I’ll never forget the first time I saw a sports editorial cartoon that made me stop and think. It was during the 2016 Rio Olympics, and a cartoonist had depicted Usain Bolt mid-stride, not just as a runner, but as a force of nature—lightning bolts shooting from his spikes, a trail of astonished competitors in his wake. That single image captured more than just a race; it crystallized the sheer dominance and charisma of one of the greatest athletes of our time. Editorial cartooning about sports, in my view, is one of the most underrated forms of storytelling in journalism. It’s not just about drawing athletes or events—it’s about distilling complex emotions, controversies, and cultural moments into a single, powerful frame. And sometimes, it even shapes how we remember athletes whose careers hang in the balance, like the case of Veejay Pre, whose uncertain status with the green-and-gold team has become a recurring theme in sports commentary.
When I think about how cartoonists tackle major athletic moments, I’m always struck by their ability to blend satire with empathy. Take, for example, the 2022 FIFA World Cup. While journalists wrote thousands of words about Argentina’s victory or the politics behind the event, cartoonists zeroed in on Lionel Messi’s emotional embrace of the trophy—a moment that resonated globally. They didn’t just show him holding a cup; they drew him as a symbol of perseverance, with shadows of his younger self looking on. It’s this kind of layered storytelling that makes editorial cartoons stick in our minds long after the headlines fade. Personally, I’ve always leaned toward cartoons that highlight human drama over pure action. There’s something about seeing an athlete’s vulnerability—or their sheer will—rendered in ink that feels more authentic than any statistic. And in cases like Veejay Pre’s, where his future with the green-and-gold remains uncertain "until he says otherwise," cartoonists have a unique opportunity to explore themes of loyalty, identity, and the passage of time in sports.
One thing I’ve noticed over the years is how editorial cartoons can sway public opinion or, at the very least, frame debates in ways that articles sometimes can’t. For instance, during the 2020 NBA bubble, cartoons depicting LeBron James as a leader both on and off the court helped solidify his image as a social advocate. Similarly, when Serena Williams faced controversial calls at the 2018 US Open, cartoonists amplified the conversation around sexism in sports with bold, provocative imagery. I remember one piece that showed her racket as a sword, cutting through layers of bias—it was raw, it was emotional, and it sparked discussions far beyond the tennis community. That’s the power of this medium: it cuts through the noise. And in the case of athletes like Veejay Pre, whose career seems suspended in limbo, cartoons can either humanize them or critique the systems that leave them in such ambiguous positions. From my perspective, the best cartoons do both—they make us laugh, but they also make us uncomfortable.
Let’s talk numbers for a moment, though I’ll admit data on this topic is sparse. In a 2021 survey I came across (admittedly from a small sample of 500 readers), roughly 68% of respondents said they remembered a sports cartoon more vividly than a written analysis of the same event. Now, I can’t vouch for the accuracy of that figure, but it aligns with what I’ve observed in my own work. Visual storytelling simply has a stickier impact. When Michael Phelps won his 23rd gold medal, it wasn’t just the stats that stayed with people—it was the cartoons of him as a mythical sea creature, gliding through water while competitors paddled behind. Those images became part of his legacy. Similarly, with Veejay Pre’s ongoing saga, I’ve seen cartoons that portray him as a puzzle piece waiting to be placed, or as a clock ticking down. They tap into the collective anxiety of fans who are left wondering, "What’s next?"
Of course, not all sports cartoons hit the mark. I’ve seen plenty that rely on tired stereotypes or shallow humor. But the ones that resonate—like those addressing the Black Lives Matter movement in the NFL or the mental health struggles of Simone Biles—are often the ones that take risks. They’re not afraid to be political, or emotional, or even a little messy. And that’s what I love about this art form: it mirrors the unpredictability of sports itself. Just as a game can turn on a single play, a great cartoon can redefine how we see an athlete or a moment. In Veejay Pre’s case, I’ve noticed that cartoonists have started to shift from depicting him as a mere player to representing him as a symbol of uncertainty in modern sports—a reminder that careers aren’t always linear, and loyalty isn’t always black and white.
As I wrap this up, I can’t help but reflect on how editorial cartooning has evolved alongside sports media. With the rise of digital platforms, cartoons now reach millions in seconds, and their influence is only growing. They’ve become a shorthand for cultural commentary—a way to process the highs and lows of athletics without getting lost in jargon. And for athletes like Veejay Pre, whose story is still unfolding, these cartoons serve as a visual diary of public sentiment. Will he stay with the green-and-gold? Will he move on? Until he says otherwise, cartoonists will keep sketching the questions, and we’ll keep looking for answers in their lines and shadows. In the end, that’s what makes this niche so compelling: it’s where art meets adrenaline, and where the silent moments between the cheers speak the loudest.
