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More straight athletes joining gay leagues

Finding fellowship in addition to competition

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straight athletes
straight athletes

Robbie Ladd, on left, who’s straight and married, plays in the DC Gay Flag Football League. He said it’s the most organized intramural league he’s seen. (Washington Blade photo by Kevin Majoros)

More than 30 years ago, in cities with large gay populations, LGBT sports teams and clubs began popping up. By playing sports with members of their own community, LGBT athletes were able to compete in a safe space with no fear of bullying or homophobia.

Over time, straight athletes began participating in the LGBT sports community. At first, it was relatives of the LGBT athletes showing up to compete at events as a show of support; a mother, a brother, a sister. About 10 years ago, a few bold straight athletes began joining the LGBT sports teams with no fears about any suspicions or backlash from their friends and family. Those people, such as husband and wife John and Ellyn Vail of the District of Columbia Aquatics Club became the first of a wave of straight sports allies.

Just in the past few years alone, the number of straight people joining LGBT teams and leagues is clearly noticeable. Pick any one of the more than 30 LGBT sports offered in the D.C. area and you will find straight players. The reasons for joining are probably different for each of them but it is safe to say that it is a glimpse of things to come.

Robbie Ladd is active duty military and he and his wife Jeanie Baker Ladd work as Certified Registered Nurse Anesthetists. He has always played organized sports in civilian leagues and in the military. Earlier this year, he was at a party and heard about the DC Gay Flag Football League.

“I went out for the spring season and was drafted into the league and found it to be the most organized intramural community league I have ever competed in,” says Ladd.  “The players are down to earth and show up ready to play flag football.”

Ladd, along with his teammates, won the spring season championships. He was disappointed that he did not travel to Pride Bowl in Chicago where the D.C. players took the tournament title.

“I thought I wasn’t allowed to go because I am straight,” says Ladd. “I found out that I was welcome too late to join the travel team in Chicago.”

He did travel to Beach Bowl in Rehoboth Beach this summer where he and his teammates finished in second place.

“I have been very impressed with the incredible fellowship among the flag football players,” says Ladd. “One of the players lost a lot of his belongings in a house fire this year and all the players showed up with items to help him get back on his feet.”

Ladd and his wife are relocating to Fort Lauderdale soon where he just might look up the local LGBT flag football team.

Katie Lancos began playing water polo in Montreal when she was 12 years old and continued to play on her college team at Notre Dame. Right after college, she moved to D.C. and discovered the Washington Wetskins.

“I did a Google search and found about four teams, but the Wetskins came up first in the search,” says Lancos. “One of the frequently asked questions was: I am straight. Can I still play?”

Lancos joined the team and went on to compete at the International Gay and Lesbian Aquatic Championships when they were held in D.C. and again last year when they were held in Seattle. Last week, she competed at her first Gay Games and was joined in the pool by her brother Matt who is also straight.

“My friends are pretty open and I have never been challenged by anyone as to why I compete on an LGBT-based team,” says Lancos.

According to Lancos, the Wetskins are a very team-oriented group and she thrives in that atmosphere.

“The Wetskins are a wildly different group of people who have formed a family through the commonality of sports,” says Lancos.  “We all have a shared goal of wanting to win, train and be better.”

straight athletes

Kevin Donlon has a gay best friend and welcomes the opportunity to compete against him in a gay swimming league. (Washington Blade photo by Kevin Majoros)

Kevin Donlon grew up in California and played lacrosse at St. Mary’s College of California. After college, he switched over to U.S. Masters Swimming and began competing in triathlons. In 2012, he went with a friend to Darwin, Australia for the Asia Pacific Outgames and last week competed at his first Gay Games.

“My best friend is gay and I welcome any opportunity to spend time and compete with my friend,” says Donlon.

Donlon trains in California and was a popular addition to the District of Columbia Aquatics Club contingent at the Games. He says he found the LGBT swimmers to be kind, welcoming, happy and an easy group to integrate into.

“People struck up conversations with me more often than what I have experienced at straight meets,” says Donlon.  “And for an unexpected added bonus, the friendliness of the swimmers offered me the opportunity to strike up conversations, which is not something I usually do.”

Donlon won a bronze medal in open water swimming and a gold medal in the 1500 freestyle at the pool.

An unexpected twist to the intermingling of straight and LGBT athletes is that the flip side of the trend is also happening. Gay athletes are switching to straight leagues.

Kyle Suib started his rowing career at the University of Delaware and still wanting to compete beyond college, he joined the DC Strokes Rowing Club. He loved his time on the team and made several new friends but realized his competitive spark wasn’t satisfied.

“We were one unit in college and I just couldn’t identify as a gay rower,” says Suib. “I live and die by the sport and I just happen to be gay.”

Suib decided to leave the Strokes and had one of his college coaches give him the needed recommendation to join Potomac Boat Club rowing. He says his new teammates don’t focus on gay or straight. It’s all about the team. There are now four gay men on the Potomac Boat Club team and the four have been joined at Nellie’s and Town by their straight teammates.

“We are a family and now we are a more diverse family,” says Suib.

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Photos

PHOTOS: Winchester Pride

Annual LGBTQ celebration held at the Museum of the Shenandoah Valley

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A scene from the 2026 Winchester Pride Festival on Saturday, Oct. 3. (Washington Blade photo by Michael Key)

The 2026 Winchester Pride Festival was held at the Museum of the Shenandoah Valley in Winchester, Va. on Saturday, Oct. 3.

(Washington Blade photos by Michael Key)

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Theater

‘Merrily’ is for Sondheim super fans, the uninitiated, and anyone in between

Experience it in an intimate setting with beautiful design, incredible cast

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Jason Gotay plays Frank Shepard in ‘Merrily We Roll Along.’

‘Merrily We Roll Along’
Through Nov. 1
Signature Theatre
4200 Campbell Ave., Arlington, Va.
Tickets start at $47
Sigtheatre.org

Unfaithful. Compromised. A sellout. Just a few descriptors that might fit Frank Shepard, the talented composer in the Stephen Sondheim musical “Merrily We Roll Along.”

“Personally, I think he gets a bad rap,” says Jason Gotay, the gay actor who’s currently playing womanizing Frank at Signature Theatre in Arlington. “At his core he wants to be loved. He’s concerned with making those around him happy and he’s a people pleaser. That’s my window into Frank.”

Whatever your thoughts, by show’s end, we know Frank started out as a nice guy. “Merrily” famously moves in a reverse chronological order. We meet Frank and friends, lyricist Charley Kringas (Jake Loewenthal) and writer Mary Flynn (Melanie Field), disillusioned in a New York penthouse in 1976. Ensuing scenes filled with disappointments and broken relationships move toward more hopeful times, eventually leaving the trio on a rooftop in 1957, young and full of promise searching the night sky for a happy future.

“Moving backward makes it difficult to build on the prior scene,” explains Gotay. 37. “You live heightened moments followed by 30-second costume changes, and you’re meant to forget everything you just did. To be honest, it’s a bit of a mind fuck.”

A marvelous but humble tenor, he begrudgingly acknowledges his artistic versatility. At New York City Center he sang Che in “Evita” (contemporary almost operatic), and he was solemn Henrik in Lincoln Center’s “A Little Night Music,” (classical Sondheim). On Broadway, he played Homer, the loyal brother in “Floyd Collins” (folksy bluegrass), and he’s sung the sweeping songs of a few Disney princes.

“I’m asked to do a lot of things because vocally I sing in many styles; it’s something I can do and I love doing it.”

Growing up in residential Dyker Heights, Brooklyn, Gotay was immersed in school plays and community theater. For high school, he attended the Professional Performing Arts School in midtown Manhattan with a focus on musical theater.

He continued on the same track for a year at Emerson College in Boston followed by Marymount Manhattan before graduating in 201l. A year later, he made his Broadway debut as Randall in Lin-Manuel Miranda’s hip-hop inspired “Bring It On: The Musical.”

Along the way, Gotay became a huge Sondheim fan. As a musical theater kid, he was introduced to the composer’s enduring classics all written before Gotay was born: “Into the Woods,” “Sweeney Todd,” and the actor’s forever favorite “Sunday in the Park with George.”

To many theatergoers’ surprise, “Merrily” flopped badly when it premiered on Broadway in 1981. But over many years of tweaks, reimaginings and revivals, the show became a major Broadway hit in 2023, with Jonathan Groff winning a Tony Award for playing Frank.

While he was aware of “Merrily,” Gotay didn’t make a deep dive into its wild provenance until he was asked to audition for the Broadway revival. (Briefly it looked like Groff, long attached to the show, might come up against some film conflicts.) It was during this short time that Gotay fell in love with Frank.

The experience left him further determined to sink his teeth into the complex character along with Sondheim’s lush melodic score with songs like “Not a Day Goes By,” “Old Friends,” and “Our Time.” So, when Gotay learned that Signature was slated to do “Merrily” this season, he reached out to Matthew Gardiner, the company’s artistic director as well as the production’s director/choreographer, asking how the role of Frank might be his. Long story short, he sought it, got it, and is ecstatically happy that it has worked out.

Several years ago, when Audible (Audible.com) came calling with an invitation to record a cabaret entirely of his own creation, he was thrilled.

“It’s probably the most personal thing I’ve ever done. My own story is a love letter to the women – my mother, friends, mentors, Broadway icons – who helped to shape my life; it’s about self-acceptance and what it is to grow up queer.”

He titled the solo show “Where You’ll Find Me,” a nod to his first love Dorothy Gale from “The Wizard of Oz.”

Often described as “a television heartthrob” (something the once chubby 12-year-old sometimes finds hard to process), Gotay is not unfamiliar with screens large and small. He’s remembered for various screen roles including his turn as Rafa Caparros, a prep school classics teacher who becomes entangled with a male student in HBO Max’s reboot of “Gossip Girl.”

Gotay recommends Signature’s “Merrily” for Sondheim superfans, the uninitiated, and anyone in between. He says, “It’s a great opportunity to learn about this once niche now increasingly mainstream musical. And if you have seen it before, this is a chance to experience it in an intimate setting with beautiful design and an incredible cast that truly brings the show to life.”

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Television

Engrossing ‘Tip Toe’ delivers tension and an ominous warning

A chilling reminder that violent homophobia is on the rise

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Alan Cumming and David Morrissey in ‘Tip Toe.’ (Photo courtesy of Channel 4/Starz)

Whenever a new project comes from queer Welsh screenwriter and producer Russell T Davies – who created the original “Queer As Folk” in 1999 before spearheading the revival of the classic BBC sci-fi series “Dr. Who” as head writer and showrunner in the mid-2000s – it generally leaps to the top of every queer “must watch” list, and with good reason.

A genuinely versatile creative force who can move easily between genres without losing the core of humanity that keeps us engaged, he’s particularly known for his unequivocal, unsentimental, and always fearlessly candid narratives about queer life, set within a social context that’s barely tolerant, at best. He has a knack for capturing both the transient beauty and persistent hardships that seem to define our beleaguered community. His most recent such endeavor, 2021’s “It’s a Sin,” took us back to the harrowing years of the AIDS epidemic, following a group of gay young Londoners as the disease – and the societal homophobia that surrounded it – wreaked its merciless havoc, even as they began to break free from their closets and embrace their queer identities; and while it may have broken our hearts, it was also somehow empowering, a tale that reminded us not just of what we lost, but of what we have survived.

His latest miniseries, however, takes place in the here and now, and it offers a markedly bleaker assessment of the state of things.

“Tip Toe,” which appeared on the UK’s Channel 4 last summer, debuts on U.S. screens via the Starz streaming service on Oct. 2, and it lets us know from its first few minutes that things are not going to end well; that’s not a spoiler – it’s a warning, because if you’re looking for a happy ending, you’re not going to find it here.

A tale of resurgent and emboldened homophobia in a modern-day Britain where open hate for the queer community has surged at an alarming rate, it’s the story of two men whose intertwining destinies feel almost like a tragic accident of fate. Leo (Alan Cumming) is a Gen-X AIDS survivor who has become a beloved figure in Manchester’s queer community, the owner of a popular gay bar that has always been a safe space for the queer, trans, and questioning souls who are struggling toward self-acceptance; his next-door neighbor, Clive (David Morrissey), is a working-class electrician with a floundering marriage and two sons who live secret lives he knows nothing about. He’s an old-school “macho man” whose ingrained misogyny and homophobia have grown increasingly unfiltered with the rise of online “culture war” rhetoric; and while there’s a kind of forced “neighborly” friendship between himself and Leo, there’s also a clear-cut line of judgement – on both sides – that gives their interactions a sense of barely concealed hostility.

When Leo is locked out of his apartment after a messy hook-up gone wrong, Clive comes to his rescue, but uses the opportunity to impose himself on Leo’s privacy. He levies the situation into an opportunity for work – an electrical revamp of Leo’s bar, where he makes no secret of his  disdain for the queer “lifestyle” – and the tension between them continues to build despite Leo’s best efforts at being polite. The escalation reaches a boiling point when the secrets and lies in his own household lead Clive to suspect Leo of being a sexual predator, turning their precarious relationship into a minefield of hostility and inevitably pushing both men into a confrontation that will end in a shocking act of violence.

It might go without saying that “Tip Toe” is not the kind of show most of us would watch “for fun.” Russell’s script starts the relationship between its two antagonists at the threshold between a simmer and a boil, and shows us the outcome before either of them has even said a word, so it’s mostly impossible to avoid the sense of dread that hangs over everything that comes after. This is not a weakness; instead, aided by Peter Hoar’s masterful direction, it gives the show’s five episodes a slow build of tension that keeps us watching with morbid fascination, like the scene of a horrible road accident we’re forced to drive past in slow motion. We’re allowed to feel some hope along the way – after all, we’ve only had a glimpse of what is to happen, and there are other characters with storylines in which we can become invested along the way – but it’s a kind of grim hope, and it perfectly captures the fearful cultural zeitgeist-of-the-moment that the series is ultimately about.

The characters, too, are richly drawn and layered enough to avoid a simplistic “good guy/bad guy” dynamic. Clive is a brute – arrogant, uncivil, and forcefully antagonistic with a hair trigger that responds to anything or anyone that doesn’t meet his approval – but there’s enough broken humanity underneath all that to allow us to see a glimmer of potential for redemption. Likewise, Leo is mostly good-natured and likable, but he has an arrogance of his own, as well as some bitter resentments (most of them related to his ex-husband Curtis played by Charlie Condou), who left him for a woman), which – more than occasionally – surface to provide him with some ugly moments.

There are others, too; Melba (Paul Rhys), Leo’s gender-bending longtime bestie, who sees the growing danger in the world around them and voices it with the resigned stoicism of a reluctant Cassandra; Steph (Elizabeth Barrington), Leo’s straight friend who is not afraid to let him know when he’s too full of himself; Saul (Joseph Evans), Clive’s 20-something son who has evolved a more tolerant and easy-going outlook than his father, and teenaged George (Jackson Connor), Clive’s other son, whose struggles with his own identity take him on a roller-coaster ride of conflicted emotions; Marie (Pookie Quesnel), the wife who despises Clive but is unable to escape her unhappy existence with him; and Zee (Iz Hekseth), Leo’s employee who is trying to choose a name for herself after coming out as trans – along with a variety of other young, queer supporting players who have found refuge at the bar. All of them are written with depth and nuance, even those who remain more or less in the background, and brought to life through excellent, measured performances.

It is, however, Cumming and Morrissey who give the show its irresistible pull, their complex, bristling characters endowed with a palpable authenticity that makes us forget they are merely actors playing roles. They fully inhabit these two thorny men, creating a dynamic between them that feels like a force of nature, and it’s they who provide the terrible power that keeps us from looking away, no matter how much we might occasionally want to.

That’s a good thing, because “Tip Toe” is less a television event than it is a grim reminder that being “out” may no longer be as safe as we were finally beginning to think it was – and just because the alarm bell is coming from the UK, that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t heed its warning on our side of the Atlantic, too.

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