Coming Out to Play, page 18
By the time I met with Jason I’d already decided to go back to playing professional soccer and my contract was in the works. I naïvely thought it was going to be an easy process because I already I knew I wasn’t going to play anywhere but in Los Angeles near my family, so that meant the LA Galaxy or Chivas, the other team in L.A. That’s what I told my agent about two weeks after I’d started practicing with the Galaxy.
I’d also talked to my mom to see what she thought. I told her that I’d been having a good time and thought I could go back to playing and helping people and enjoying it. She said, “I knew you were going to go back. That would be amazing.” I said, “I’m only going to do it if I can play here in L.A., so you guys can come and I can have that support system, because what if things don’t go that well?” She agreed and said, “That’s probably the smart thing to do.” My mom knew all too well what had happened in the past when I took a big step far from home, from my family and friends, and she watched as I crashed and burned. I’m sure she didn’t want that to happen again. I also talked to my dad and to my sister Alicia, and they agreed with my mom and said essentially, “We know soccer has made you happy for a long time, but only do it if it’d make you happy and if you’re comfortable doing it.”
So I called my agent and asked him to sound out the Galaxy to see if they were interested in having me sign on. And they were, but there was a hitch. The Chicago Fire Soccer Club owned my rights, which meant they had to agree to trade me to the LA Galaxy. For reasons that really don’t make sense to me, when I left the United States for Leeds the Columbus Crew still retained my ownership rights. That’s just how it works in Major League Soccer. While I was gone, Columbus traded my rights to Chicago. And it turned out that the Chicago Fire didn’t want to let me go without getting something in return—money or players. When my agent told me this, I said, “Look, tell them I’m going back mostly to help people, to set an example, and they’re being rats about this.” I’m sure my agent didn’t use that exact language when he went back to them, but whatever he said, they wouldn’t budge. So I asked to meet with the owners, who live here in Los Angeles.
At the meeting I said, “I’m not going back to playing if I have to move to Chicago. I’m only going back if I can play in L.A. I’ve had an amazing year, but it’s also been a rough year and I need to be near my family and friends for support.” I went on to explain that I really wanted to go back to help people, to make a difference, that by returning to professional soccer my example would have a positive impact on young gay athletes who wanted to play professional sports and, for that matter, on all gay people who had felt like outcasts. “If they see that I can go back and play the sport I’ve always loved,” I said, “then they’ll see that they can do what they love, too, without being afraid that being gay will hold you back.” The owners told me they understood, that they’d make it easy. But they didn’t.
What happened next went on behind the scenes, so I only learned about it after the deal was done. Mike Magee—who is an amazing athlete who had done a lot as a player for the Galaxy—was from Chicago, had a new baby girl, and wanted to be near his family. So when he heard about the possibility of a trade involving me, he asked to be the one who was traded. Given that Mike is such a great player, the Galaxy never would have traded me for Mike if he hadn’t asked, so I have a lot to thank him for. We both got to go home.
While the deal was still being worked out I continued to train with the Galaxy and on May 12 celebrated my twenty-sixth birthday, which was a birthday celebration unlike any I’d ever had in the past. I invited some of my gay friends and some of my former high school classmates, who were straight, to join me for dinner at a restaurant and then we all went out to the Abbey, which is a West Hollywood gay bar and restaurant. For my straight friends it was their first time at a gay bar. I thought they might feel a bit awkward, but they all loved it, and danced and had a great time. It was something new to them and afterward they said they wanted to go back.
I was amazed! If you’d told me just a year before that this was how I’d be spending my birthday I never would have believed that my straight high school classmates would be supportive of me—let alone accept me—that they’d have no problem hanging out with my gay friends, that they’d enjoy going along with all of us to a gay bar, that they’d dance with us, and that they would want to go back. I’m gay, they’re not, but all that mattered to them was to be there for me, and I found that very moving. And even though years before when I’d been their friend in high school I’d heard homophobic stuff come out of their mouths—which made me feel terrible about myself—I came away from that celebration knowing that my straight friends were fundamentally good guys.
Twelve days after my birthday celebration I signed with the Galaxy. Once the announcement went out, I was interviewed by a lot of reporters and asked what it felt like to be going back to professional soccer. What I said to USA Today sums up best what was on my mind. I said, “I want to compete on the field. I want to make it back to the national team. I want to be a role model. I have a lot of motivating factors working for me right now. There’s a lot to be excited about. It’s awesome to be part of a movement that is changing our society.”
I figured it would be a few weeks before I played in my first game—I still had a long way to go in my training—but on the day I signed, Bruce Arena told me, “We might play you this weekend against the Seattle Sounders.” All I could think was Okay, here we go! I wasn’t fit or sharp or anything, but I was excited about the possibility of playing again. Nervous, too. It was all new. A new team. A new stadium (the StubHub in Los Angeles). New fans. And a new uniform, too. They asked me what number I wanted and I chose 14, which was the number I’d worn in training. Johan Cruyff, a really good Dutch player I admired when I was younger, and who played the same position as I did, wore number 14, so that was perfect.
The Sounders game was set for Sunday, May 26, and driving over to the stadium that evening I was really scared. Not the scary feeling I’d always had about the possibility of someone finding out I was gay. This time I was scared because I wanted to represent myself and my team and my family well and was worried that people would criticize me if I played poorly. And I felt the additional pressure of representing gay athletes and the larger gay community. I was also nervous about how the fans would react. And there was always the possibility that I’d never get off the bench and that made me nervous, too. So to take my mind off everything, I called Alicia and we talked about Jeffrey. It helped.
Getting ready in the locker room wasn’t really different from when I was training with the team, but now we were getting ready for a game and I had to remind myself that some of the nervousness I was feeling in the pit of my stomach was just left over from when I was still hiding. Something I’ve discovered is that just because you’re not hiding anymore doesn’t mean those old feelings of fear just evaporate. I’d been hiding for so long and scared for so long that the bad feelings were automatic. I was going to have to train myself to be normal and not always on guard that someone was going to say something that hurt, or fearful that I’d get drawn into a conversation where I had to lie or sidestep a question.
The twenty-seven-thousand-seat stadium was filled nearly to capacity with about twenty-five thousand fans, including my whole family: my mom and dad, my grandparents, Alicia, Coco, Timmy, Katie, some of their partners, and some of my friends. Before the game Sigi Schmid, my old coach from the Columbus Crew, who was now the Seattle Sounders’ coach, walked over to our bench to say hello. He gave me a really warm hug and said, “Good to have you back.” Marc Burch, who was now a Sounders substitute, along with a few other former teammates and friends, also came over to say hello and wish me luck.
There are always several photographers and reporters at games, so it was nothing out of the ordinary that a few of them were taking my picture, and there were a handful of reporters who wanted to ask me questions, including a guy from ESPN, who asked what my dream scenario would be for how the game might play out. I said that it would be perfect if we were up 4–0 and I came in for the last ten or fifteen minutes of the game. And that’s exactly what happened.
With thirteen minutes left in the game we were up 4–0, and I was called in to replace midfielder Juninho. As I ran out onto the field to play professional soccer for the first time as a whole person, whatever nervousness I’d been feeling disappeared. I could hear the crowd cheer and could feel the huge ear-to-ear smile on my face. Apparently there were fans chanting my last name, and although I couldn’t hear it myself, it was an incredible adrenaline rush to soak up the roar of the crowd. It was one of the happiest moments of my life, especially knowing that my family was there to share it with me and were cheering along with everyone else for the real Robbie Rogers.
It was really great how so many of the guys made me feel welcome. As soon as I ran onto the field for warm-ups I got hugs from a couple of my old teammates, Brad Evans and Marcus Hahnemann, who both were playing for Seattle. Brad and I had been roommates when we played for the Columbus Crew, and Marcus and I both had been on the national team.
And when I stepped onto the field to play I couldn’t have felt more at ease or more normal—more normal than I’d ever felt before. Then it was just a matter of doing what I’d always done in the past, which was playing my part on the field. I felt like I did fine. I touched the ball a few times, made a tackle, and completed some passes. It was an easy game for me because we were up 4–0, we had the ball, and Seattle wasn’t playing that well.
The best thing of all that day was having my family in the stands and knowing that they were there for me and not someone I pretended to be. That made me happier than when I won the MLS Cup. Whether or not I scored, whether we won or lost, I was just happy to be able to share that experience with them.
After the game there was a press conference with maybe a couple dozen media people. If I had to recall what I said in the moment I couldn’t tell you because it was all a blur, but what I said to Billy Witz at the New York Times is what I remember feeling: “It was really perfect. We won, which is most important. My family was here, my friends. My grandparents. I’ve kind of been on this huge journey trying to figure out my life. And now I’m back here. I think kind of where I’m supposed to be.”
After the game I took an ice bath to keep my knee from swelling up, took a shower, and went home. I had training the next day, so I couldn’t go out with my family to celebrate, although I called them when I got home. Everyone congratulated me and said it was great to have me back. It was great to be back!
That night, when I got into bed, I said my prayers and thanked God for giving me the courage to go back to playing professional soccer. For what felt like the first time in my life, I was really at the place in life where I felt like I was meant to be.
POSTSCRIPT
FEBRUARY 2014
I woke up on May 27, 2013, to news headlines about my “historic” return to soccer and, just like when I first came out in my blog post a few months before, messages flooded in from friends, old teammates, and coaches, as well as politicians and celebrities congratulating me on being the “first openly gay man to play in one of North America’s top five men’s professional sports.” One of my favorites came from Ellen DeGeneres, who tweeted: “I’m proud of Robbie Rogers and his team, the LA Galaxy. What an incredible weekend for acceptance, for sports, and equality.”
I’m no expert on the history of gay people in sports, but I knew there were a lot of openly gay and lesbian athletes who were “firsts” before me and were firsts in much more difficult times. I owe a debt of gratitude to people like Justin Fashanu, Billie Jean King, Greg Louganis, and all the other brave gay and lesbian athletes who had the courage to step forward before me. Some, like NFL player Dave Kopay, who came out in the mid-1970s, were already retired when they announced they were gay. Others, like tennis star Martina Navratilova, came out while they were still actively engaged in their careers.
And, to be honest, I could easily argue that I’m not even the first openly gay man to play in one of the top five men’s professional sports in North America. Glenn Burke, who played baseball for both the Los Angeles Dodgers and the Oakland A’s from 1976 to 1979, was up front about being gay with just about everyone he knew and even talked to reporters about it. But back in those days sports journalists didn’t write about homosexuality, period. Burke died of AIDS-related causes in 1995, and I first read about him last year in an article by Allen Barra that was published in the Atlantic.
Whatever my place in history, on the morning of May 27 there was no disputing that I was the only openly gay man playing in one of the top five men’s professional sports in North America. (I know there are some sportswriters who don’t think Major League Soccer should be included along with football, basketball, baseball, and hockey, but I think they’re wrong and so do millions of soccer fans.) And because of my status as a “first” and/or “only,” I’ve had lots of opportunities to make a difference by speaking publicly about my experiences. Having a public platform also inspired me to launch an anti-discrimination campaign—called BEYOND “it”—that goes beyond labels and stereotypes to celebrate what makes us unique. The point of the campaign, which I developed with a group of really talented straight guys, is to embrace difference in a way that makes us stronger instead of driving us apart.
I’d like to leave you with just three examples of memorable experiences I’ve had in the past year that were important lessons for me. The first forced me to recognize that I still have a lot to learn about living an open life. The second taught me that no matter who you are and where you live, being gay still makes you a potential target for other people’s hatred. And the third experience reminded me to be optimistic, because there’s every reason to hope that before long no young LGBT athletes dreaming of a pro career will have to live in secrecy as I did just so they can play the sports they love.
The first experience that proved to be an important lesson was one I walked into without thinking. And that was the problem.
I’ve surprised myself by how comfortable I’ve been sharing my story in the media, with my teammates, with friends, and even with my family. What’s been a lot harder is sharing what I think of as my “personal life”—the things straight people routinely talk about, like dating and relationships, but are exactly the things I instinctively don’t talk about. It’s not even that I think about hiding that information. It’s that it doesn’t occur to me to share it, to be open with my family in normal ways. The secrecy is automatic, and coming out publicly didn’t change that instinctive reflex. If I’m really honest with myself, a lot of this is about shame—shame that I’m something I’ve long thought of as sinful, inferior, and a personal defect.
In this case, the thing I chose not to tell my mother—that didn’t occur to me to tell my mother—was that the friend who was joining us for dinner one evening in October 2013 was in fact my boyfriend. And we were having dinner at his house. First, some background. I had met Greg at a party on Pride Day in June and we started dating soon after. I never said a word to my mother about Greg even though from early on I knew that it wasn’t a casual relationship.
Then in October my mother told me that she hadn’t been seeing enough of me since I’d returned from London. She was right. I’d invited my mom to various events I was involved in, but those weren’t the kinds of places where we could actually talk. So I said, “Okay, fine, Mom. How about next Tuesday night? And why don’t you bring Alicia and baby Lily [my new niece] and Jeffrey?” Jeffrey spends most of his time at Alicia’s house these days because I’ve been traveling so much, and consequently he’s become the shared family dog. I’ll let my mom pick the story up from there:
When we got to Robbie’s place he said, “We’re going to have dinner at a friend’s house. But let’s go get some coffee first and go for a walk.” After the walk we get in the car and go to his friend’s house. He introduces us to Greg, who I can tell almost immediately is this wonderful person who wears his soul on his shoulders. But very quickly I sensed that Greg was not just a friend, although I wasn’t quite sure who he was to Robbie. This is familiar, I thought to myself. The way Robbie and Greg interact with each other is familiar.
At some point early in the evening, when I still wasn’t quite getting it, Greg caught me a little off-guard when he said, “I want to tell you, I think it’s really wonderful how you’ve embraced Robbie, how you’ve accepted this.” And I said, “I love my son. What mother wouldn’t?” Greg responded, “Not everyone has had that experience.” So I’m listening and watching and thinking and then I realize, Wait a minute. He’s not just a friend. He knows something about me. He’s talked to Robbie about me. Why would that be? And then it hit me.
I didn’t say anything during the course of the evening but I was thinking, had Robbie been heterosexual and had a wonderful woman come into his life, he would have said, “I’ve met this wonderful woman, I’ve been dating her, this is what I love about her . . .” But with Greg, he hadn’t said a word to me and left me to figure it out on my own.
When I got home that night I called Robbie and said, “My whole life, since you were born, I would pray that someday you would bring home someone wonderful, someone I would love, who I thought would love you and take care of you and make you a better person. And I think I just met that person. Is Greg someone special in your life?”
Now, that’s the moment when I should have come clean with my mother and apologized, but I’d really convinced myself that I hadn’t done anything wrong. I’d already told Alicia about Greg and thought she’d told Mom. And even if she hadn’t, I just assumed Mom would figure it out once she met him, which she did. But clearly that’s not the way you want to introduce your mother to your boyfriend for the first time.
