Jason Collins’s “Historic” Coming Out Was a Decade Ago—And He’s Still the Only One Who Did It on a Damn Basketball Court
Remember when the entire country collectively patted itself on the back for a solid 72 hours because a journeyman center who averaged 1.9 points per game decided to be honest about his dating life? Yeah, that was 2013. Ten years later, we’re still jerking ourselves off over the memory like it was the second coming of the moon landing, except the moon landing actually changed something.
Let’s do a quick roll call, shall we? We’ve got active gay players in the NFL? Nope. MLB? There was that one dude who came out as bi and immediately got sent to the shadow realm, so no. NHL? They just had their first openly gay player, but he was a 6’4” enforcer who got booed by a bunch of Florida boomers and then immediately waived like he was a bad check. But basketball? The NBA, the league that loves to wrap itself in a rainbow flag every June while also letting owners donate to homophobic politicians? Still waiting for number two.
We got Jason Collins. That’s it. That’s the list. One (1) guy who played twelve seasons, mostly as a human foul dispenser, and his legacy is that he said “I’m gay” in a *Sports Illustrated* article that everyone read on the toilet. And good for him, seriously. But let’s not pretend this was some paradigm-shifting event that fixed the toxic masculinity that literally drips off every hardwood floor in America. It was a band-aid on a bullet wound, and we’ve been high-fiving ourselves about the band-aid ever since.
Let’s break down the actual impact. Collins came out, got a standing ovation from the President (who was probably just happy to have a non-terrible news cycle for once), and then went back to playing for the Brooklyn Nets, where he was, unsurprisingly, treated like a human being by his teammates. Shocking, I know. Turns out a bunch of millionaires who grew up in the 2000s don’t actually give a shit if you like dudes as long as you can set a decent screen. Who knew?
But here’s the kicker: the fact that Collins’s coming out was treated as this monumental, earth-shattering deal is actually a giant neon sign pointing at how much we’ve failed since. It’s been a decade. A whole decade of the WNBA having more openly gay players than I can count on my fingers and toes, and the NBA is still sitting there with its thumb up its ass, pretending that the “culture” is just too hard to change.
Why? Because the NBA doesn't want to deal with the fallout. It’s easier to have a “pride night” where they sell $45 rainbow-colored jerseys (that they’ll never actually wear in a game) than to have a conversation about why a 22-year-old rookie might be terrified to come out to a locker room full of dudes who still think “no homo” is a valid defensive strategy. The league loves the *idea* of inclusivity as long as it doesn’t require them to actually confront the homophobic shit that gets said in huddles or on the road.
And let's talk about the media’s role in this little farce. When Collins came out, we treated him like a goddamn saint. He was on every talk show, getting interviewed by every journalist who could spell “courage.” But the second he retired a year later, he basically vanished from the conversation. Why? Because he was a token. A checkbox. A “see, we’re not homophobic!” placard that the league could wave around whenever anyone asked a tough question. He was the human equivalent of a diversity statement on a corporate website—looks good on paper, does absolutely nothing in practice.
The real problem is that the NBA, and American sports in general, are still run by a bunch of old, rich guys who think a gay player in the locker room is a distraction. They’ll never say it out loud, but you can see it in the draft profiles, in the way “character concerns” are code for “he might be a little too flamboyant.” They’d rather have a domestic abuser on their roster than a guy who listens to Beyoncé unironically. It’s a sick joke.
So, what’s the takeaway here? Jason Collins did a brave thing. He really did. He walked into a hostile environment and said “deal with it.” But the fact that we’re still talking about him as the gold standard a decade later is a massive indictment of every other player, every other GM, every other commissioner, and every other fan who claims to be progressive but would probably still make a “that’s gay” joke if their favorite player missed a wide-open layup.
We’re not celebrating progress. We’re celebrating the bare minimum. We’re celebrating the fact that one guy out of 450 didn’t feel the need to hide who he was. That’s not a win. That’s a participation trophy for a league that’s still terrified of real change.
So go ahead, NBA. Pat yourself on the back for Collins. Wear your rainbow pins during the playoffs. Tweet out a heartfelt message on National Coming Out Day. But remember: until there’s a 25-year-old All-Star who can openly talk about his boyfriend without it being a headline, you’re just a bunch of performative clowns running a boys’ club that’s stuck in 1995.
And to Jason Collins: congrats on being the poster boy. Hope the royalties on that *SI* issue were worth being the only one brave enough to do it. Because apparently, that’s all we get. One guy. One decade. Zero follow-through. The rest of you are just quiet, scared, or both. Real inspiring stuff.
Final Thoughts
Having covered sports long enough to see locker rooms evolve faster than the rulebooks, Collins' announcement wasn't just a headline—it was a seismic shift that finally forced the league to confront its own quiet hypocrisy. His courage didn't just open a door; it kicked it off its hinges, proving that the ultimate measure of a player isn't in the stat sheet, but in the authenticity they bring to the game. The real legacy here isn't just that he played, but that he played as himself, making the jersey he wore a symbol of progress for every kid who ever thought their truth was a disqualifier.