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To Thom Brenneman: We have mutuals, so maybe you'll see. If not, this is for everyone.
As a lifelong Reds fan, someone who worked in sports, and yes, gay, I can't quite get your apology out of my head. Here's why—and why I want you to understand the weight of this. (THREAD)
As a lifelong Reds fan, someone who worked in sports, and yes, gay, I can't quite get your apology out of my head. Here's why—and why I want you to understand the weight of this. (THREAD)
Let me start with two stories. The first one is short: For me and many others, your voice is an ever-present part of pleasant memories and a gateway. I shared a lot of those memories with my mom and dad—and I know those connections mean something to you. You hold power, there.
The second story is a little different: It's about the most recent time—before I heard your hot mic—that I heard someone really lean into the word f**.
I was in an area of Boston that is notoriously gay-friendly. You might even call it a "f— capital." It had been a lovely day.
I was in an area of Boston that is notoriously gay-friendly. You might even call it a "f— capital." It had been a lovely day.
Then, feet from me, a man walked by, his walk confident and his shorts short. This was all it took for a group of men to harass him from a nearby balcony.
It culminated in a "you fucking f—t" so absolutely dripping with violence. And I was shocked by my own response.
It culminated in a "you fucking f—t" so absolutely dripping with violence. And I was shocked by my own response.
You see, I thought I'd steeled myself to this word. I'd heard it plenty. I consider myself resilient.
But immediately I was 15 again. Hearing that word. Wondering if I'd been found out. Wondering if I would have to go with fight or flight. Feeling unsafe, unclean, unwelcome.
But immediately I was 15 again. Hearing that word. Wondering if I'd been found out. Wondering if I would have to go with fight or flight. Feeling unsafe, unclean, unwelcome.
I was haunted by that feeling for days. Why had it come up? Why wasn't I past it? What was it about these men and their tone that turned a stupid word into violence?
And of course, it's history. A history that exists when you're sitting in the announcer booth.
And of course, it's history. A history that exists when you're sitting in the announcer booth.
The word is not just locker room talk—whatever that means. It's not just something guys say but don't mean.
It's one of the last words many people heard before the worst moments of their lives.
If "f** capitals" exist, Thom, it's because queer people felt the need to escape.
It's one of the last words many people heard before the worst moments of their lives.
If "f** capitals" exist, Thom, it's because queer people felt the need to escape.
Which gets me to your apology. It was clear you understood the weight of this moment for you. You know how quickly a hot mic can become a lost job.
But it wasn't clear you understood the weight of your words. Or the weight of signaling such a thought on a sports broadcast.
But it wasn't clear you understood the weight of your words. Or the weight of signaling such a thought on a sports broadcast.
To be clear, I'm not after your job. I'm not sure I want another person to become a martyr for those who decry "cancel culture."
But I do hope you understand how you contributed to an environment that would feel unsafe for a queer person. Not just your booth, but baseball.
But I do hope you understand how you contributed to an environment that would feel unsafe for a queer person. Not just your booth, but baseball.
I've been in that world. I've heard f** said casually and viciously. I've felt I had to keep a closet door half-closed to safeguard opportunities—or myself. And I know there are fans, closeted players and youth who fear the game will never welcome them. You contributed to that.
Which brings me back to my first story:
I think I'm particularly affected this morning because your voice once represented something sacred to me: Time spent with those I love, with a team we shared.
Now all I can hear is how easily you said that word. And the tone of disdain.
I think I'm particularly affected this morning because your voice once represented something sacred to me: Time spent with those I love, with a team we shared.
Now all I can hear is how easily you said that word. And the tone of disdain.
Baseball has always been complicated for me. I watched from a crib as my dad coached. It's one of my first loves. The source of some of my first best friends.
It's also where I heard "f**" the first time. It's where a teammate told me, he'd kill any gay man who hit on him.
It's also where I heard "f**" the first time. It's where a teammate told me, he'd kill any gay man who hit on him.
So I'll end:
Thom Brennaman, you and others (e.g. sports journalists on my feed) hold more power than you know to shift that narrative. Many players already do. You're a gateway to the game. You hold a lot of keys.
Next time you apologize, remember that, and open a damn door.
Thom Brennaman, you and others (e.g. sports journalists on my feed) hold more power than you know to shift that narrative. Many players already do. You're a gateway to the game. You hold a lot of keys.
Next time you apologize, remember that, and open a damn door.
