In a move that has left the sporting world reaching for the smelling salts and a stiff upper lip, Jason Collins, the man who bravely came out as gay while still an active NBA player, has died at the age of 47. The news, delivered with the grace of a champagne cork popping, has sent shockwaves through the corridors of British sport, where praise is being offered with the kind of heartfelt sincerity usually reserved for a last-minute goal at Wembley.
Collins, a 7-foot centre who played for six teams over 13 seasons, was a journeyman in the truest sense. But his true legacy was forged not in the paint, but in the press conference. In 2013, he became the first active male athlete in a major North American sport to announce he was gay, a revelation that sent the moral guardians into a frenzy of hand-wringing and the more enlightened into a state of rapturous applause. The man was a pioneer, a trailblazer, a beacon of hope for every teenager who ever felt the cold sting of otherness while dribbling a basketball.
British sport, never one to miss an opportunity for a good old-fashioned eulogy, has responded with the kind of unified solemnity that suggests they'd been rehearsing for this moment. The Football Association released a statement praising Collins as 'a true champion for equality,' while the Rugby Football Union offered 'deepest condolences' and a vague promise to 'continue the fight against discrimination.' Even the Lawn Tennis Association, a body not known for its lightning reflexes, managed to tweet something about 'courage and dignity' before the afternoon tea was poured.
The irony, of course, is that British sport has its own demons to contend with. The same week Collins dies, we learn that a Premier League manager has described his own team's performance as 'a bit gay' and a cricket commentator has been sacked for making a homophobic joke about a player's earring. But let's not let the facts get in the way of a good, self-congratulatory round of applause. We Brits are experts at mourning from a safe distance, at celebrating progress we had no hand in making.
But let us not be churlish. Collins' death is a genuine loss. He was a man of considerable grace, who carried the weight of representing an entire community with a dignity that belied the constant pressure. He was not a great player, but he was a great man. And in a world where greatness is so often measured in points and trophies, that is no small thing.
So raise a glass, if you will, to Jason Collins. Not for the dunks he threw down, but for the doors he threw open. And for the reminder that even in the most macho of arenas, love can find a way. Or, as they might say in Wimbledon, 'Well played, sir. Well played.'
