There are so many ways I could start this. I could try to keep it intensely professional, utilizing the journalism class I took at Florida State University to ensure that this stays clean and neat. I could also have this be an overly complex and cutting deep dive into the psyche of humans and put the psychology minor I absolutely needed to good use.
Instead, I think it should start with a simple introduction.
“Hi, my name is Steve, and I’m gay.”
Writing that down now feels easy, not entirely without some worry, but at this point in my life, I have committed to being out and proud. But that was certainly not the case before a few years ago. I’m 31 now, but in a very odd way, I feel like I have only been truly living for a few years.
I came out at 28 years old. I had fallen in love and decided that that love was more important to me than keeping the peace or staying in the closet. And while that love may have ended, the desire to be out did not.
What does this have to do with fantasy football? Well, a lot, actually.
Fantasy Football: A Mask, a Refuge & an Opportunity
The Mask
The very first time I said I was gay out loud to anyone other than myself was in Tallahassee, Fla. In a tiny apartment I was sharing with my high school best friend. I had transferred to Florida State University after an unimpressive year at a small university in New Hampshire, and I was looking for something new: A fresh start.
Three days after moving in, I told him I was gay.
I had no idea how he would take it. Would he kick me out? Would he cut ties? Things did change for a few weeks as he adjusted. We were living in a space barely bigger than a shoebox; time and grace were needed.
But it wasn’t long before we were back to normal. He encouraged me to come out, but I wasn’t ready. Instead, I did what I always did. I hid. I acted “normal.” I did the things that “boys do.”
The friends I made down at FSU invited me into their fantasy football league, and once again, I saw an opportunity to shield myself. To put another mask on and deflect any suspicion, I could move conversations towards my team, to trades, to the waiver wire when it started to drift towards those all-too-familiar, uncomfortable topics that came with being one of the guys: girls, hookups, who was hot and who wasn’t.
I had a vague knowledge of fantasy football. Let me be clear: I liked sports. I played baseball my entire life, even playing in college. I coached when I wasn’t playing. I refused to be a stereotype. But I have realized as I have gotten older that I was playing more to fit in than for the love of the game.
But, I joined the fantasy football league. I remember my first-ever pick, Adrian Peterson. People said it was a good pick, and I was relieved. But, with my next pick, I made a blunder. I drafted a quarterback… Andrew Luck.
A Crack in the Closet Door
And when they joked about my pick, I felt that all too familiar pang of fear in my stomach. As I laughed along and talked my shit about how they’d see when I won the championship how wrong they were, I was beating myself up for not knowing better.
When I made a trade the league thought was dumb, that same fear exploded in me.
What if they saw through the façade? What if they clocked me as a fraud – As a gay guy masquerading as a “real boy”?
So, I set out to learn everything I could about fantasy football. I learned the game, I studied it in a way my parents probably wish I had reserved for my actual schoolwork.
I refused to be the guy who didn’t know what to do. To be the one people thought of as the weak link. They’d know that I knew my shit, dammit, and no one would suspect a thing… No one would know.
And that’s what fantasy football was to me early on. A means to stay hidden, to blend and to belong. One thing no one really tells you about being queer is that belonging is incredibly challenging. Even when no one knows, you know. And on some level, in everything I did, I felt like a fraud. Like a liar.
I felt different.
But something very unexpected happened while doing all of this work to make sure my closet door stayed sealed tight. I began to really love fantasy football. Like, really love it: The trades, the waiver wire, the constant need to be ready to pivot and shift to someone new at different positions.
Suddenly, I was the “trade guy” in my league. Constantly working like I was a real-life general manager, no hour of the day was a bad time to talk trades with me. How about 3 a.m. after a night at the bars? Sure. The next morning at 8 a.m. as I gagged on the plain toast I was trying to stomach? Great!
Life Imitates Lies
The mask that was fantasy football was changing for me. It was no longer a thing I did to fit. I mean, sure, it still helped, but I also enjoyed it!
In my final year of college, I came out to my friends. And as with my roommate (who is still my best friend to this day), some needed time. Others just shrugged, and some gave me a hug.
And even though it could be strange to have this new reality and dynamic in our group, we still had fantasy football to normalize it. I came out during the season, hoping it would soften the blow and give us something else to focus on.
I remember the first time one of my friends made a gay joke at my expense.
And, I was so fucking relieved.
Because the one thing that I didn’t want was to be treated differently. I was still me. I was still the guy who made dark jokes, got the funeral giggles and screamed and yelled at the Seminoles football games.
I didn’t want my friends to act like I was this entirely new person they had to change around.
And because they didn’t, because they could joke with me and make my sexuality not only OK but normal, I found myself enjoying this game even more. Suddenly, I wasn’t making trades and researching players because I didn’t want to be outed.
I was playing to win!
I was into it in a way I had never been before. And as the years went on, that love for the game only grew. Soon after college, I made a Twitter account, calling myself “FFByCommittee” at the time.
I wasn’t active for the early parts of my life on Twitter. Eventually, though, I decided to try and share whatever knowledge I had for the game with other people: Player takes, hot takes and every other kind of take you can think of. I had an opinion, and I was going to share it. I took writing jobs and worked at various fantasy football outlets for a few years.
And then my Twitter began to grow. My followers began to climb and climb. And I felt like I had found my place – My community I could speak with and be myself in.
I shared a picture of myself with my boyfriend at the time…
And my followers fell, and they fell fast – All because of one picture, A picture of us and a small note of love from me to my boyfriend.
A Fork in the Yellow-Brick Road
So, I had a decision to make. I could take the picture down, pretend it never happened, and try to just get back to what I was doing. But I had spent so long hiding who I was, feeling ashamed of my sexuality. I felt like I would never know what it was like to be able to love openly and freely.
There was no chance I was going to pretend that didn’t happen.
So, I posted the following tweet:
I lost followers today.
I lost them after posting a picture of my boyfriend and I.
I know social media is toxic, but I really like to believe this community is better than that.
I was in the closet for 28 years and I’m NEVER going to apologize for being me.
🏳️🌈🏳️🌈🏳️🌈🏳️🌈🏳️🌈🏳️🌈
— Steve Lawson🍂 (@Steve_Lawson93) August 8, 2022
It was a tweet fired off in the heat of the moment from a place of hurt to a community I thought had embraced me. I felt betrayed. I felt othered.
I will never forget when I got the notification that ESPN’s very own injury and fantasy expert, Stephania Bell, had responded. She spoke absolutely and voiced support. The community followed suit. Suddenly, my account began growing followers faster than I could keep up with. I went from barely over 1,000 followers to well over 3,000.
Once again, I felt like I had found my community. I kept posting, but now I was the out and proud man I wanted to be. I wanted to be a voice in this space for people like me, who maybe didn’t feel they had a place to land.
My account kept growing, eventually reaching over 5,000 followers. I was getting opportunities to be on podcasts, write and have the reach I never dreamed I would have.
And that Tweet? It still gets likes to this day, three years later.
There’s the happy ending, right?
Well…
Out, Proud & Motivated
Then came the election cycle of 2022, and I saw my platform as an opportunity to stand up for my community and to speak about issues LGBTQ+ people face every day.
And my account fell again. Fair; not everyone wants politics in their feed.
But it spoke to me again. They wanted the takes and advice on how to fix their lineup. They didn’t want me. They didn’t want Steven Lawson, the person. They wanted the fantasy football guy. Was I gay? Sure, but that wasn’t really noticeable.
And it hit me hard. I was in the same spot as before, left with a choice to fold and give in to the reality that my sexuality, identity and self were more of a negative to the fantasy community. Or, I could strike back again and build my brand into something even more bold, more out and more queer.
And then the idea hit me. I didn’t need to be more gay.
I needed more gay people and allies!
An opportunity to do something unlike anything I had done before was in front of me. What if I could show the fantasy community that there was plenty of space for queer people? What if I could rally people around the cause?
I looked at events such as the Scott Fish Bowl (SFB) and Pros With Joes (PWJ) that hosted a tournament-style league. A fire burned inside me to do something for my community.
No longer was I desperate for the acceptance of the fantasy community because that was never my community. My community was the LGBTQ+ community.
And I was someone who could help my community find a new community. If the fantasy space didn’t want to accept me outright, then I would bring so many allies and queer people together that they’d have no choice but to acknowledge us.
Thus, Rainbow Bowl was born.
A tournament to raise money for The Trevor Project, a charity that provides life-saving resources to LGBTQ+ youth. For the first time, I wasn’t trying to fit in; I was building something of my own – Something loud, proud and rooted in joy.
Last year was the first year of Raibow Bowl, and I was hoping I’d have 12 people to fill a league.
We had 144 players and raised $3,000. We had more sign-ups than I could invite, more players than I thought I could manage. Once again, I saw the beauty of the fantasy football community. Even if we were the minority, we were loud.
I saw people meet and get to know one another throughout the season. It was a whole bunch of people in one place who stood for the same cause; to protect and encourage LGBTQ+ kids to be who they are to show that the queer community had a place in the world of fantasy football.
And now, I have launched year No. 2 of Rainbow Bowl, but more than that, I have found my way back to comfort.
I have found comfort in being me. I know that I will not ever be without some form of controversy just because of who I love. But, honestly? That’s fine by me. If you don’t like me because I’m gay, then you were never someone I wanted to have like me in the first place.
Let me set the record straight. I am not some gay fantasy football guy.
I am The Gay Fantasy Football Guy.
I will provide the fantasy insight people crave. I will give my opinions openly. And yes, I will love openly and freely because that is me.
I don’t know how to be anyone else, and I don’t want to be anyone else.
Thanks for reading! I hope you’ve enjoyed yourself! For more entertainment and sports takes, find me on Twitter @Steve_Lawson93.
*Photo Credit: Dan MacMedan – USA Today*
