Stephen A. Smith has built an empire on volume.
From his booming cadence that fills ESPN’s First Take to his gleeful delight whenever the Dallas Cowboys lose, Smith’s voice, part sermon, part spectacle, has become the soundtrack to modern sports debate. For years, he’s thrived on the court of the hot take where he has the last word. But recently he’s decided to take that same energy into the political arena and the results have been… different.
September 17, 2025, Smith launched Straight Shooter with Stephen A., a talk show that promised unfiltered commentary would, “welcome notable figures from the worlds of politics, entertainment, business, and beyond.” Prompting a simple question that rippled across social media: Who asked for this?
Sure, theoretically we all understand the concept of freedom of speech and maybe even opportunistically “getting the bag,” but what new insight could one of sports media’s most recognizable figures, bring to a space already crowded with pundits, politicians, and talking heads?
Well, that answer arrived swiftly and controversially.
The Flashpoint
On an October episode of Straight Shooter, Smith criticized U.S. Representative Jasmine Crockett (D-Texas), known for her sharp cross-examinations and unapologetic clapbacks toward President Trump. Smith questioned whether her fiery rhetoric served her constituents.
“If every day you’re just cussing Trump out,” he said, “that’s not work.”
He went further, implying her tone relied too heavily on “street verbiage.” It was the kind of phrasing that might have sparked spirited debate if he’d been talking about an athlete’s postgame quote. But this wasn’t sports. This was about a Black woman in Congress, and the internet quickly reminded him of the difference.
Within hours, social feeds filled with accusations that Smith was echoing the same coded language historically used to police the tone, volume, and validity of Black women in power. His comments, many argued, gave legitimacy to tropes of the “angry” or “unprofessional” Black woman. Some of those comments came from the likes of D.L. Hughley and Roland Smith, individuals who Smith would say are his friends.
Then, Joy Reid poured gasoline on the discourse.
The Callout
Appearing on The Don Lemon Show on YouTube, the former MSNBC host invoked Django Unchained to draw a searing parallel.
“Remember the name of the person who cared more about the love of the slave master than he did about the love of his people? His name was Stephen,” she said. “To the Stephens in our world today—understand that the master will never love you.”
It was a sharp, unmistakable rebuke. And though Reid didn’t have to name him directly, no one missed the reference.
Crockett Responds
For her part, Crockett on Lemon’s show responded not angry, but disappointed.
“There are the people who have taken the time to understand that I always keep at the forefront the people that elected me to D.C.,” she said. “What you see if you’re not in my district may not necessarily be all the substance that comes with me, but there is plenty of substance.”
She paused, “It does hurt, because I expect more and better. And frankly, I am always down for a real conversation.”
She also thanked the online community that rushed to her defense before she even had to speak.
“I appreciate the culture,” she said. “They decided to speak up before I even knew what was happening.”
In a country where Black women are often expected to weather critique silently, Crockett’s grace stood out. Her response was both human and political – disappointed but not defeated.
The Walkback
Days later, after Trump publicly called Crockett “a very low IQ person,” Smith reversed course. On a follow-up episode of Straight Shooter, he apologized.
“I get it now,” he said. “With Trump feeding into that nonsense, giving him ammunition to go out there and talk about our Black women that way… I don’t like that at all. I don’t want to be associated with nothing like that.”
He stopped short of retracting his original point but acknowledged the broader harm of his framing. At this time, Crockett, hasn’t accepted the apology, and maybe she doesn’t need to.
Because what’s really at stake here isn’t just whether Stephen A. Smith misspoke, nor is it should he be allowed to stretch his voice into new territory. I’d argue in today’s media landscape anyone is allowed to speak up, to step into unfamiliar areas whether it be politics or social commentary, but if that is their choice, they should be sure to adjust their lens.
The Collision of Tone and Territory
Sports commentary rewards instant gratification. The game ends, the take drops, and by morning, the discourse resets because there’s always another game, another season, another headline to debate.
But politics doesn’t work that way. It’s slower, more layered, and the consequences of a clippable soundbite linger.
Smith has built a career out of conviction saying what he might describe as “telling it how it is” when others don’t. But political commentary demands more than cranking up the rant volume; it demands awareness of how power moves through language. Can we critique politicians’ policies? Absolutely, but a critique of a woman’s tone isn’t neutral, and it empowers and emboldens those who carry biases against Black women across centuries of history.
Yet, this isn’t only about Smith. It’s also about the media ecosystem that rewards the loudest voice over the most informed one. The lines between sports, politics, and entertainment have blurred so completely that “takes” are now a kind of currency of their own. We don’t tune in for facts; we tune in for performance. If we even tune in at all, cause mostly we’re here for the clips.
Keeping Score
Crockett’s final words linger:
“It’s all good when you know that you’re walking in the purpose God has put on your life. I’ma keep doing me, and the world will continue.”
That might be the quietest mic drop of all.
What this moment reveals isn’t just a clash of personalities, but a case study in how our media landscape has evolved. The same systems that made Stephen A. a household name are now the ones testing whether his voice can grow beyond sports and survive the scrutiny of politics.
And if there’s a lesson for the rest of us looking to step into more public-facing forums, the microphone may amplify you, but it doesn’t absolve you. In a time when everyone has a platform, accountability has to be louder than views and clicks and be more valuable than applause.