What happens when you hand over a billion-dollar basketball empire to the one sibling nobody thinks is capable of running it?

Chaos.

And that’s exactly what Running Point thrives on.

At first glance, Netflix sells it as a sports comedy. Basketball, locker rooms, franchise politics, celebrity owners—you think you know what you’re signing up for. But here’s the twist: basketball is merely the court on which a deeply dysfunctional family keeps playing emotional full-court press.

Meet the Gordons.

Cam, the eldest brother, is charismatic enough to lead the Waves but reckless enough to land himself in rehab after a drug-fuelled car accident. Ness thinks he deserves authority. Sandy wants relevance. Then there’s Jackie, the illegitimate brother who quietly adds another layer of unresolved family history.

And right in the middle of this beautifully orchestrated mess stands Isla Gordon.

When Cam appoints her as the interim president of the Waves, nobody—not her brothers, not the board, not even the people working under her—believes she belongs in that chair. The first few episodes become a comedy of resistance as everyone waits for Isla to fail spectacularly.

Except… she doesn’t.

She stumbles. She improvises. She overthinks. She panics. And somehow, she keeps finding solutions that leave you thinking, “Wait… she actually pulled that off.”

What makes Isla truly remarkable isn’t just that she survives the chaos—it’s that she refuses to let it define her. She comes from a family where winning is everything and success is measured almost entirely by profits and power. Yet, time and again, she chooses to trust her instincts instead of taking the easy way out. She would rather do right by the people around her than simply make another business decision that looks good on paper. In many ways, Isla becomes the moral compass of the Gordon family, quietly proving that real leadership isn’t about making the most money—it’s about making the right choices, even when they’re the hardest ones.

One aspect I genuinely loved was Isla’s friendship with Ali. In an era where television often manufactures unnecessary rivalry between women, Running Point quietly gives us something refreshing—a woman who consistently has another woman’s back. Ali isn’t simply a colleague; she’s Isla’s sounding board, confidante and, more often than not, the person who reminds her that she’s far more capable than she believes. Their friendship never feels forced; it feels earned. Honestly, it was one of the highlights of the season.

And then there’s Kate Hudson.

I’ve admired her ever since How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, but this version of Kate Hudson feels different. Older. Sharper. Bolder. She owns every room Isla walks into, balancing confidence with vulnerability so effortlessly that you almost forget you’re watching a performance.

She also proves that comedy isn’t just about delivering punchlines. It’s about impeccable timing, awkward silences, spectacular recoveries and finding humour in life’s most impossible situations.

Ironically, if you’re expecting wall-to-wall basketball action, you might be surprised.

The sport itself takes a back seat for most of the season. Yes, the Waves are central to the story, but the real game is boardroom politics, family rivalries, media pressure and the exhausting task of proving yourself to people who’ve already made up their minds about you. It’s only in the finale that the basketball finally takes centre court, with players like Marcus, Badrag and Dyson delivering some genuinely thrilling moments. The pace, the clutch shots, the free throws—it all comes together beautifully. But by then, you realise the matches were never the point. The people were.

In many ways, Running Point feels like a workplace sitcom dressed in a basketball jersey. Every episode resolves one crisis while quietly introducing another. It’s comforting without being predictable, funny without trying too hard, and smart enough to know that the biggest battles aren’t always played on the court.

And then there’s Lev.

Can we please appreciate what an absolute green flag he is in Season 1?

Supportive without being overbearing. Secure without being insecure about Isla’s success. The kind of partner television doesn’t write often enough. Which is probably why it hurts when things don’t work out between them. Sometimes love isn’t undone by a lack of affection; it’s undone by timing.

By the end of the season, I realised something.

I hadn’t stayed for the basketball.

I’d stayed for the Gordons.

For their endless bickering, their unresolved baggage, their impossible family dinners, their spectacularly bad decisions and those fleeting moments when they almost look like a functional family.

Running Point doesn’t try to reinvent the sitcom. What it does instead is take familiar ingredients—a dysfunctional family, workplace politics, sports and sharp humour—and mix them into something immensely binge-worthy. It’s witty, heartfelt, surprisingly insightful and, above all, incredibly entertaining.

Now if you’ll excuse me, Season 2 is waiting.

And after that finale, I don’t think I can keep it waiting for very long.