future—and possibly even the team of the present.

Fans immediately took to social media after Brondello’s firing to draw comparisons between the crumbling of the Liberty’s superteam and the rise of Indiana. Many pointed out that while the Liberty assembled expensive veteran talent, the Fever have built around youth, energy, and natural chemistry.

“The Liberty bought their roster, but Indiana built theirs,” one fan tweeted, echoing the sentiment of thousands who believe the Fever represent the new face of the WNBA.

Caitlin Clark, of course, is at the heart of this conversation. Her rookie year has been a whirlwind of media attention, sold-out arenas, and highlight-reel moments. Now, with one of the league’s top rivals suddenly in disarray, her path to becoming the league’s defining superstar looks clearer than ever.

Analysts argue that the timing could not be better. “The Liberty’s collapse opens the door for a team like Indiana to step into the spotlight,” one ESPN commentator noted. “Clark has already proven she can carry the game to new heights. Now she and the Fever have a chance to take over completely.”

It isn’t just about opportunity on the court—it’s about the larger narrative. The Liberty’s stumble exposes the fragility of so-called “superteams,” while the Fever’s rise showcases the power of organic growth and homegrown stars.

This shift aligns perfectly with the league’s need to cultivate marketable new faces. For years, the WNBA has been searching for its breakout icon, and Caitlin Clark has delivered beyond anyone’s expectations. If the Liberty’s implosion clears the stage for Indiana, Clark’s ascension could become unstoppable.

Meanwhile, questions swirl about where the Liberty go from here. Do they rebuild around Sabrina Ionescu and Breanna Stewart with a new coach? Or does this firing indicate that ownership may pursue an even more drastic overhaul?

The uncertainty hanging over New York only strengthens the Fever’s position. As their rivals search for answers, Indiana is focused, cohesive, and hungry. That hunger was on full display in their playoff performances, where Clark’s leadership, Boston’s toughness, and Lexie Hull’s grit showed the Fever are no longer just a rebuilding team—they are legitimate contenders.

Some insiders believe that Brondello’s firing was less about her coaching and more about the league’s shifting priorities. With ratings, marketability, and fan engagement more important than ever, teams without strong postseason results are under enormous pressure.

The Liberty, despite their glitz and star power, failed to capture the imagination of casual fans in the same way Indiana has. The Fever’s underdog story, paired with Clark’s record-breaking popularity, has left fans more invested in Indiana than in New York’s high-profile roster. That reality may have forced Liberty leadership to pull the plug faster than they otherwise would have.

The WNBA, too, is watching closely. A league that has often been criticized for stagnant growth suddenly finds itself with the most talked-about rookie in sports. Every decision—from fines to officiating to marketing campaigns—seems tied back to Clark. Now, with the Liberty losing stability, it only strengthens the sense that this is Clark’s league to take.

If the Fever are to capitalize on this moment, they’ll need to stay locked in. They can’t afford to get caught up in the noise of Clark’s superstardom or the chaos swirling around other franchises.

Coach Stephanie White has preached composure and focus, and her leadership has been crucial in keeping the team grounded. This foundation will be the key to turning opportunity into reality.

The narrative surrounding the WNBA is shifting dramatically. The Liberty’s firing of Brondello isn’t just a coaching change—it’s a seismic moment that symbolizes the end of one era and the beginning of another. The so-called “superteam model” has cracked under pressure, while Indiana’s youthful, cohesive, and fearless approach has captured the hearts of fans everywhere.

Caitlin Clark and the Indiana Fever now face a golden opportunity. With their rivals scrambling, the stage is clear for them to establish themselves not just as playoff darlings, but as perennial contenders.

Clark’s rise, Boston’s dominance, and Mitchell’s steady veteran presence give the Fever the tools to build a dynasty. But more importantly, the Liberty’s downfall proves that what Indiana is building is stronger, more sustainable, and more in tune with what fans want to see.

As the dust settles on Brondello’s shocking firing, one thing is certain—the window of opportunity has opened wide for Caitlin Clark and the Fever. The Liberty’s collapse might just mark the moment Indiana’s rise turns into something unstoppable. For Fever fans, the message is clear: the time is now.

Kelsey Mitchell has been in the spotlight ever since she torched the Las Vegas Aces with a career-defining playoff performance, but her latest ESPN interview is what really has fans buzzing.

While the Indiana Fever star has long been praised for her consistency and veteran leadership, Mitchell’s candid comments about Caitlin Clark during the segment caught everyone off guard—and now the internet can’t stop talking about it.

During the sit-down, Mitchell was asked about how Clark’s presence has changed the dynamic of the Fever this season. Instead of giving a generic, polished answer, Mitchell got brutally honest. She admitted that at first, there were challenges in adjusting to the hype surrounding Clark.

“When Caitlin came in, the cameras, the attention—it was different for all of us,” Mitchell said. “But at the end of the day, she’s a competitor. She wants to win, and that’s what matters most.”

What shocked fans wasn’t the acknowledgment of growing pains—it was how openly Mitchell addressed the pressure that came with Clark’s arrival. She said the team had to “learn how to block out the noise” and “focus on basketball,” which many took as a rare behind-the-scenes glimpse of the adjustment period for both veterans and rookies.

Mitchell emphasized that while Clark brings “superstar energy,” the Fever’s recent playoff run has been about everyone stepping up, not just one player.

Then came the quote that exploded across social media. “Caitlin’s great, but she’s not saving us—she’s with us,” Mitchell said firmly. That line resonated with fans and analysts alike, sparking debates about how the narrative around the Fever has been painted by mainstream media.

Many outlets have been criticized for portraying the team as a one-woman show, when in reality, Mitchell, Aliyah Boston, Lexie Hull, and others have been crucial to Indiana’s success.

Twitter quickly lit up, with fans praising Mitchell for standing her ground and making sure her teammates got the recognition they deserve. One fan wrote, “Kelsey Mitchell just said what every Fever fan has been thinking—the media needs to stop acting like it’s Caitlin vs. the world. This is a TEAM.”

Others, however, twisted the comment into potential shade toward Clark, though Mitchell clarified during the interview that there’s “nothing but respect” between them.

The interview also showed a more personal side of Mitchell, who admitted that she’s “grown a lot” since Caitlin’s arrival. She talked about how Clark’s intensity has challenged her to raise her own game and how the two often push each other in practice.

ESPN analysts noted this was the first time Mitchell had been so open about the inner workings of the Fever’s locker room, which may explain why the conversation has gained so much traction.

For Clark’s part, she has often praised Mitchell as “the steady hand” of the team, someone she looks up to for guidance as she navigates her rookie season. Fans are now pointing to this mutual respect as proof that the Fever’s success isn’t just about one superstar, but about a group of players finding their chemistry at the right time.

Still, Mitchell’s bold statement—“she’s with us, not saving us”—is likely to live on as one of the most replayed quotes of the playoffs. It’s not only a reminder of how hard the Fever’s veterans have worked to get back to contention, but also a subtle challenge to the narrative that Indiana rises and falls on Caitlin Clark’s shoulders alone.

Now, as the Fever prepare for the rest of their postseason battle, this viral interview may do more than just stir debate. It might light a fire under the entire roster, uniting them around the message that they’re more than just a headline team—they’re a force to be reckoned with.

Kelsey Mitchell has been in the spotlight ever since she torched the Las Vegas Aces with a career-defining playoff performance, but her latest ESPN interview is what really has fans buzzing.

While the Indiana Fever star has long been praised for her consistency and veteran leadership, Mitchell’s candid comments about Caitlin Clark during the segment caught everyone off guard—and now the internet can’t stop talking about it.

During the sit-down, Mitchell was asked about how Clark’s presence has changed the dynamic of the Fever this season. Instead of giving a generic, polished answer, Mitchell got brutally honest. She admitted that at first, there were challenges in adjusting to the hype surrounding Clark.

“When Caitlin came in, the cameras, the attention—it was different for all of us,” Mitchell said. “But at the end of the day, she’s a competitor. She wants to win, and that’s what matters most.”

What shocked fans wasn’t the acknowledgment of growing pains—it was how openly Mitchell addressed the pressure that came with Clark’s arrival. She said the team had to “learn how to block out the noise” and “focus on basketball,” which many took as a rare behind-the-scenes glimpse of the adjustment period for both veterans and rookies.

Mitchell emphasized that while Clark brings “superstar energy,” the Fever’s recent playoff run has been about everyone stepping up, not just one player.

Then came the quote that exploded across social media. “Caitlin’s great, but she’s not saving us—she’s with us,” Mitchell said firmly. That line resonated with fans and analysts alike, sparking debates about how the narrative around the Fever has been painted by mainstream media.

Many outlets have been criticized for portraying the team as a one-woman show, when in reality, Mitchell, Aliyah Boston, Lexie Hull, and others have been crucial to Indiana’s success.

Twitter quickly lit up, with fans praising Mitchell for standing her ground and making sure her teammates got the recognition they deserve. One fan wrote, “Kelsey Mitchell just said what every Fever fan has been thinking—the media needs to stop acting like it’s Caitlin vs. the world. This is a TEAM.”

Others, however, twisted the comment into potential shade toward Clark, though Mitchell clarified during the interview that there’s “nothing but respect” between them.

The interview also showed a more personal side of Mitchell, who admitted that she’s “grown a lot” since Caitlin’s arrival. She talked about how Clark’s intensity has challenged her to raise her own game and how the two often push each other in practice.

ESPN analysts noted this was the first time Mitchell had been so open about the inner workings of the Fever’s locker room, which may explain why the conversation has gained so much traction.

For Clark’s part, she has often praised Mitchell as “the steady hand” of the team, someone she looks up to for guidance as she navigates her rookie season. Fans are now pointing to this mutual respect as proof that the Fever’s success isn’t just about one superstar, but about a group of players finding their chemistry at the right time.

Still, Mitchell’s bold statement—“she’s with us, not saving us”—is likely to live on as one of the most replayed quotes of the playoffs. It’s not only a reminder of how hard the Fever’s veterans have worked to get back to contention, but also a subtle challenge to the narrative that Indiana rises and falls on Caitlin Clark’s shoulders alone.

Now, as the Fever prepare for the rest of their postseason battle, this viral interview may do more than just stir debate. It might light a fire under the entire roster, uniting them around the message that they’re more than just a headline team—they’re a force to be reckoned with.

As Brett Goldstein sat down on The Drew Barrymore Show, pandemic earnestness in his eyes, he ventured into territory more personal than usual. People remember Goldstein for his dry wit as Roy Kent on Ted Lasso, for scripts he’s penned, for his unexpected vulnerabilities.

That evening, he spoke about something that sounded almost surreal: a childhood memory so vivid that he said E.T. the Extra‑Terrestrial left him with symptoms he now likens to PTSD, starting as early as age three.

The statement stunned the audience, and left many reflecting on how deeply early impressions, even from films, can impact a child’s psyche.

He described how, at three, he must have caught E.T. on television or in a family viewing, though he doesn’t remember exactly when. What he does remember, he said, is the feeling of terror when the alien creature began to be pursued, the looming threat from the government in the movie, the sense that this being—innocent, wanting to go home—was being hunted.

For a toddler already sensitive to big noises or shadows, Goldstein said, these scenes didn’t just entertain—they unsettled. “I woke up crying,” he recalled. “Sometimes when my parents left me in the dark, I thought I’d see that government spaceship through the door.” His voice quavering, he admitted that the movie stayed with him longer than any toy or lullaby did.

By Goldstein’s account, these early imaginative fears didn’t necessarily cripple him, but they laid a foundation of anxiety. Loud noises, unknown darkness, separations—they triggered echoes of those movie scenes.

For years, he thought his reactions were just part of being a dramatic kid. It was only later, after reading about trauma, watching other people share similar early memories, that he could put a name to what he’d felt: post‑traumatic stress symptoms.

He clarified that he doesn’t believe the film itself caused PTSD in the clinical sense, and that other factors likely contributed. But the images, he said, “etched themselves into my brain” in ways he didn’t escape.

Goldstein’s revelation sparked a broader conversation on the show about how childhood is shaped by what we consume—what movies we watch, what stories we hear, what shadows flicker in our imagination just before sleep.

Drew Barrymore, current guest host, shared her own childhood movie experiences, acknowledging how some films scared her, but also how she saw them as rites of passage.

The two spoke about how many parents now try to gauge what media is appropriate for their kids, sometimes perhaps underestimating how vivid a young child’s imagination can be.

Mental health experts watching after the show weighed in. Many noted: what Goldstein described is not uncommon. Children exposed to frightening media without the scaffolding of explanation—without someone there to hold their hand and contextualize—can find their fears slipping into longer‑lasting anxieties.

While the diagnostic line for PTSD is careful and specific, the broad experience of lingering fear, nightmares, separation anxiety or hypervigilance can stem from early frightening experiences—media included.

One psychologist commenting to a media outlet said that in many cases, children don’t need to have experienced large traumas in the real world to carry scars—in some cases, fictional events amplified by imagination leave surprisingly real emotional marks.

Goldstein also spoke with humility: he was not trying to indict E.T. or Spielberg or anyone else. He emphasized his admiration for the film—that it’s a classic, that it moved people, that it still means a lot. What he was willing to consider, though, is how a film that shapes public culture can interact with a young mind in unexpected ways.

He discussed how parents in his childhood didn’t necessarily think twice about what their toddler was seeing on screen. It was not uncommon, he said, for him or his siblings to watch films that were beyond what they later understood, simply because there wasn’t much media awareness or content warning at the time.

The conversation turned to how Goldstein has tried to work through this over the years—through therapy, through art, through laughter. He credits comedy as a kind of healing: finding humor in fear, or making absurd what once triggered anxiety.

He also said that acting helps him channel those early intense emotions into controlled spaces. When playing a scene, he can draw on something similar and lean into it, but also step away from it. It’s a form of emotional muscle-building.

Audience reactions were mixed: some sympathized immediately, relating similar childhood fears, while others pushed back, wondering whether attributing childhood fear to a film was perhaps overstated.

Goldstein addressed that tension, saying he’s used to nuance: “It’s complicated,” he said. “It’s not that I blame E.T. for everything. It’s that I acknowledge how formative everything is—even fictional stories.”

What emerges from his story is more than a confession, it’s an invitation. An invitation to look back at what shaped us—even the shadows we thought we left behind. To consider what scared us, and how those fears morphed. To examine how, in our adulthood, our reactions—maybe to a loud noise, to night’s darkness, to abandonment—might have roots we didn’t expect.

By the end of the interview, Goldstein seemed lighter. There was catharsis in describing what he carried. He also offered gratitude—to his parents, who listened, even if they didn’t fully understand; to therapy, for helping; and to the stories, even scary ones, because they helped him see his emotional landscape more clearly.

The tale underscores how much early experiences matter. It also shows how celebrity confessions can help others feel less alone. Whether or not E.T. truly gave him clinical PTSD, Goldstein’s honesty opens up space for talking about childhood, imagination, fear, and growth.

In a culture that sometimes dismisses fear as childish, stories like his reclaim it as human. They remind us that trauma isn’t always big headline events—sometimes it’s quiet, lingering, woven between bedtime, shadows, and a movie’s flicker on the wall. And sometimes naming what scared us is part of what helps us find peace.

As Brett Goldstein sat down on The Drew Barrymore Show, pandemic earnestness in his eyes, he ventured into territory more personal than usual. People remember Goldstein for his dry wit as Roy Kent on Ted Lasso, for scripts he’s penned, for his unexpected vulnerabilities.

That evening, he spoke about something that sounded almost surreal: a childhood memory so vivid that he said E.T. the Extra‑Terrestrial left him with symptoms he now likens to PTSD, starting as early as age three.

The statement stunned the audience, and left many reflecting on how deeply early impressions, even from films, can impact a child’s psyche.

He described how, at three, he must have caught E.T. on television or in a family viewing, though he doesn’t remember exactly when. What he does remember, he said, is the feeling of terror when the alien creature began to be pursued, the looming threat from the government in the movie, the sense that this being—innocent, wanting to go home—was being hunted.

For a toddler already sensitive to big noises or shadows, Goldstein said, these scenes didn’t just entertain—they unsettled. “I woke up crying,” he recalled. “Sometimes when my parents left me in the dark, I thought I’d see that government spaceship through the door.” His voice quavering, he admitted that the movie stayed with him longer than any toy or lullaby did.

By Goldstein’s account, these early imaginative fears didn’t necessarily cripple him, but they laid a foundation of anxiety. Loud noises, unknown darkness, separations—they triggered echoes of those movie scenes.

For years, he thought his reactions were just part of being a dramatic kid. It was only later, after reading about trauma, watching other people share similar early memories, that he could put a name to what he’d felt: post‑traumatic stress symptoms.

He clarified that he doesn’t believe the film itself caused PTSD in the clinical sense, and that other factors likely contributed. But the images, he said, “etched themselves into my brain” in ways he didn’t escape.

Goldstein’s revelation sparked a broader conversation on the show about how childhood is shaped by what we consume—what movies we watch, what stories we hear, what shadows flicker in our imagination just before sleep.

Drew Barrymore, current guest host, shared her own childhood movie experiences, acknowledging how some films scared her, but also how she saw them as rites of passage.

The two spoke about how many parents now try to gauge what media is appropriate for their kids, sometimes perhaps underestimating how vivid a young child’s imagination can be.

Mental health experts watching after the show weighed in. Many noted: what Goldstein described is not uncommon. Children exposed to frightening media without the scaffolding of explanation—without someone there to hold their hand and contextualize—can find their fears slipping into longer‑lasting anxieties.

While the diagnostic line for PTSD is careful and specific, the broad experience of lingering fear, nightmares, separation anxiety or hypervigilance can stem from early frightening experiences—media included.

One psychologist commenting to a media outlet said that in many cases, children don’t need to have experienced large traumas in the real world to carry scars—in some cases, fictional events amplified by imagination leave surprisingly real emotional marks.

Goldstein also spoke with humility: he was not trying to indict E.T. or Spielberg or anyone else. He emphasized his admiration for the film—that it’s a classic, that it moved people, that it still means a lot. What he was willing to consider, though, is how a film that shapes public culture can interact with a young mind in unexpected ways.

He discussed how parents in his childhood didn’t necessarily think twice about what their toddler was seeing on screen. It was not uncommon, he said, for him or his siblings to watch films that were beyond what they later understood, simply because there wasn’t much media awareness or content warning at the time.

The conversation turned to how Goldstein has tried to work through this over the years—through therapy, through art, through laughter. He credits comedy as a kind of healing: finding humor in fear, or making absurd what once triggered anxiety.

He also said that acting helps him channel those early intense emotions into controlled spaces. When playing a scene, he can draw on something similar and lean into it, but also step away from it. It’s a form of emotional muscle-building.

Audience reactions were mixed: some sympathized immediately, relating similar childhood fears, while others pushed back, wondering whether attributing childhood fear to a film was perhaps overstated.

Goldstein addressed that tension, saying he’s used to nuance: “It’s complicated,” he said. “It’s not that I blame E.T. for everything. It’s that I acknowledge how formative everything is—even fictional stories.”

What emerges from his story is more than a confession, it’s an invitation. An invitation to look back at what shaped us—even the shadows we thought we left behind. To consider what scared us, and how those fears morphed. To examine how, in our adulthood, our reactions—maybe to a loud noise, to night’s darkness, to abandonment—might have roots we didn’t expect.

By the end of the interview, Goldstein seemed lighter. There was catharsis in describing what he carried. He also offered gratitude—to his parents, who listened, even if they didn’t fully understand; to therapy, for helping; and to the stories, even scary ones, because they helped him see his emotional landscape more clearly.

The tale underscores how much early experiences matter. It also shows how celebrity confessions can help others feel less alone. Whether or not E.T. truly gave him clinical PTSD, Goldstein’s honesty opens up space for talking about childhood, imagination, fear, and growth.

In a culture that sometimes dismisses fear as childish, stories like his reclaim it as human. They remind us that trauma isn’t always big headline events—sometimes it’s quiet, lingering, woven between bedtime, shadows, and a movie’s flicker on the wall. And sometimes naming what scared us is part of what helps us find peace.

Simon Baker is often recognized for his laid-back charm and piercing blue eyes, familiar to fans of The Mentalist as the intuitive and enigmatic Patrick Jane. But behind the polished on-screen persona lies a man who values simplicity, privacy, and most importantly—family.

In a rare, candid interview, the Australian actor opened up about what life looks like beyond the spotlight, and how fatherhood, partnership, and staying grounded have shaped his identity more than any role he’s ever played.

For someone whose career has spanned three decades, Baker has managed to maintain a surprisingly low profile. Unlike many of his Hollywood peers, he’s not a tabloid regular or a social media fixture.

That’s intentional. “I’ve never been drawn to the fame part of acting,” he admits. “The work is what excites me—the stories, the characters—but everything else around it? That’s never been my scene.”

At the heart of that desire for privacy is his family. Baker shares three children with ex-wife Rebecca Rigg, also an actor, and though the couple quietly separated in 2020 after 29 years of marriage, he speaks with deep respect and affection for the life they built together.

“Rebecca and I raised our kids away from a lot of the noise,” he says. “We wanted them to have a childhood that wasn’t dictated by where the cameras were.”

Baker and Rigg raised their children—Stella, Claude, and Harry—between Los Angeles and their native Australia, often choosing to live in more rural settings where the family could grow up close to nature.

“I think there’s something very grounding about being outdoors,” Baker reflects. “You’re reminded of how small you are in the best way. My kids grew up with sand between their toes and dirt under their fingernails, and that’s exactly how we wanted it.”

His voice softens when talking about his children, all now young adults forging their own paths. His daughter Stella has even followed in his footsteps, landing roles in television and carving out her own acting career.

“I didn’t push her toward it. In fact, I probably discouraged it a little at first,” he says with a smile. “Not because I didn’t believe in her, but because I know how tough this industry can be. But she’s got her own fire, her own vision—and that makes me really proud.”

Fatherhood, he says, has been the most transformative experience of his life. “It changed everything—the way I see the world, the way I make decisions. You stop being the center of your own universe. That’s humbling. And it’s necessary.”

Even at the height of his fame during The Mentalist‘s seven-season run, Baker prioritized being present at home. “I’d finish long days on set and go straight into dad mode—school lunches, homework help, soccer games.

It wasn’t always easy, but those were the moments that mattered most.” He laughs recalling nights of pacing the floor with a crying baby in his arms, or mornings where he burned toast while trying to get everyone out the door on time. “It’s not glamorous, but it’s real. And real is what I’ve always cared about.”

Despite his preference for staying out of the limelight, Baker isn’t afraid to talk about the challenges he’s faced in balancing work and family. There were sacrifices—missed birthdays, long stretches on location—and moments of doubt.

“You question yourself. Am I doing enough? Am I doing it right? But then your kid hugs you or laughs at your terrible dad joke, and you realize, okay, maybe I’m not failing entirely.”

He also credits his upbringing in Australia for instilling the values that have carried him through fatherhood. Raised in a working-class family, Baker learned early on the importance of resilience, humility, and loyalty. “My mum was a single parent for a while, and she worked hard—really hard—to give us a good life. Watching her showed me what strength looks like.”

Though his own marriage eventually came to an end, Baker speaks about the transition with thoughtfulness rather than regret. “Relationships evolve. Sometimes they change shape, and that’s okay.

What matters is that there’s still love, still respect—especially when kids are involved. Rebecca and I will always be connected by the family we created. That’s not something time or circumstance can erase.”

He’s also found healing and growth in solitude and nature since the separation. Spending more time in Australia, surfing, hiking, and working on smaller film projects has allowed him to reconnect with himself.

“There’s a clarity that comes when you step away from the noise. It’s helped me appreciate the small things again—making breakfast, reading a book, watching the tide come in. Those moments are where life really happens.”

While Baker remains selective about his acting projects, he’s recently ventured into directing and producing as well—opting for stories that reflect his personal values and interests. “I’m drawn to stories that are honest, a little raw. Not perfect. Just like life.”

Looking ahead, he says he’s excited to see where the next chapter leads—not just professionally, but personally. “My kids are grown now. They don’t need me in the same way, but they still call, they still come home. That means the world. My role has changed, but the love hasn’t.”

He pauses, smiling quietly, before adding, “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that family isn’t just about biology or marriage. It’s about showing up, again and again, in the ways that matter.”

Whether it’s through his performances on screen or his reflections off it, Simon Baker continues to bring a quiet authenticity to everything he does. He’s not chasing headlines or applause.

He’s just living—a little more quietly now, perhaps, but no less meaningfully. And in doing so, he reminds us that even in the most public of lives, the most important stories are often the ones happening at home.

Simon Baker is often recognized for his laid-back charm and piercing blue eyes, familiar to fans of The Mentalist as the intuitive and enigmatic Patrick Jane. But behind the polished on-screen persona lies a man who values simplicity, privacy, and most importantly—family.

In a rare, candid interview, the Australian actor opened up about what life looks like beyond the spotlight, and how fatherhood, partnership, and staying grounded have shaped his identity more than any role he’s ever played.

For someone whose career has spanned three decades, Baker has managed to maintain a surprisingly low profile. Unlike many of his Hollywood peers, he’s not a tabloid regular or a social media fixture.

That’s intentional. “I’ve never been drawn to the fame part of acting,” he admits. “The work is what excites me—the stories, the characters—but everything else around it? That’s never been my scene.”

At the heart of that desire for privacy is his family. Baker shares three children with ex-wife Rebecca Rigg, also an actor, and though the couple quietly separated in 2020 after 29 years of marriage, he speaks with deep respect and affection for the life they built together.

“Rebecca and I raised our kids away from a lot of the noise,” he says. “We wanted them to have a childhood that wasn’t dictated by where the cameras were.”

Baker and Rigg raised their children—Stella, Claude, and Harry—between Los Angeles and their native Australia, often choosing to live in more rural settings where the family could grow up close to nature.

“I think there’s something very grounding about being outdoors,” Baker reflects. “You’re reminded of how small you are in the best way. My kids grew up with sand between their toes and dirt under their fingernails, and that’s exactly how we wanted it.”

His voice softens when talking about his children, all now young adults forging their own paths. His daughter Stella has even followed in his footsteps, landing roles in television and carving out her own acting career.

“I didn’t push her toward it. In fact, I probably discouraged it a little at first,” he says with a smile. “Not because I didn’t believe in her, but because I know how tough this industry can be. But she’s got her own fire, her own vision—and that makes me really proud.”

Fatherhood, he says, has been the most transformative experience of his life. “It changed everything—the way I see the world, the way I make decisions. You stop being the center of your own universe. That’s humbling. And it’s necessary.”

Even at the height of his fame during The Mentalist‘s seven-season run, Baker prioritized being present at home. “I’d finish long days on set and go straight into dad mode—school lunches, homework help, soccer games.

It wasn’t always easy, but those were the moments that mattered most.” He laughs recalling nights of pacing the floor with a crying baby in his arms, or mornings where he burned toast while trying to get everyone out the door on time. “It’s not glamorous, but it’s real. And real is what I’ve always cared about.”

Despite his preference for staying out of the limelight, Baker isn’t afraid to talk about the challenges he’s faced in balancing work and family. There were sacrifices—missed birthdays, long stretches on location—and moments of doubt.

“You question yourself. Am I doing enough? Am I doing it right? But then your kid hugs you or laughs at your terrible dad joke, and you realize, okay, maybe I’m not failing entirely.”

He also credits his upbringing in Australia for instilling the values that have carried him through fatherhood. Raised in a working-class family, Baker learned early on the importance of resilience, humility, and loyalty. “My mum was a single parent for a while, and she worked hard—really hard—to give us a good life. Watching her showed me what strength looks like.”

Though his own marriage eventually came to an end, Baker speaks about the transition with thoughtfulness rather than regret. “Relationships evolve. Sometimes they change shape, and that’s okay.

What matters is that there’s still love, still respect—especially when kids are involved. Rebecca and I will always be connected by the family we created. That’s not something time or circumstance can erase.”

He’s also found healing and growth in solitude and nature since the separation. Spending more time in Australia, surfing, hiking, and working on smaller film projects has allowed him to reconnect with himself.

“There’s a clarity that comes when you step away from the noise. It’s helped me appreciate the small things again—making breakfast, reading a book, watching the tide come in. Those moments are where life really happens.”

While Baker remains selective about his acting projects, he’s recently ventured into directing and producing as well—opting for stories that reflect his personal values and interests. “I’m drawn to stories that are honest, a little raw. Not perfect. Just like life.”

Looking ahead, he says he’s excited to see where the next chapter leads—not just professionally, but personally. “My kids are grown now. They don’t need me in the same way, but they still call, they still come home. That means the world. My role has changed, but the love hasn’t.”

He pauses, smiling quietly, before adding, “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that family isn’t just about biology or marriage. It’s about showing up, again and again, in the ways that matter.”

Whether it’s through his performances on screen or his reflections off it, Simon Baker continues to bring a quiet authenticity to everything he does. He’s not chasing headlines or applause.

He’s just living—a little more quietly now, perhaps, but no less meaningfully. And in doing so, he reminds us that even in the most public of lives, the most important stories are often the ones happening at home.

In a night filled with jaw-dropping performances on The Voice, one audition stood out for both its musical finesse and dramatic flair.

Twenty‑three‑year‑old Max Cooper III delivered a rendition of Mike Posner’s “Cooler Than Me” that earned him the rare honor of a four‑chair turn, propelling him into the spotlight and forcing the coaches into a fierce pitch war.

From the moment Max took the stage, there was something distinctive in his delivery. He began at the piano, playing an arpeggiated intro that felt jazz‑inflected and intimate rather than bombastic.

That contrast proved to be a strategic choice, allowing his voice to emerge not as an echo of the original but as its own interpretation. Immediately, Reba McEntire spun her chair, impressed by the musicality and tone. Snoop Dogg followed, and then Niall Horan and Michael Bublé turned, completing the four‑chair sweep.

Once all four coaches had turned, the room’s energy shifted. Snoop complimented the subtlety of Max’s first lines, admitting he was hooked before the chorus. Reba praised how his voice “grows and grows and grows” throughout the performance.

Niall echoed appreciation for his tonal control and phrasing. But the curveball came when Max shared that the very first song he ever performed was Michael Bublé’s “I Just Haven’t Met You Yet”—a moment of personal connection that silenced the competition.

That revelation led Bublé to step out of his chair and join Max onstage in an impromptu duet of the song. The audience joined in, turning the moment into a celebratory singalong. The chemistry crackled: Max on piano, Bublé leading the vocals, and the coaches watching in delight.

After the performance and coach pitches, Max made his choice: he selected Michael Bublé as his coach. His decision felt almost inevitable given their shared musical moment and personal connection.

What makes this audition remarkable is not only the technical mastery but also the narrative arc. Max’s artistic choices subtly reshaped “Cooler Than Me” from its contemporary pop roots into something more nuanced—inflected with jazz phrasing, dynamic control, and a confidence that allowed each note to land meaningfully.

The performance built gradually, layering emotional depth as it progressed. The coaches responded not just to vocal power, but to musical intelligence and vulnerability.

Moreover, Max’s backstory added emotional weight. Learning piano by ear from a young age—self-taught by mimicking his sister’s playing—he revealed a path of passion and persistence. By tying his origin to Bublé’s music, Max bridged past and present in a way that resonated with coaches and viewers alike.

Beyond the emotional resonance, the four‑chair turn itself is a powerful indicator of consensus—rare in The Voice blind auditions. It signals that all coaches agreed on his potential and that he had captivated them on multiple levels: tone, delivery, originality, and stage presence. It’s a statement of artistic promise that sets a high bar for the ensuing rounds.

As Max embarks on his journey under Bublé’s mentorship, expectations will now be elevated. He’s no longer just an audition clip; he’s a contender. But his blind audition performance suggests he’s ready. He showed he can reinterpret a well-known song, command attention through intimacy, and make personal connections that transcend the stage.

For the coaches, that moment is just the beginning of a creative dialogue. Bublé will likely push Max further into finding his voice—not simply as an imitator but a genuine artist. The collaborative duet was an auspicious start; now the mentorship begins in earnest.

This audition also offers a reminder of what The Voice at its best can deliver: moments when talent, storytelling, and human connection intersect. It’s not just about hitting notes or wowing audiences with high drama. It’s about individuals bringing their histories, choices, passions—and having a way to express those through music.

In the weeks ahead, viewers will watch Max’s progression through Battles, Knockouts, and beyond. Will he lean more jazz, or swing back toward pop? Will he lean into vulnerability, or build more confidence in showmanship? The foundation is strong: a four‑chair turn, a coach who’s already invested, and a beginning that balances technical skill with emotional truth.

Already, clips of his performance are circulating online. Fans are praising the reinterpretation, the nuance, and the courage of a young singer willing to step into the spotlight with intention. He’s become part of this season’s conversation, and for good reason.

Tonight’s audition was a standout not only within The Voice’s season, but as an example of how a chosen song, an intimate arrangement, and a personal touch can transform a familiar tune into something fresh. Max Cooper III’s “Cooler Than Me” isn’t just a cover. It’s his introduction—and if this is any indication, it’s just the start of something compelling.