Billy Just Sayin…

When I heard the news two days ago that a former NBA player was planning on coming out of the closet, I felt a mixture of emotions. Part of me was the guy who is a huge NBA fan, and went to every Miami Heat home playoff game last season, wondering who it could be. The other part of me fixated on the word “former,” and I realized that this athlete had probably felt many of the same emotions that I did when I was playing major league baseball.

However, when I found out the player was John Amaechi, my first thought was that he played in a completely different era — in regard to awareness or recognition of gay and lesbian issues — than I did.

I also remember reading about him when he was a popular member of the Orlando Magic and how he had been so active in his community, getting young kids involved in sports. Long before this news of his sexuality broke, John was acknowledged for his kindness, generosity and grace.

I quit playing baseball in 1996, after playing a whole season pretending that my partner’s death from AIDS-related causes didn’t happen. That’s what happens when you live in the closet. You start to believe your own lies.

My own family did not even know the person I spent three years with during my playing days with the San Diego Padres. So it was easy — at the time anyway — to pretend it never happened, and just go to the park each day.

But looking back, I remember sitting in the parking lot before each game, trying to cry away my sadness and isolation, then taking a deep breath before beginning the long walk to the clubhouse, pretending that I was, like most of my teammates, a single, straight man, hungry for success and the next beautiful woman to impress.

For the last seven years, I have lived an openly gay life. Being public has allowed many people to judge me…good and bad. Most have never even met me. However, unlike John — or even my great friend Esera Tuaolo, a former NFL lineman who came out after he retired — I didn’t plan my coming out. I didn’t have a publicist, a book deal or a TV interview lined up to help announce it.

I ran away from my life because I was heartbroken over the sudden death of my 39-year-old partner. I ran away to Miami, turned my back on baseball, broke my family’s hearts by quitting, because I was afraid if they knew the “real” me I would be rejected and ostracized.

Many people accused me of staying in the closet for the money but if you look at my history, the one thing I “don’t” have in common with Esera and John is the amount of money they made as exceptionally gifted athletes in the NFL and NBA. The main reason I wrote my book, “Going the Other Way: Lessons From a Life in and out of Major League Baseball,” is because so many people misunderstood me and my message. My life changed during my book tour in the summer of 2003 — I had no idea how the GLBT community would impact my life and the way I look at the world, and I now realize that I am forever indebted to its kindness and loyalty.

I don’t think I would have thought about the differences between John and myself until I read an online excerpt from his book in which he said he  waited until he received a large guaranteed contract from the Utah Jazz to start feeling comfortable and secure about socializing in gay circles. I never felt comfortable enough to even “say” I was gay when I was a player.

We played in different times, and I am sure that John would say that he benefited from the courage of many openly gay and lesbian people while he was playing, even if he had never met them. I finished my playing career before I even owned a computer, let alone found friends or role models on the Internet — so important in the gay community nowadays. It was a different time, plain and simple.

We in the LGBT community, and the media, keep waiting for more famous people to come out, but in reality, it’s the brave souls who have lived openly, staring down the face of prejudice and judgment for the past 20 or 30 years, and the ones who refuse to let our country’s current administration take away our civil rights without a fight, who deserve our applause.

I would love to meet John and congratulate him for his decision to tell the world that he is a proud, successful gay man. I have known that there are and have been many wonderfully talented and successful gay men and women in pro sports for a long time, and I hope John’s story will reach people who continue to believe this is not true. I have no doubt John’s being a former NBA player will undoubtedly impact many young athletes, especially young African-Americans, in a wonderful way.

I am very happy that John’s decision was not forced by someone else, or shrouded in scandal. It seems that the media is all too happy to announce the homosexuality of someone, but not in a positive way, like the sad story thrust upon us of self-proclaimed “man of God” Ted Haggard — which seemed to be more important news than the ongoing war that our young men and women are being asked to fight.

Truthfully, about a week ago, I heard rumors that an NBA player was going to come out of the closet from some friends of mine, so today when I heard the word “former” today, it felt like more of the same instead of progress. I am sure nothing but goodwill comes from today’s news, but after seven years it’s hard to remain patient as I keep hoping one of my brethren will believe in humanity and come forward while they are still wearing the uniform.

That is the day I will be in the front row wearing a jersey with his name on it, standing with pride and probably tears in my eyes, rooting my heart out for my new favorite player. Hopefully, Esera and John will be right beside me.

This summer, two members of the male sports team world chose to announce publicly that they are tired of hiding their sexuality, and decided to come out.  Rick Welts, now the President of the Golden State Warriors, and Will Sheridan, a former college basketball player who played at Villanova University.  Both men are polished, successful, and handled the issue’s at hand quite gracefully.

As has been the case with each admission of a retired athlete, it has started a fire storm of conversation and opinion as to why no “active” players have come out, and more importantly, when will it happen.   I have always been accused as being defensive of players still hiding. I guess I’ve just transferred my old fears onto this generation of players who are struggling with the same secret I hid for so long.  For me, their arguments are easy to understand.  The sports world moves swiftly, careers are short, and offering this information to the public is a huge decision for anyone, especially since they have no real idea of exactly what may happen to them, good or bad. 

In a perfect world, this courageous athlete will be accepted and embraced much like actor, Neal Patrick Harris, when he came out in 2006.  I admire how he has looked directly into that camera, and let his talent speak for itself, ironically, by playing a womanizing, shallow, corporate sell-out, on a very funny TV show called, “How I Met Your Mother.”  However, we are not talking about actors coming out, we are talking about young men, in the world of professional sports, and it’s not as friendly a place as most people tend to believe.

 Outside of sports it seems our world is evolving, accepting, and many of us believe our younger generation has become practically indifferent to the whole issue.  A few of Will Sheridan’s teammates at Villanova may have been a shining example of this belief.  However, the lewd posters and gay taunts he endured during games, while still being closeted, against their arch-rival St. Joseph’s, prove otherwise.   He said they called him those names only because of the funny way he ran on his toes.  Imagine the free for all, had he invited more attention, with a public admission during that time?  The truth is, we don’t know what will happen, that’s why we are all so damned anxious to see what will.  

A few years ago, John Amaechi, a former NBA player, came out and it was expected to relieve the pressure for other athletes in hiding.  However, the truth remains that most athletes are still afraid of the unknown.  Afraid of a couple of teammates spewing their prejudice anonymously to reporters, igniting an Internet wave of judgment, or afraid of a few jerks in the crowd that will condemn his every step, ridicule his every move, cast the most doubt, and finally throw the Bible at him.

 As a player in the closet, I remember my biggest fear was that the players would look at me differently, and the quiet acceptance, and mutual respect of each young man trying to realize a dream, would forever be altered by a look into my private life, one that I myself was struggling with so greatly .  If only all people were like Charles Barkley, who said, “I’d rather have a gay teammate who can play….than a heterosexual one who can’t.”  It’s so simple, so fair. 

Make no mistake, male team sports are played by a bunch of individuals who make up a team.  Teams change their rosters every single season, and unless you are a superstar, no job is really safe.  Herein, lies the problem.  Who is going to protect our athletes if the decision hurts their career?  Is it our problem?  Can we demand fairness?  There are a million reasons why players are cut everyday in team sports.  I knew many players in baseball who had emotional problems off the field, and the teams just got tired of dealing with the issue.  There is a common phrase in baseball, “he’s a bad clubhouse guy.” This essentially means that the player is disruptive to the team and negatively affects team chemistry.  What if two superstars on a team quietly tell the GM, that they aren’t “comfortable” with a gay teammate, or that it’s disruptive to the team? 

 Does anyone remember Tim Hardaway’s comments when John Amaechi came out?  They were despicable, and unacceptable.  Tim has since been rehired by the Miami Heat.  

 I wonder if we ask Rick Welts in 12 months if he senses a difference in his workplace, since he announced that he is gay?  I’m sure he’d be the first to tell you, that he’s not running around in shorts and a tank top every night in front of 18,000 demanding fans who are paying a lot of money to watch their team play, or playing in opposing arenas all around the country. Ironically, for me, one of my great fears when I was playing was that a “front office” executive would find out about me (even if I didn’t admit it publicly), and decide to trade or release me because of some stereotyped belief about gay men, so Rick Welt’s admission made me smile, and I felt a great sense of progress for all of us. 

Rick has proven, just like I tried to do my whole career, that his sexuality has never interfered with his ability to do his job.  However, there is a big difference between assembling a team, and playing for one.   As I read through his story, I could see the similarities of our lives that are the demands of living in the closet.  For Rick, he spoke of relationships hidden, lies in his personal life mounting, distance required from colleagues to keep things manageable.  Ultimately his own relationship ended because his partner grew tired of the constant denial of who he was in Rick’s life.

The underlying tone in Rick’s NY Times article was his constant fear of being outed.  From a man with 40 years of experience in the NBA, it tells me that from his vantage point, the environment was quite risky for an active player.  I hate that it’s still this way.  I also hate that Grant Hill, a player on Rick’s Phoenix Suns, is being verbally attacked for putting himself out there in the landmark commercial denouncing use of the word GAY on the playground.  He and his teammate, Jared Dudley, have been commended, and they should be, for their courage by most everyone in the LGBT community.  However, tell me, why is it so courageous?  Is it because they are at risk of being thought of as gay because they are standing up for us?  If a closeted player sees the taunts and accusations thrown at Grant Hill, then what direction do you think he is going to go? 

The truth is, we just don’t know.  I’ve said many times, that the day it happens, I’ll find a way to be in the front row of wherever that athlete is playing. I’ll be wearing his jersey, and cheering with tears in my eyes.  It will take a strong man, and a courageous hero.  I hope it happens soon.  I also hope we keep knocking down barriers until it’s a no-brainer, and we all say, “What took so long?”

If there is an athlete out there, who is in the closet, and reading this….I would like to say, that my life began once I stopped lying about myself, and finally came out.  I often dream of what might have happened had I been strong enough to take the chance and come out while I was still playing.  I’d give anything to have that opportunity again.  It’s a case of, “I wish I knew now what I didn’t know then.” I believe it is going to happen sooner than later…I really do.

 For that unnamed player, we are waiting.  I know there are many people who will stand and cheer for you, and you will deserve it.  The LGBT community is one of compassion, and acceptance. You will have a whole new legion of fans, in many ways….a whole new family.  Many of our allies will also cheer for you, but you will need to be strong, and resilient, as all great leaders in our history have been.   

So until that day, the rest of us need to continue to pave the way.  Today is a great day because of brave and generous people like Rick Welts, and Will Sheridan.  Let’s keep going to the games, voicing our support, seeking jobs and business opportunities in the sports world, and educate with our actions. We need to change the minds of those people who somehow continue to vote to take away our right to marry, and preferred we stay closeted while serving our country in the military.  It’s up to us, so when the day comes for one of our own to come out, maybe it will be because we made it possible for him, and not the other way around.

Billy Bean

Over the past decade, I have watched with bated breath as our community has fought to repeal the existing “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” policy that would finally allow the members of our armed forces, who happen to be gay or lesbian, to be honest about who they are, and who may be waiting for them at home as they fight courageously for our freedom.

One of the most important people in that fight is an amazing man, and former Marine, named Eric Alva.  He was the first purple heart recipient in the Iraq war.  He was in charge of 11 Marines in a combat supply unit, when on March 21, 2003, he stepped on a land mine.  He ultimately lost his right leg, and sustained significant damage to his right arm as well.

I remember seeing him speak in front of Congress and feeling a mixture of emotions.  I felt so sorry for him, but at the same time, I was inspired by his courage and his admission that he felt “lucky” to be alive.  Perspective is a powerful ally.   It would be so easy for him to think otherwise, and be angry at his misfortune, but he seemed so generous, and strong on TV that day.   My inner voice wondered, what my perspective would be if life had handed me the same challenge….I wasn’t proud of my answer.

A few months ago….I received a wonderful note from Eric on Facebook.  He wrote of hoping to meet one day. I responded with an admission that I had been thinking about that for a long time as well. I thanked him for all the work he had done to make the repeal of DADT a reality, and I promised to stay in touch.

A couple of months before, I had made up my mind that I was going to return to my hometown of Los Angeles and finally pursue some of my creative goals that I’d been pretending weren’t important to me.  One night, I was talking to my dad about it, and he offered to fly out, and ride along with me on the long drive from Miami Beach to LA.

I wouldn’t recommend this for everyone, but as my dad nears his 70th birthday, I thought it would be a great chance for us talk and make up for all the years I’ve been gone, and on the road.  The moment we set the date, for our trip, I thought about the hardest part of the trip driving across country, the long trek through Texas, and Eric popped into my head.  You see….my dad is a former Marine as well.  The chance for him to meet Eric, a former Marine, a decorated war hero, and gay, was something I knew I had to make happen.

I am the oldest son in a family of 5 boys. My dad was raised in a strict Catholic home in the midwest, enlisted at 17, and was in law enforcement for over 30 years after that.  I’ve struggled mightily over the past decade trying to find ways to bridge the gap between my life and his.  I know many of us are masters at “not asking and not telling” about our personal lives, myself included, but I wanted my dad to meet a real war hero, who just happens to be gay.

On the third day of our drive across this great big country, we rolled into San Antonio. Eric was waiting for us at a table in a cozy little breakfast place, and as we walked up to the table, I reached out, and we hugged like we’ve known each other forever.   I clumsily turned around and introduced him to my dad.  I was chatty like always, and I asked Eric a bunch of questions. It was fascinating to hear him recount his experience in Iraq, and see my dad listening to his every word.  I thoroughly enjoyed watching the two of them sharing the “brotherhood” that only former and current Marines can explain.   They spoke the same military language, about rank, platoons, job    descriptions, tradition…etc.  It was all Greek to me.

My dad is a news junkie, and practically stands up and salutes the American flag whenever it comes across the television.  To say he is proud to be an American is the understatement of the century. We have talked about gays in the military many times, but quietly I’ve wondered how he really felt about it, even though he’s always been supportive of me.  He looks up to our U.S. military, and I just knew that if he was able to meet someone from my world and also “his” it would open another window of understanding between the two of us.

I know when I first told my parents I was gay, they were afraid of the things they did not know, and uncomfortable about the stereotypes that they had been exposed to during their lives.  I’ve spent the past 10 years or so trying to dispel those unfair stereotypes, and show them that I am the same son they knew all along….no different, only that I finally stopped lying to them about my sexuality.  We both have learned so much about each other along the way. I’ve been very lucky because they’ve been confronted with a lot, and always stood behind me.

We spent the next hour or so together, and the conversation was amazing.  I could see my dad enjoying the experience even more than I had hoped.  Eric left a profound affect upon both of us, and I felt a strong connection with him.  He and I both made a living in a world that forced us to keep our private lives a secret.  Ironically, I believe we both identified ourselves more with our work than our sexuality, and for me, that is not a bad thing.  I see him as a soldier, who just happens to be gay.

I think there are so many of us who have dedicated our lives to our work, our profession, and often times, being gay in those environments has made our lives more difficult than it should be.  Of course, that is changing, but only because of people like Eric, who is a hero in so many ways.

After our breakfast had ended, I was feeling great, knowing my dad and I would have plenty to talk about it in the car.  I felt very proud to be the son of a military man, and even prouder of my new friend, a soldier, who is gay just like me. For the first time in my life, I wanted to stand and salute a man as he walked away towards his car, so I did.

The “other” Billy Bean

I got this text a couple of days ago. “Hey Billy, I’m sitting here watching a movie called “Moneyball” with Brad Pitt. Is he you?” Sigh. Even my own friends are confused. No, I replied, the movie is about Billy Beane, not Billy Bean.”

There’s no “e” at the end of my last name.  That’s what I’ve always told them. I’m referring to my “auto” response when people ask me if I’m the General Manager of the Oakland A’s baseball club.

I’m not him, I’m the “other” Billy Bean, you know…the only man alive, who played in the Major Leagues, to acknowledge he’s gay.

The general manager of the Oakland A’s is a man named Billy Beane, who just happened to be my teammate in 1988 when we both played for the Detroit Tigers Triple A team, called the Toledo Mud Hens.
I’ll never forget ‘that” Billy Beane. We both played in the outfield.  I played center, he played left, and believe it or not, we had a right fielder named Pete Rice….and our outfield was coined “Rice and Bean’s.”

Beane struggled terribly through that season in our dismal ballpark, on a last place team.  On the field he seemed miserable, but in our clubhouse, he was The Mayor. He would imitate Axl Rose to perfection when the hit song “Sweet Child of Mine” would play on MTV. He was “the ring leader of anarchy” amongst the players, and everybody loved him.   He was a smart, minor league veteran, who could rag players with the best of them.  His crowning moment was an epic “soft shoe” performance one night while Frank Sinatra’s “New York New York” blared over the sound system during a rain delay in Buffalo. Our manager, Pat Corrales, seething with anger, seemed ready to release him right then and there, (we were losing by at least 10 runs, and in last place), but the entire team was dying with laughter.  It was Billy’s way of dealing with the disappointment of another bad season, and a career that never happened the way it was supposed to happen for a “can’t miss” prospect drafted in the first round.  It was his 9th year in professional baseball, and my third.  I was still on the rise to the big leagues, full of hope.  I hadn’t been damaged (yet) by disappointment, failed expectations, and years of leaving my heart and soul on fields where few people were watching, and worse yet, a parent big league club who stopped looking.

We were both born in Southern California, both dark haired, All America looking boys who played QB in high school, and taught to say all the right things.  When I played for the San Diego Padres from 1993-1995, at every home game, people would yell from the stands, “Hey Billy, remember me from high school?”  He went to Rancho Bernardo High School in San Diego, where he was
surely one of the all time great high school athletes in that city’s history.  I’d often be signing autographs after the game, and someone would politely say, “I remember you from high school,” and
I’d say, “I’m sorry that wasn’t me, you’re thinking of someone else, I went to Santa Ana High School about an hour north of here,” or sometimes it just seemed easier not to embarrass them, so I’d go along with it.

I thought our paths might never cross again, until about 10 years ago, when the book “Moneyball” came out.   People were always asking if the book was about me.  I read the book immediately, enjoyed it, but it was a stinging reminder that I had left baseball way too early. I still missed the game very much.  I was very happy for Billy, and it didn’t surprise me at all that he had risen to the GM position at Oakland. He quit playing very young, and got himself into a great situation, working for a forward thinking executive named Sandy Alderson.  I think, Sandy was extremely influential shaping Billy’s well documented approach to evaluating players.

I remember being told by Randy Smith, who was the general manager of the San Diego Padres my first two years there, that I had a future in San Diego’s front office whenever I was ready. It was a wonderful compliment, and to this day, I often wonder what my life would be like had I chose that path.  Maybe I would’ve been brave enough to come out as a part of the organization, and blaze a trail that may have helped my community, but I was still uncomfortable with myself, too afraid to be a hero. When my partner Sam suddenly died right before the 1995 season, it changed me, and I ultimately walked away from all of it.  I gave up that front office opportunity the moment I acknowledged that I was gay.  Baseball wasn’t ready for that issue 15 years ago (I’m hopeful that will soon change forever….but that’s for another article).After the book “Moneyball” came and went, the questions went away, and the only times I thought about Billy Beane was when I would receive baseball cards in the mail to be signed for card
collecting fans. Inevitably, there would be 4 or 5 of my cards, and always one or two of his, even though our names were spelled differently.   I was lefty, he was righty, he’s at least 6’3″ and I’m barely 6 feet tall.   I would never sign his cards, but I would always send them back with a short note that said…”I’m sorry….this isn’t me, he’s the other one.”

At the time, as I was becoming more and more recognized as a member of the LGBT community, I was sure that Billy was getting the short end of the stick.  It was ok for me to be confused with a general manager of a Major League baseball team, but I wasn’t so sure how he felt about people thinking that he was “the gay baseball player.”  He’s a straight Republican, who’s married with kids, and I’m a gay Democrat with two Jack Russell Terriers.  To make matters worse for him, my book, “Going the Other Way: Lesson’s from a life in and out of Major League Baseball” came out in the summer of 2003.  It spread through the sports world pretty quickly.  It’s the one topic that catches every athlete’s attention, and not always in a good way.  However, I have to say that the reaction to my book by players was mostly supportive.  I was told that Billy was constantly receiving my cards for him to sign.  The LGBT community in San Francisco and Oakland area was hopeful, but ultimately disappointed that I was not him.

My book rights were quickly purchased by the Showtime Network, and news spread that a film was being made.  The screenplay was written, and then the fun game of “who’s going to play Billy Bean” began.  I’ve been asked that question so many times that I’ve lost count, and truth be told, I was pretty anxious to find out as well.  I have learned, first hand, that patience is a virtue when waiting for a film to be made.  Promises mean very little, and feelings get hurt often.  I read that “Moneyball” has taken over 8 years to come to the silver screen, so I’ll keep waiting for my turn.

Last year, when news that the film, Moneyball, was finally happening, and none other than Brad Pitt had agreed to play “Billy Beane” it sent a wave of enthusiasm through most sports fans in the LGBT community. An avalanche of questions came my way via Facebook, emails, and texts, asking me how it felt to have Brad Pitt playing me in a movie.  Was I excited? Many people were asking if I had met him, and what is he like? I mean, really…..if anyone could pick one man on earth to play himself in a movie, Brad Pitt is the guy….right?

 

I truly wish I could have answered all of those questions, but I don’t know how it feels.  Sadly, I only know how it feels to have Brad Pitt playing someone with my name, about baseball, but NOT me, in a wildly successful major motion picture.  Is that surreal or what?  Honestly, the feeling sucks.  It’s like being told you’ve won the lottery, but then finding out that you really didn’t, because you only have the first 4 numbers right, but you need 5 to win it all.

Of course the movie is amazing, go see it. One of Hollywood’s greatest writers, Aaron Sorkin wrote it, and I’m sure that Brad Pitt will finally win an Oscar for Best Actor. Not because he’s long overdue for his profession’s crowning achievement, but because it will cement my fate of having to answer this question for the rest of my life.