By: Kaja Antic, Sports Writer
I’ve loved sports since I was young. From the moment Sidney Crosby scored the “Golden Goal” at the 2010 Winter Olympics, I was enthralled. As a kid, I regularly watched hockey, football, tennis — and even golf occasionally — when spending time with my grandparents. While my attention towards sports wavered through high school as I tried to fit a “moody performing arts kid” stereotype, it came back with a force once I graduated. I rediscovered my passion for sports, starting with my love for hockey that never really went away. I’ve grown to love soccer, baseball, motorsports, and professional wrestling, with the same awe that seven-year-old Kaja had watching Crosby score.
I’ve also known I was queer since I was young.
I didn’t have the words to express myself at first, pushing myself in elementary school to “like” boys like how all the girls did on TV. I tried to find a mix between what was considered “girly,” like loving the colour pink, or something that was reserved for boys, like loving hockey or Star Wars. I knew I was different, putting on some sort of act I now recognize as compulsory heterosexuality — trying to emulate the “normal” things girls were supposed to do.
I first learned about the 2SLGBTQIA+ community when I started high school, but that was mainly due to my activity in the Once Upon A Time Instagram fandom. At first, I just thought I was a really good ally. It wasn’t until I was nearly 14 that I came out to my friends. I waited over three more years to come out to my family.
Over the past few years, I’ve spent more of my time involved in sports in some capacity. I spend most of my evenings at ice rinks, and know the layout of BC Place better than the layout of the campus I’ve attended for three years. My social media algorithms are full of everything from F1 highlights to funny WWE moments to animals interrupting MLB games.
Still, I feel like I’m constantly hiding a part of myself in some sense of preservation.
I don’t hide the fact I am queer. I don’t hide the fact that I use she/they pronouns. I’m not intentionally placing myself back in the closet, though sometimes in these sports circles I feel it would be better off if I did.
“I know I should expect it, especially in the hyper masculine sphere of men’s sports, but it still hurts to know that those surrounding me in the arenas might hate me if they knew more. That even though we were the same jersey, they hate me for something I cannot control.”
I’ve told myself time and time again to not check the comments or replies anytime a post mentions any 2SLGBTQIA+ identities in the slightest. Sometimes, though, it feels like I can’t look away.
Whether it’s a post about a team pride night, pride merchandise, acknowledgement of a local 2SLGBTQIA+ organization, or even a video of an athlete doing a simple dance with their family, there’s always something in the comments spewing hatred. I know I should expect it, especially in the hyper masculine sphere of men’s sports, but it still hurts to know that those surrounding me in the arenas might hate me if they knew more. That even though we were the same jersey, they hate me for something I cannot control.
I know it’s not healthy for me to try and change their minds, I’m just so sick of the sports I love not loving me back. I’ve spent countless hours watching NHL hockey, and while it didn’t surprise me to see the commissioner call pride jerseys a “distraction,” it really hurt. Not just me as a queer adult, but also me as a little kid, just trying to fit in in a community that tries to push her out.
I also recognize the inherent privilege I have. I’m white. I have a decently accepting family. I don’t remember a time where marriage equality was an issue in Canada. I don’t constantly have to fight for my right to exist.
As international politics now veer to the right, the silently tolerant have now grown to the loudly hateful. Sports used to be my break from reality, but the broader communities have turned it into the reinforcement of what I sought to escape.
Still, nothing changes if I leave. Existing in a space that was not made to include me is my form of resistance. I love sports, and I love being queer. Nothing about myself has to change, and to those that want me to do so — I’ll still be here, whether you like it or not.
