Story:

The NFL ball — solid, stitched, brown — was my shield. With it, I learned how to be a “man”: how to run toward the goal, how to collide without fear, how to stay silent when it hurts. It was an extension of me, or rather, what I wanted people to see as me.

But what I wasn’t showing — I hid that deeper than any defense on the field could penetrate.
I felt that if I let go of that ball, if I replaced it with the truth, I would lose everything: respect, friends, family. Because the truth is that I’m gay. And for a long time, I carried that like a penalty you never admit to the referee.

You know, the ball is stitched from four parts. And each of those parts is a part of me — strength, fear, love, and truth. For too long, I hid the last one.

Today… I can’t keep running in someone else’s direction anymore. I can’t keep playing someone else’s game. I’m throwing the ball forward, not to lose it, but to finally play for myself.
I’m coming out of the closet. And I’m not ashamed. I’m still the same man. I still love the game. But now I’m playing without a mask. With my whole heart.