Who's the WORST NBA Owner?

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When fans talk about the NBA, players are usually seen as the heroes while owners are cast as the villains. Negotiations around the collective bargaining agreement or lockouts almost always lead to fans siding with the players, since they are the ones sweating on the floor, entertaining millions, and carrying the league’s image. Owners, by contrast, are often seen as sitting back and profiting while everyone else does the work. In that light, billionaire owners are easy to resent, and their wealth makes them natural targets of suspicion. Yet whether NBA owners are truly “evil” is more complicated than the fan narrative suggests.

Not all billionaires in the league come from dubious backgrounds. The Holt family of the San Antonio Spurs made their fortune in the construction equipment business and are generally well-liked in Texas, though their handling of the Josh Primo scandal tarnished their image. Vivek Ranadivé of the Sacramento Kings earned his money in software, and while his ownership has been shaky, Kings fans are grateful he saved the team from relocation. On the other end, mortgage moguls like Dan Gilbert of the Cavaliers and Matt Ishbia of the Suns built their wealth in an industry with shady practices that contributed to the 2008 housing crisis. Both have been accused of manipulating brokers to push their companies, Rocket Mortgage and UWM, but at the same time they spend heavily on their teams, making basketball accessible and investing in arenas and fan experiences. These contradictions highlight how complex the ethics of ownership can be.

Some owners’ controversies extend beyond business. Miriam Adelson, who bought the Mavericks from Mark Cuban in 2023, inherited her fortune from casino magnate Sheldon Adelson. Her personal background includes meaningful work in addiction treatment, but her vast political donations to Zionist organizations and militant groups in Israel make her one of the most politically divisive owners in the league. Compared to her, other infamous owners like James Dolan of the Knicks or Tillman Fertitta of the Rockets look relatively harmless. Dolan, often called a spoiled heir, is known more for his thin skin and habit of ejecting critical fans than for corruption, while Fertitta is seen as a flashy, penny-pinching businessman who might have cost the Rockets greater success during James Harden’s prime.

Chicago Bulls owner Jerry Reinsdorf is another example of how incompetence can be as frustrating to fans as immorality. Despite owning one of the NBA’s most lucrative franchises in one of its biggest markets, he has consistently avoided paying the luxury tax, preferring to pocket profits rather than invest in elite talent. White Sox fans have it even worse—Reinsdorf’s baseball team set the all-time loss record in 2024, prompting him to apologize publicly and begin selling the team. His story reflects how mediocrity in ownership can poison entire fan bases.

Yet not all ownership stories are bleak. Steve Ballmer of the Clippers stands as perhaps the least “evil” owner. A Microsoft veteran who worked his way up from employee number thirty to CEO, Ballmer has no major ties to shady business or political corruption. Instead, he has poured his wealth into building fan-friendly experiences, including paying entirely out of pocket for the new Intuit Dome, revitalizing public basketball courts in Los Angeles, and spending freely on talent and luxury tax bills. Ballmer embodies a different model of ownership: treating the franchise as a cultural institution for the community rather than just a money-making machine.

The reality is that NBA ownership is a spectrum. Some, like Adelson, wield their money in ways that carry heavy political baggage. Others, like Gilbert and Ishbia, built fortunes in predatory industries yet show surprising generosity toward their fans. Still others, like Dolan and Reinsdorf, frustrate because of arrogance or cheapness rather than corruption. And then there are outliers like Ballmer, who remind us that immense wealth, when paired with genuine love of the game, can create something positive for both fans and the sport. Owners may often feel like villains in contrast to the players we admire, but the truth is more nuanced: they are neither all evil nor all benevolent, but complicated figures shaping the NBA in ways that go far beyond the court.