Growing up in Pittsburgh and obsessed with baseball, I was a diehard Pirates fan. While I was young, they won the World Series in 1971 and 1979. Things haven’t been so great since then.
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As a kid, I also revered New York Yankee great Babe Ruth. I was fascinated by him, and to validate that point, every opportunity I had to write a school paper or term paper, do a show-and-tell or anything remotely creative, it always involved something about the Babe.
And all that research proved invaluable. When I worked on Capitol Hill years ago, I drove one Sunday to the Babe Ruth Birthplace and Museum in nearby Baltimore. During the visit, I kept correcting the tour guide about certain things she was getting wrong about Ruth.
Afterward, she took me to meet the museum’s director and bluntly told to him, “This guy needs to work here. He knows more than I do.” I ended up volunteering there part-time.
Hovering over this adoration of baseball, the Pirates, and the Babe, was the fact that I was coming to terms with my sexuality. Loving sports was contrary to what I thought a gay man was supposed to be. Surely, because of this, I couldn’t possibly be gay?
Well, sooner or later I figured out that they could coexist. And it was around this time, back in the mid-’90s after I had moved to New York, that I went to Yankee Stadium (the old one) for the first time. I was in awe of being in “The House that Ruth Built.”
I have quietly been a lukewarm Yankee fab after 30 years of living in New York. The Pirates still reign, despite them having set a Major League record of 20 consecutive losing seasons. But the mystique of the Yankees, Yankee Stadium, and Babe Ruth has never really waned.
Earlier this week, while attending the Yankees’ Legacy of Pride Night, everything seemed to come full circle — and then some. I stepped onto the field at Yankee Stadium as an out gay man and in an environment that welcomed me, something I never dreamed would ever happen.
In an era when corporate America’s dedication to diversity, equity, and inclusion is evaporating, even at the risk of public and political backlash, the New York Yankees stand out for me in another way — their unwavering support for the LGBTQ+ community.
For those not in the know like me, the Yankees are one of the world’s most iconic sports franchises. They boast a storied legacy with a record 27 World Series titles and are a brand recognized across continents.
Longtime Yankees Senior Vice President and General Manager Brian Cashman, who has served the organization for nearly 30 years, leading the club for the last 27, encapsulates that winning ethos. He’s overseen five Yankee World Series championships. But it goes beyond that.
The Yankees have a history of visible allyship. In 2019, to honor the 50th anniversary of the Stonewall uprising, the team unveiled a permanent plaque at Yankee Stadium commemorating the birth of the LGBTQ+ rights movement, complete with players, Cashman, and MLB leadership in attendance.
And since 2019, the Yankees have partnered with the Stonewall Scholarship Initiative, awarding $50,000 in scholarships annually to graduating LGBTQ+ student leaders from each borough.
“Since 1986, this event [awarding the scholarships] is the most meaningful thing that I’ve ever participated in, and the reason why is, this community needs our support now more than ever,” Cashman told me, with a deep sense of sincerity. In fact, he told me this twice.
He called the Yankees-Stonewall initiative “our form of pride.” He added, “It’s an investment in people, which continues to grow, and we are truly honored in helping to support. The club follows alumni scholars. We already had our first graduates. It was so cool to see how far they’ve come.”
He again called the program “the most important event I’ve ever participated in in anything I’ve done with the Yankees.” And he reflected on the students’ drive: “They’re so smart, so driven, so determined. They’re going to change the world.”
“The LGBTQ+ community needs our support now more than ever. They need our acknowledgement. They need our recognition. And I’m not saying just the Yankees, I mean the world,” he emphasized. “So for the Yankees, it’s trying to shine a light and help invest in the future and create difference-makers that will help continue to grow these efforts of inclusion without any issues. I’m so proud to be a part of it, and I’m so proud of the kids that we’ve met along the way.”
Cashman likened the scholarship program to the club’s player development: “In a way, it mirrors what we do, investing in the future success, that alignment, of athletic pipeline and civic pipeline.”
At a time when many are questioning whether LGBTQ+ support is sustainable, the Yankees offer a resounding answer of yes. That you can be a successful, profitable organization and still support marginalized communities and do it in a way that pays dividends in an impactful way.
Cashman’s sincerity was evident, and the fact that I was speaking with him, about inclusion, as a gay man, experiencing a personal dream of standing on the field of Yankee Stadium, was humbling and overwhelming.
Those days of youth, where I spent hours upon hours studying statistics that are still embedded in my head, knowing the starting lineups of all 26 Major League teams (There are 30 now.), obsessively reviewing my baseball card collection, and playing little league baseball, all came roaring back while standing in the warm confines of Yankee Stadium.
Like every other boy, I wanted to be a Major League baseball player. I wanted to step on a big league field, and be embraced by the fans in the bleachers. I wanted to look up at the magic of the scoreboard, hear the sound of bats cracking, balls whizzing by, all the while smelling the fresh cut grass.
It never came to pass, but something more meaningful happened. I stepped onto the diamond at Yankee Stadium, and while in awe of the surroundings, I felt at home, as a gay man. I felt seen and appreciated by Yankees’ management. I had, indeed, made it to the Major Leagues.
And if things weren’t magical enough, while I stood on the field, taking in all the amazement, the Los Angeles Angels (the Yankees’ competitors that night) were taking batting practice. Suddenly, I heard that crack of a bat, and a foul ball rolled across that fresh grass and stopped at my feet.
I picked it up and awkwardly hid it in my pocket. The moment was mine, and no one was going to take that or the ball away from me.
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