Stephen A. Smith Confronts ESPN Owners And Force Them To Pay Molly Qerim!

I don’t like it. I’m not happy about it. Because I genuinely appreciate her — what she has meant to me, what she has meant to the show, what she has meant to the network, what she has meant to the business.

When Molly Karum walked away from ESPN, Stephen A. Smith didn’t just react — he confronted the network’s leadership head-on, insisting they give her the respect and compensation she deserved. But his public stand revealed far more than a contract dispute. It exposed a messy, painful truth about how ESPN treats its talent behind closed doors.

Molly’s exit was abrupt, catching many off guard. She didn’t have a scripted farewell or a curtain call. She just walked away. In the high-stakes world of television, that kind of exit almost always signals that something deeply went wrong. Stephen A. didn’t shy away from voicing his shock. He spoke of Molly as a friend, coworker, and longtime partner on the show — someone he often leaned on and who had supported him over the past decade. Watching her depart so suddenly was hurtful and bewildering.

Even more striking were Stephen A’s on-air comments. While repeatedly saying he wasn’t speaking about Molly, he simultaneously delivered impassioned lessons about value, leverage, and knowing one’s worth — all themes directly tied to what Molly was reportedly fighting for. He made statements like, “We don’t get to define our own value unless we have leverage,” and “We all answer to somebody,” indirectly framing the dispute between Molly and ESPN as part of a larger power battle. The timing wasn’t accidental: news had broken that a rival network had offered Molly a multi-million‑dollar deal just as Stephen A was lecturing about how demands without leverage don’t work. The message was clear, even if unstated: this was a pressure play.

If anyone at ESPN had the clout to call out leadership, it was Stephen A. Under his $20 million contract, he is arguably the network’s most valuable talent. When he publicly asserted that Molly deserved more, it forced ESPN to respond — but not in the way many hoped. Stephen A seemed to expose Molly’s struggle more than shield it. He told viewers she walked out, that she resigned immediately — facts she may not have wanted aired so publicly. In doing so, he shifted the narrative even further from her side of the story.

When asked, he distanced himself, saying the full story was Molly’s to tell, not his. But viewers saw the pattern. Stephen A had previously bragged about advocating for other ESPN personalities; now, when it came to Molly, he was silent on specifics. Some began to wonder: was he truly fighting for her or for ESPN’s interests? Insiders suggest he did push for Molly behind the scenes — reminding executives of her long service and importance to First Take — but was met with resistance. The response? ESPN executives allegedly viewed moderators as interchangeable and made it clear that their investment lay elsewhere, leaving Stephen A caught between loyalty to Molly and protecting his own contract.

Critics lashed out, accusing Stephen A of hypocrisy. If Molly meant so much, why didn’t he sacrifice for her? Many pointed to the Inside the NBA crew — especially Charles Barkley — as examples of personalities willing to accept less to maintain chemistry and team integrity. But Stephen A, they argued, prioritized his own financial security over preserving his co-host’s role. When he spoke of Molly’s value, fans accused him of posturing — trying to appear supportive while ultimately siding with the bosses who refused to budge.

The deeper issue is this: Molly wasn’t asking for a modest raise. She was asking for respect, for fair compensation in a landscape where others like Malikica Andrews and Mina Kimes reportedly received better deals. And yet she was treated as replaceable by the network she helped anchor. When rival networks swooped in with multi-million-dollar offers, it proved her worth to everyone but ESPN.

So Molly fled — not slowly, but in a rush. She left not just a job but a system that undervalued her. Stephen A responded with ambiguity: talking up respect, leverage, power dynamics — yet never fully naming names or calling out management. His public statements, carefully worded, allowed him to appear loyal while maintaining plausible deniability.

What Stephen A did — going on air to call for respect, talking about leverage, asking who defines value — was more than commentary. It was confession. It was implicit acknowledgment that he had tried to intervene. But when offered the choice, he stepped back. He didn’t resign. He didn’t risk his contract. He kept his seat. In doing so, he became part of the story — no longer just the loud voice in First Take, but a symbol of a broken system.

In the end, Molly’s departure wasn’t just one exit in the television world. It was a spotlight on how corporate media chews up loyalty and discards talent. Stephen A remained, but with his reputation cracked. ESPN, meanwhile, looked less like a network built on voices than a machine protecting its bottom line. And the most surprising truth of all? That the confrontation between Stephen A and ESPN’s owners might not be finished — and the parts they haven’t yet revealed could upend everything we think we know.