To Be Human

Author: Calibre Keene

Have you ever seen yourself or a relatable situation depicted in a TV show that moved you to tears? I had that experience a few times watching the show Ted Lasso on Apple TV. As a footballer who is a transgender male that currently has to play on an all-female team, I find myself caught between living the life I want and the life others allow me to live. Sports have traditionally been viewed as spaces that reinforce strict gender norms, often excluding transgender individuals or subjecting them to discrimination.  

(⚠️SPOILER ALERT ⚠️) Season 3 of Ted Lasso had a dramatic reveal of several of the characters coming out to each other as gay. I watched this episode after my long workday as a camp counselor, freshly showered after avoiding looking in the mirror and keeping the lights off. I burned a candle to mask the stench of my bodily self-loathing, covered with baggy clothes and a blanket to mask my silhouette as a shadow. Listening to the players speak about their experiences made me cry ugly tears in my solitude. I felt very represented as one of the characters spoke about how he was so joyful about not wanting to live two different lives: one as a straight footballer—just like everyone else on his team—and one as who he truly was. It was exhausting. It is exhausting. I was glad I knew my parents had already seen this episode without me. Perhaps it would help them understand. Shows like Ted Lasso importantly help others understand what it is like to be me. What it is like to be trans. What it is like to be human. 

The show also tackles the mental aspects of the game and how they creep in when you’re out there on the pitch. Always having to think about your next move and the move of your opponent and how your actions will be perceived by the crowd. One scene in the show that really stuck with me was when Roy Kent, one of the coaches of the show’s protagonist soccer team ‘AFC Richmond’, addressed a reporter about an article that was written about him when he was seventeen. Coach Roy brings the reporter aside privately and takes a wadded ticket stub out of his wallet that has written on the back: “Roy Kent is an overhyped so-called prodigy whose unbridled rage and mediocre talent rendered his Premier League debut a profound disappointment.”

A quote that had been heard before by viewers somehow found a way to sting even more from the lips of the man whom the quote had been written about. You could see the pain behind his eyes, though the character often hides behind a tough persona. Seventeen. That’s how old Roy Kent was when that quote had been written and published publicly about him. He told the reporter that it had ripped him apart when he read it for the first time and he hurt the young football player in ways he could never comprehend. In ways Roy Kent would carry around wherever he went. “I was just trying to be edgy and make a name for myself,” the reporter explained.

My heart sank. I began to wonder about things I’ve said in the past that have stuck with people. What hurtful things I’ve uttered that made people stow away to cry about privately. I thought about what it would feel like to have someone write in some sort of written media about me with the same words. As a college soccer player who’s dreamed of an opportunity like this for an entire lifetime, it would be crushing to have something published about me like what was published about Roy Kent. I think about how it makes me feel when someone uses my deadname (the name I no longer identify with). When someone whispers about me when I walk into the public restroom, scared to death because there are none that are meant for any gender to use.

Then, I find it in my heart to ponder about the power of words in society as a whole. The power of labels and the power of thinking about what one says before saying it. It costs nothing to say nothing. However, the power of saying some things, of vocalizing something, even as simple as vocalizing someone’s name, is a powerful concept.

A name, for a transgender or gender non-conforming individual, a newlywed, or newborn, is as valuable as anything. I know it’s valuable to me. My heart breaks for those who choose not to use my name. My heart breaks when others choose to say hateful things about me and others. And then I realize that our humanity and the humanity of others is directly tied to the benevolence of the tongue and the extents of the heart.

When I wrote this article, it was intended to be a discussion on names, but as it has broadened to identity as a whole, I find myself immersed in the beauty of my own exploration of my own identity. The beauty in the protests that have arisen to fight for things like transgender health care and the right to marry whom one loves. The beauty in what it is like to be human. 

Through my own experiences, I hope to find ways to bring empathy back into the sports community and do what I can to help provide resources and support networks specifically tailored to transgender athletes. I hope to continue to see people like me represented in TV shows that help others understand what it's like to constantly feel like you have to prove yourself in ways that extend beyond the pitch. Representation matters because it helps to combat the feelings of invisibility and isolation that many trans individuals experience. By witnessing trans characters on screen who share similar struggles, hopes, and dreams, individuals may find solace in knowing that they are not alone. It can provide them with a sense of community, offering reassurance that their experiences are valid and deserving of recognition. 

My name is Calibre. I am a soccer player and I am a human being.

An Important Moment

“When you somehow pass masc enough to exist in the extinential region of the boys soccer team school photos folder. When others understand this isn't cosplay.”