I Can't Play Football Anymore

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been infatuated by the sport of football. The excitement and thrill of scoring, to the hero status of saving a penalty to the villainy of brandishing a red card, my experiences in the game are wide-ranging and varied. Great memories, terrible memories and having a punch thrown at you whilst officiating, I have a lot in the memory bank when it comes to the nation’s favourite sport.

Except, when it comes to homosexuality, football turns from the self-labelled "beautiful game" into an ugly, self-hating arena of medieval torture. I started playing the game when I was 6, playing in 20 minute halves and chasing after the ball with my parents cheering us forward on the sidelines. For 8 years, my love of the game had no barriers. By the time I turned 14, I’d quit the game to take up refereeing, (the youngest age one can qualify as an official), but a year later, my love for the sport was challenged by a discovery about myself that would end up conflicting two very important parts of me.

(I am aware that 15 is quite late to realise about being gay… I was always late to the party!)

I hope I did a good job throughout the seven years I was a referee, bearing in mind I spent most of those seven years battling internal demons. I officiated in games for professional clubs at youth level, (Luton Town, Aston Villa & Oxford United to name drop a few) and in the United Counties League which was, and still is, a rough and tumble league that covers the East of England, along with local leagues. I’d like to think I had a promising future.

With hormones flying, I found myself officiating games, (naturally with players shouting at you!) whilst finding some of those players attractive. It was an odd and quite off-putting experience. But liking football almost makes masking my true self easier. Gay footballers didn't exist. As most people know, the sport of football finds itself decades behind when it comes to LGBT acceptance. The first professional player to come out as gay, Justin Fashanu, committed suicide in 1998. There are only a few “out” players worldwide even now, the most prominent of which is Robbie Rogers who plays for Los Angeles Galaxy in the top league in the USA.

As an official, receiving abuse was part and parcel of the job. None of it was personal, and I could handle 99% of it, but with my secret firmly lodged in the back of my brain, I ploughed on. I never came out during my time as an official. I never came out during my brief return as a player when I was 19. Despite me “going public” about it in November 2012, it was a topic I firmly avoided during 2014/15, when I last played. I spent the entire time wondering if people knew, whilst we all got changed in front of each other. While determined to be myself, it was an experience I don’t want to repeat.

We come to my latest struggle. I want to get back involved in the sport, playing for 90 minutes in the high-octane action of a football match, but my sexuality stops me. I can’t put myself through the battle of facing homophobia every Saturday afternoon. The homophobic slurs thrown around as if they were nothing. I can't just forget about that one game where I was systematically targeted for being gay on a football pitch, yet we find ourselves in a climate where the people doing it would call it "tactical".

Or "banter".

I can’t put myself through the whole cycle of coming out to a new team, when that fear of rejection still plagues the back of my mind. Yes, I may be more confident and comfortable than that terrified 15-year old, but that fear still exists. Especially in a sport that does next to nothing to challenge it.

That is sad.

I am stopped from playing the sport I love because of who I am, and being brave enough to stand up to it all and be proud in the football arena is a hurdle too high for me. It’s why my admiration for Robbie Rogers is sky-high, for he is strong enough to be himself in a sport that ignores fans who verbally abuse and beat up those of us like him.

I could play somewhere completely new and not tell anyone, but the lies would start. “No I don’t have a girlfriend” etc. etc. Going back to the days of making sure all the stories match and not giving away my secret. Worrying the night before that someone has found out and all the guys are going to round up and take the piss out of you for it. Those days were traumatic and returning to the sport I love is not enough of an incentive to fight through that either.

Frankly, I don’t see why I should have to lie anymore. But also, I need to protect myself from potential hatred; a hatred I have avoided for a couple of years now. Walking back into the bear pit would open up the box I'd locked away and I don't think I can re-open it.