The umpire is out - my perspective

Never be out! It's a common theme in baseball, principle to which even umpires adhere. I should know: I'm a gay professional baseball umpire (retired). My story begins when I was 5 years old, watching the Game of the Week on NBC after my usual fill of Saturday morning cartoons. When I noticed the umpire at first base make his call, my curiosity was piqued. Something inside of me clicked, and at that moment I knew I was going to be a professional baseball umpire. What I didn't know was that I was gay and that gays and professional sports are like oil and water.

I started umpiring games when I was 12 years old with genuine passion and enthusiasm. I was hooked, and I was determined that umpiring was going to take me places--places outside Qualicum Beach, the town of 5,000 on British Columbia's Vancouver Island where I grew up.

I knew I was gay in the eighth grade but had absolutely no one like me to relate to as a teenager. I identified as a so-called jock--not as the gay stereotype, which was all I knew of gay people. I spent the next few years confused about my sexuality, as if I were pacing back and forth, not sure which way to turn.

At age 19 I enrolled at the Academy of Professional Umpiring in Kissimmee, Fla.--umpire boot camp. It was immediately obvious that being gay was not going to fly. We were expected to be macho men at all times--straight, strong, and aggressive, characteristics with which baseball has identified for more than 125 years. In one session we were basically told that if you didn't chase skirt, they didn't want to know about it and you'd best not let your fellow umpires know about it either.

Out of each class each year, about 10 graduates win contracts to start their professional career in the minor leagues. I kept my sexuality to myself, made it through the course, and was offered a contract--signed, sealed, and delivered!

For five years I traveled America, 200 days a year, landing in cities like Bakersfield, Calif.; Spokane, Wash.; and Clinton, Iowa No circuit party has ever visited the towns on the minor league baseball circuit. If not for the Internet and my laptop, I would've had no connection to the gay world.

Nothing could have prepared me for the lifestyle of professional baseball. Professional umpiring, like your local police force, has a paramilitary structure with a definite code of conduct as well as an ego-based pecking order. To get ahead, it's imperative to assimilate and be accepted. I know many straight guys who changed their personality and values for a shot at the big time. An openly gay guy wouldn't have had a chance.

In most of the minors, umpires function in two-man crews. You eat, work, play, and sleep--in a shared motel room--joined at the hip to your partner. If the other guy wanted to bring a woman back to the room, it was considered a bonus: "show time." (Yes, all men are pigs.) I learned to make comments about women and ogle them just to make sure no one suspected I was gay. Once or twice I even picked up a woman for "show time." It sucked.

Gradually I made some great friends outside baseball, particularly in Phoenix, where I always had spring training and winter ball. Those friendships helped me grow as a gay man, but it wasn't easy. I remained very confused, sometimes even determined to force myself to be straight. At the end of one season, for example, I came home and threw out a handful of gay magazines and a couple of pornos. I was wrapped up in other people's ideals--ideals that came from their own insecurities.

I lived a full life in the five years I worked in baseball: I achieved a lifelong dream, worked some amazing games, and met some boyhood idols. But I was surrounded by weak men; many had drinking problems and cheated on their wives. My life was full but stagnant. I needed a change that I could achieve only by leaving.

There remain gay umpires at every level of the sport who live with the contradictions every day. Things are getting better, but we won't get to where we need to be until more guys come out. Professional sports is fueled by masculinity. The old stereotypes will linger until new images of gay men prove them wrong.

Hoffman is now a financial adviser in Vancouver, Canada.

COPYRIGHT 2002 Liberation Publications, Inc.
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