The Truth About Average Women's Soccer Player Salary Compared to Men's Earnings

Let me tell you something that really struck me the other day. I was watching a viral video from an NBTC basketball game between De La Salle-Zobel and Arandia College, where a player named Arejola completely lost control, chasing and attacking an opposing player in this bench-clearing brawl that looked more like something from a street fight than a professional sporting event. And it got me thinking – when we see male athletes displaying this level of passion (or let's be honest, aggression), we often frame it as "competitive fire," something that somehow justifies the massive paychecks they receive. Yet when we look at women's soccer, where the professionalism and dedication are just as intense if not more so, we're still having conversations about whether these athletes deserve equal compensation.

The numbers tell a story that should make us all uncomfortable. While Cristiano Ronaldo makes approximately $125 million annually and Lionel Messi pulls in around $110 million, the highest-paid women's soccer player, Sam Kerr, earns about $650,000 from her club salary – and that's considered exceptional in women's football. The average salary in England's Women's Super League sits around $47,000 annually, while in the U.S. NWSL, it's roughly $54,000. Meanwhile, the average male Premier League player earns over $3.9 million per year. That's not just a gap – that's a chasm that reflects how we value different kinds of athletic excellence.

What fascinates me about this disparity is how disconnected it is from actual performance metrics and fan engagement. The 2019 Women's World Cup final drew an estimated 1.12 billion viewers globally, making it one of the most-watched sporting events of that year. The U.S. women's national team has consistently outperformed their male counterparts, winning four World Cup titles compared to the men's zero. Yet when we look at compensation, the U.S. women's team fought for years to achieve pay equity, finally reaching a landmark agreement in 2022 that still doesn't fully bridge the revenue-sharing gap with the men's program. There's something fundamentally wrong with a system where success and market interest don't automatically translate to fair compensation.

I've spoken with women athletes who describe the mental gymnastics required to maintain peak performance while knowing their male counterparts are earning fifty times their salary for similar – and sometimes inferior – achievements. One player told me she had to work two additional jobs during the off-season just to make ends meet, while the male players she knew were buying second homes and investing in business ventures. This isn't just about money – it's about what we as a society value, what we choose to watch, what sponsors decide to support, and how media coverage shapes these perceptions. The Arejola incident received more viral attention than the entire last season of the Women's Super League in some markets, and that visibility imbalance directly impacts earning potential.

Here's where I think we need to be honest about the structural barriers. The investment in women's sports infrastructure has historically been minimal compared to men's sports. Training facilities, medical support, marketing budgets – all these elements create a foundation that enables higher revenue generation and, consequently, higher salaries. When FIFA allocated $30 million for the 2019 Women's World Cup prize money compared to $400 million for the 2018 men's tournament, they weren't just reflecting existing disparities – they were reinforcing them. We're caught in this circular logic where lower investment leads to slower growth, which then gets used to justify continued underinvestment.

But I'm optimistic about the changing tide. The 2023 Women's World Cup saw record-breaking attendance and broadcasting deals, with FIFA increasing the total prize money to $110 million – still far from equal, but moving in the right direction. Major brands are increasingly recognizing the value of partnering with women's sports, with sponsorship deals growing at approximately 15% annually compared to 5% for men's sports. We're seeing clubs like Barcelona Femení draw over 91,000 fans to Camp Nou, shattering previous records for women's football attendance. These aren't small victories – they're indicators of a shifting landscape where the commercial value of women's soccer is finally being acknowledged.

What the Arejola incident represents to me is the different standards we apply to men's and women's sports. When male athletes display intense emotion, we often romanticize it as passion for the game. When women show similar intensity, they risk being labeled "emotional" or "unprofessional." This double standard extends to compensation discussions, where women are expected to be grateful for incremental improvements while men negotiate from positions of established privilege. I've noticed in contract negotiations that women athletes often approach the table with different expectations – not because they're less competitive, but because the ecosystem has conditioned them to expect less.

The solution requires multiple approaches – from implementing equal pay policies like Norway's football association did in 2017, to changing how we consume sports media, to supporting women's leagues with our viewership and merchandise purchases. As fans, we have more power than we realize. When we choose to watch a women's match instead of reruns of men's games, when we buy jerseys of our favorite women players, when we demand that broadcasters provide equal coverage – we're voting with our attention and our wallets. The U.S. women's national team's battle for equal pay succeeded largely because of fan pressure and public awareness.

Looking forward, I believe we're at a tipping point. The generation of young athletes growing up today expects equality in a way previous generations didn't. They're digital natives who can instantly compare statistics, achievements, and yes – salaries. They're not buying the old excuses about market forces being immutable. They understand that markets are shaped by human decisions, investments, and priorities. The dramatic growth in women's soccer viewership among younger demographics suggests that the future commercial viability is not just possible – it's inevitable.

In the end, the conversation about salary disparities goes beyond mere numbers on a paycheck. It's about how we value excellence regardless of gender, how we build sporting cultures that celebrate achievement without bias, and how we create pathways for future generations to pursue their athletic dreams without financial sacrifice. The Arejola incident, for all its negativity, sparked conversations about passion in sports. Now we need to have equally passionate conversations about fairness in sports compensation. Because when we fix the pay gap, we're not just writing bigger checks – we're acknowledging that excellence deserves recognition, regardless of who demonstrates it.