IT’S TIME TO GIVE HOMOPHOBIA THE BOOT.
Last month saw the conclusion to a Rainbow Laces campaign never so visible and - judging by the action of some fans - still so necessary. For some of us, the sight of gay symbolism blending with the boots, flags and stadia of our national game was spine-tingling, for others old habits proved harder to break. At Stamford Bridge, chants of ‘Chelsea Rent Boys’ from West Ham fans throughout were almost encouraging in their backwardness - better dated-homophobia with a shelf-life than anything more sophisticated or sinister.
One week later, the same group of players faced more abuse as they took on Everton at Goodison Park - Big Dunc’s debut soured by home fans abuse. Their target? A diverse and youthful Chelsea side cast in the image of manager Frank Lampard. Under such smart stewardship, you wouldn’t be surprised to see a generation of players for whom sexuality is a non-issue to emerge here.
This stirring of the pot by Rainbow Laces - and the good and bad that comes from it - is both vital and preferable to the deafening silence from football’s governing bodies prior to the campaign’s launch by Stonewall in 2013. The laces themselves, at last, give visibility to this issue within the game and force a reaction, for better or worse. In the same way that the presence of players of colour meant that the issue of racism in the game had to be at least confronted - if not resolved. Half the battle with homophobia in football - and beyond - is that sexuality, crucially (and sometimes fatefully) can be hidden.
Growing up in Nottingham, spellbound by the larger-than-life Brian Clough I became a huge Forest fan and was quickly presented with an immediate dilemma - should I be gay or a football fan? It was a binary choice that preyed on my mind as I sat watching from the stands falling in love, yet already preparing two versions of myself. To this day, 43% of LGBTQ people still think public sporting events aren’t a welcoming space for them. I decided pretty early on that I wasn’t going anywhere, that ultimately football should be the one to change and though the sight of a rainbow-attired Stuart ‘Psycho’ Pearce would’ve been helpful in 1994, I’ll gladly take Harry Kane in 2019.
It’s been a long journey to get here: from the first footballer to come out in 1990 to the England captain’s rainbow armband some thirty years later. The death of the former - Justin Fashanu - in 1998 would cast a shadow over the next generation of footballers already steeped in a laddish culture that peaked with Robbie Fowler’s homophobic gesture to Chelsea’s (them again) Graham Le Saux a year later. As the landscape shifted more favourably towards coming out in the mid-noughties the emergence of social media meant that while the speed of social change increased, a player’s actions were now under global scrutiny - there was no longer just the British red-tops to answer to.
It’s long been said that before a male footballer (the women’s game has progressed quicker) can simply come out, the game needs to create an environment where they feel comfortable to do so.
Finally, with the Rainbow Laces campaign, it feels like this is happening. Often perceived as a one-off day, it actually runs more like a mini football festival between two-match weekends. At all Premier League fixtures there are bespoke Rainbow Laces pitch flags, ball plinths, handshake
boards and substitutes boards (as well as the aforementioned rainbow captain’s armbands and rainbow laces). LED boards at the stadiums highlight the campaign and clubs showcase the wide-ranging work they do to support and celebrate their LGBTQ communities.
As well as donating to Stonewall, Coca-Cola (alongside the Premier League) have this year unveiled giant welcome mats outside stadiums as part of their ‘Where Everyone Plays’ campaign (at last a classy, non-clunky slogan) as well as purchasing 30,000 Rainbow Laces to be gifted to fans throughout the second weekend.
The real success of the concept is two-fold: its opt-in format gives a more flexible approach to the issue which has allowed it to grow organically into something meaningful over the years following a string of (and trust me, I’ve seen them all) ill-judged flash-in-the-pan campaigns. Secondly, its simple message chimes with social media, allowing it to gain key allies along the way: from early adopters Joey Barton and Gary Lineker tweeting approval in the first year through to Graham Souness going viral with his (literally) game-changing monologue last month.
Reaching football’s old guard is undoubtedly impressive, but the irony remains that now the game is finally listening, the world outside it has changed. For so many years it was football that was out of step with society - its fingers held firmly in its ears while progress was made elsewhere - now a more hostile world is slowing change in the game from the outside in. Who would’ve thought just a few years ago we’d still be seeing racist incidents in 2019? Apart from anything else, it’s a sobering reminder that the battle against homophobia is still in its infancy.
There’s still the age-old question: when will a player come out? And perhaps that’s part of the problem. It’s a question that belongs to a different age, a relic that still conjures up images of “confessing” on a newspaper front page. Even the phrase “Gay footballer” feels tabloid. Should one person be defined by these two things in the 21st century? The binary world that I grew up in - the one that made me question watching a simple game of football - is thankfully a thing of the past. So let’s not wait for ‘the one’ or any sort of announcement, rather let’s continue to build an environment that allows for something more nuanced - an Instagram post or a Twitter ‘like’ - to create a path forward. Until then every lace helps build the bridge.