Lakers raise season ticket prices after Mark Walter takes over as majority owner

The Los Angeles Lakers sent out their 2026-207 season ticket renewal notice on Friday and the email hit fans inboxes like a cold wind off Figueroa. 

Just a few months after Mark Walter officially became the majority owner of one of the most decorated franchises in NBA history, one of his first orders of business is to hit fans where it hurts the most — their wallets. 

According to emails obtained by the California Post, Walter has raised ticket prices by at least 14 percent and also added a tidy little 3 percent “admin fee.” Because nothing says gratitude to loyal fans like a surcharge wrapped in corporate language. 

One season ticket holder, ten years deep in purple and gold loyalty, posted his reality online. Section 303. Row 15. The last row in the building. Five seats. About $15,000 this past season. His new invoice? $22,000.

A $7,000 jump. Overnight. Nearly a 50 percent increase. 

More season ticket holders posted their increases as well. 25 percent? 30 percent? How about 67 percent, according to one fan’s new invoice.

And the worst part? No more payment plans without penalty.

No warning. No championship parade attached to it. Just a new owner and a new bill.

If you’re surprised, you haven’t been paying attention.

Walter’s track record across town with the Los Angeles Dodgers is clear: invest heavily, build a powerhouse, and don’t apologize for charging a premium. The Dodgers became a financial and competitive juggernaut under his watch. They won. They spent. They built an empire in Chavez Ravine.

They also steadily raised the cost of entry.

Now that blueprint has crossed from Dodger Stadium to Crypto.com Arena.

Let’s not pretend this is about inflation. The broader economy didn’t spike 14% in one year. This is about philosophy. Walter is not in the nostalgia business. He’s in the asset-maximization business. The Lakers are not just a team; they are a global brand, a luxury product, a Hollywood experience wrapped in hardwood.

And luxury products don’t go on sale. They only go up in price. 

The irony is almost poetic. For years, Lakers fans pointed across town and smirked at Dodgers price hikes, telling themselves basketball was different. That the Buss family aura carried something more intimate, more connected to the fan base. That courtside wasn’t just for A-list actors, corporations and tech CEOs. That the upper bowl still belonged to teachers, firefighters, and lifelong diehards who saved all year for 41 nights inside the house that Shaq and Kobe built. 

But ownership changes culture. And culture changes cost.

Walter’s defenders will argue — not incorrectly — that winning isn’t cheap. If the Lakers are going to chase titles aggressively in a Western Conference arms race, if they’re going to spend deep into the luxury tax, upgrade facilities, invest in analytics, and keep superstars in town, revenue has to rise somewhere. The NBA’s financial ecosystem rewards aggression. The Lakers have always operated at a premium. This is simply the next evolution.

That’s the business case.

The emotional case is murkier.

Because what’s being tested isn’t just purchasing power — it’s loyalty. Section 303, Row 15 isn’t celebrity row. It’s the last line of sight before the rafters swallow you whole. When that view costs $22,000 for five seats, you start to ask who this experience is really for.

The Lakers are not a niche product. They are civic identity. They are Kareem and Magic, Kobe and Shaq, LeBron and Luka. The banners hang like sacred scripture above the court. Fathers bring their sons. Mothers bring their daughters. Generations of Lakers fans stitched together by purple and gold glory as well as shared heartbreak.  

So when the barrier to entry rises this sharply, that generational stitching begins to fray.

And here’s the truth no one in the executive suite will say out loud: raising prices is easy in Los Angeles. Demand rarely disappears. There’s always another buyer. Another corporation. Another influencer looking for visibility. Walter understands market leverage. He’s proven that much.

But markets don’t measure sentiment. They don’t calculate resentment. They don’t quantify the slow erosion of goodwill.

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This isn’t a referendum on whether Mark Walter will build a winner. His history suggests he probably will. The Dodgers became a machine under his leadership. The Lakers may very well follow that path — deeper rosters, smarter infrastructure, sustained contention.

The real question is what kind of crowd will be watching when they hang the next banner.

Will it still sound the same? Will it still feel the same? Or will it echo a little differently, a little more curated, a little less organic?

Fourteen percent may look modest in a spreadsheet. In a household budget, it hits harder. In a city already squeezed by impossible housing costs, rising gas prices, and everyday survival, it feels like another reminder that access is becoming a privilege rather than a tradition.

Walter didn’t buy the Lakers to operate timidly. He bought them to scale them.

The purple and gold will likely shine brighter than ever in the global marketplace. The brand will expand. The revenue will climb.

But as the invoices land in inboxes across Southern California, one thing is clear: the cost of loyalty just went up.

And for fans sitting in Section 303, Row 15, that might be the most painful stat of all.