Out of Left Field
Exactly one year ago, Nick Castellanos hit a drive into deep left field for a home run.
On any other day, it wouldn’t have been on anyone’s radar. After all, it was the second game of a doubleheader between two middling squads in the Reds and the Royals. The game itself wasn’t even that interesting, as his solo shot made it a 4-0 ballgame in the 5th. In fact, if it had happened at any other time, the clip of his homer probably wouldn’t have made it on SportsCenter that night. But outside the confines of an empty Kauffman Stadium, this moment was the only thing the baseball world was talking about. However, it had almost nothing to do with what was actually happening on the field.
Roughly an hour and a half before Castellanos hit his ubiquitous home run, Reds announcer Thom Brennaman was caught on a hot mic in between games, referring to an unspecified city as “one of the fag capitals of the world” in comments that were broadcasted live on the air. Even with the unpredictability of live, unscripted television, it’s not very often that you see someone show their true colors and use a slur like this on a broadcast, and as such, the clip went viral on social media almost immediately.
Like many people, I had first heard about it on Twitter. I don’t remember how many times I listened to the hot mic audio when it was first posted, but I do remember feeling angrier each time I did. It was something about the contempt in the tone of his voice. How flippant he was about it. How casually the word came out of his mouth. Despite his insistence that this was not who he was, it was pretty clear that his actions belied his true feelings.
Thankfully, the backlash to Brennaman’s comments were swift and vocal. So much so that Fox Sports Ohio was compelled to do the right thing and pull him from the broadcast midway through the second game. But before he left his post for (presumably) the last time, Brennaman attempted to save face with an apology - a decision that led to one of the most unfortunate (and hilarious) moments in modern baseball history:
At this point, we all know what happened next. The clip became an instant meme, with “a drive into deep left field by Castellanos” turning into an iconic copypasta that has become a fixture of Baseball Twitter. It even has its own Twitter bot dedicated to the bit (@DriveIntoDeepLF), and it inspired an article on The Ringer about how it was “the perfect meme for these strange times.” But as funny as all the memes about it are, there’s still something sinister behind that moment. To me, members of the LGBTQIA+ community, and other allies, Brennaman’s hot mic comments - and the lazy, half-hearted apology that followed - represented a solemn truth: despite the strides MLB and other sports leagues have attempted to make in recent years, homophobia is still quite prevalent in the industry, from the players on the field, to the people who talk about them for a living.
It is a moment that has made me reflect quite a bit on the relationship baseball has with the LGBTQIA+ community. In that regard, things are certainly much better than they were even a decade ago. Almost every team now hosts an annual Pride Night at their ballparks, MLB has introduced various inclusivity initiatives helmed by Billy Bean, and figures like Glenn Burke are now widely recognized for their contributions (though, strangely, Burke’s Dodgers have done nothing to recognize him or acknowledge their part in ending his career). However, even with this outreach, many people from these communities still feel like they are far from welcome in baseball. Some of this can be attributed to baseball’s abundance of older fans, many of whom spent much of their lives with anti-sodomy laws being the norm. Other parts of this can be attributed to the culture of baseball, and its distinctive resistance to change. And even more can be explained by the general relationship our society has built between queerness, masculinity, and sports. But regardless of the cause, the effect is clear: queer people of all ages are still being pushed out of sports, forced to hide themselves, or are constantly made to feel unwelcome in our communities. And unfortunately, this is something that I know all too well.
But in order to discuss this properly, I feel like I need to reintroduce myself:
Hello, my name is Connor, I love baseball, and I am bisexual.
Though my closest friends have known for years, this is the first time I have ever discussed this publicly. And while there is never really a good time to come out, I feel that this is the right time for me.
However, this was far from a recent discovery. In fact, I had already recognized the fact that I was bi all the way back in high school. It was something that came out of left field for me, a realization that I didn’t quite know how to grasp at the time - and in some ways I still don’t. But due to the environment that surrounded me growing up and how large of a role sports played in my life, it was a part of me that I decided not engage with back then, and one that I often just straight-up denied.
On the various baseball teams I played with throughout middle school and high school, it was pretty common to hear the words fag and queer thrown around pretty loosely. In the locker room. In the dugout. On the bus. Usually as the butt of a joke, an insult, or a provocation. At the time, I didn’t really have a full grasp of what those words meant or the history behind them, all I knew was that they were bad words to use, you weren’t supposed to use them, and that you did not want to be called those names. When they were directed at you, it was more than just an insult, it was a direct attack on your character. As if being queer was something to be ashamed of, something wrong, something that made you somehow less of a man.
To be fair, I can’t necessarily blame them for thinking and acting this way back then - it was a product of how they were raised. I grew up in a very conservative part of a very conservative state, the kind of area where high school athletics matter way too much and so-called “traditional values” were heavily emphasized. Most of us didn’t know any gay or trans people personally, mostly because those people were usually taught to hate that part of themselves from a very young age, and they typically don’t come to accept their identity until they finally leave town and go out on their own. Hell, my high school only had one openly gay person out of a little over 200 students, and this was the case for the other schools in my area as well. Because of this, most of what we knew about the LGBTQIA+ community came from what our parents and Fox News told us about them - mainly that they were Different and Wrong and Tearing the Fabric of Western Civilization. Needless to say, it was not a flattering image, and the fear and anxiety people had about “the gays” all too often reared its head when sports were involved (something we still see today in the conservative furor around trans athletes).
As someone who grew up in this environment, I know firsthand how exhausting it is. Feeling like you have to hide yourself every day. Having to act a certain way in order to not tip people off. Denying a key part of your identity and stunting your personal growth. It’s a big reason why a lot of queer men in particular opt to stay away from sports like baseball, and why the ones who don’t often feel excluded and unwelcome - whether they are out or not. It’s the main reason why the Brennaman incident struck such a chord with me and thousands of other queer baseball fans. It’s the same message of you do not belong here that has defined so many high school, college, and professional locker rooms for decades.
This, of course, is not a problem that MLB or any one sports league can fix, nor can it be magically fixed overnight. However, it is one that we can all work together to change. By making an effort to actively include queer voices in the conversation and provide a welcoming environment for these communities, we can help to erase some of the stigma associated with queerness, build a better, more respectful environment for everyone, and actually grow the game in the process. A key part of this is representation, which is why I felt that it was important for me to come out and share a bit about my experience. The act of coming out might not be as big of a deal as it once was - which is a good thing - but it is still important in an arena like sports, where there are very few openly gay athletes and regressive outlets like Barstool still enjoy mainstream success. I may just be one voice trying to push against that tide, but I hope that my story can help encourage more queer sports creators in the future, and that my work can help create a more welcoming environment that helps us build a bigger, more diverse audience for the game.
My main goal with The Diamond, above all else, is to create a community where people of all different backgrounds can come together to celebrate the game we all love. A place where new fans who have never seen themselves represented in the game before can find a home in baseball - just like we all did when we were younger. And I am more committed to this goal than ever. I remain adamant that the only way to truly grow the game is to invite people in. And as long as I have a platform to do so, I will continue to invite as many people as possible, because I want everyone to be able to appreciate baseball for the beautiful game that it is.
We must remember that this game simultaneously belongs to no one, and to all of us. As such, it is at its best when we are all able to share it together. I hope that one day that can be the case. But until that time, I hope to do whatever I can to build a bigger and better community within the game, and I hope that you join me in this endeavor.
If you would like to learn more about how you can help create a more inclusive sports environment, I have listed some resources down below for some organizations that are working to eliminate discrimination and support LGBTQIA+ athletes