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Posts by ajvsell
A little less than a year ago, I asked my friend Prairie (one of the first Soccer Allies, for the record) if she could help me come up with an idea for a Pride-esque flag I could wear to Revs games. She’s got lots of experience in designing and painting tifo for New England and for the national teams, so I thought she might have a concept in mind.
What we came up with was this:
I’ve come to call it the New England Pride Flag. It’s an amalgam of two flags; the traditional gay pride flag you see throughout June, and the old-school Flag of New England.
I like to think it stands in a subtle contrast to the pride flags you may see elsewhere in the league. It pretty obviously reflects the LGBT pride that we’ve got up here in New England, but it also stands up as a subtle “this is who we are, who the hell are you?” flag.
This is us. New England has Pride; what have you got going on?
So that’s my challenge – show us your pride, and show us a way that your pride can stand out.
Okay, so most of the West is covered, but there’s two “canon” Western Conference teams to go in our round-up, plus one team that’s technically in the East but really shouldn’t be.
In our last episode, we talked about what musicals best represent the Galaxy, Chivas, Rapids, and Earthquakes. Today, I continue with the Western Conference, featuring the three teams of the Cascadia rivalry.
The gayest night of the year is approaching really, really quickly. That’s right, boys and girls, it’s time for the Tony Awards. I could write a post about which MLS forwards are the best “actors” in the league, but I decided that wasn’t interesting enough (winner: Will Johnson. Putz.). So instead, I’ll present to you over the next several days the MLS Musical. I’ve picked out which Broadway show best represents each MLS team and my reasoning for that pick.
But first, a quick vocal warmup:
Everybody in tune? Great, here we go:
This badly-misquoted Gershwin song was my feeling as I ascended the capo stand at Gillette Stadium for the first time on Saturday. For a couple of years, I’d contemplated taking the bull by the horn and trying to conduct several hundred semi-belligerent Revs fans in various states of inebriation. As it turned out, my capo cherry was broken when I was pressed into service at the last minute after the scheduled cheerleader (let’s face it, that’s what we are) backed out.
Depending on whom you ask, my 45-minute tenure atop the repurposed lifeguard stand was either a rousing success or a colossal failure. I did my best to bring out some of the oldies – after 16 years of going to games, I picked up a few songs that have fallen by the wayside for one reason or another, and I relished the opportunity to reintroduce Jonathan Richman’s “New England” to the proceedings.
I am a Husky of Northeastern, as were both of my parents before me. I’ve held for several years now that attending Northeastern was one of the best decisions of my life thus far, as it was on Huntington Ave. and on co-op that I learned the skills that have made me what I am today.
It’s with this in mind that I recoil at the news that my beloved alma mater plans to install a Chick-Fil-A in the Curry Student Center. For those who might not follow the politics of this company closely, Chick-Fil-A has a history of donating significant sums to anti-gay organizations, including the Fellowship of Christian Athletes (which decried the “impure lifestyle” of the LGBT community), Focus on the Family (which has been labeled a hate group by the Southern Poverty Law Center), and Exodus International (a company that works to correct gay behavior).
This is my school, the place where I figured out what I was good at, where I discovered the power and flexibility of the written word, and, in fact, where I first came out of the closet. This is my school saying to me, “tuition money from the generations that follow you will go to a business that actively supports ‘correcting’ gay behavior.” This is my school saying to me, “your life and your lifestyle are less important to us than the money this company offers.”
I don’t accept that.
My favorite television show is The West Wing. And one of my favorite exchanges in the entire series went something like this:
Leo McGarry (to Admiral Percy Fitzwallace, who is black): Hey Fitz…
McGarry: The President’s personal aide, they’re looking at a kid. You have any problem with a young black man waiting on the President?
Fitzwallace: I’m an old black man and I wait on the President.
McGarry: The kid’s gotta carry his bags…
Fitzwallace: Are you gonna pay him a decent wage?
Fitzwallace: Gonna treat him with respect in the workplace?
Fitzwallace: Then why the hell should I care?
McGarry: That’s what I thought.
Fitzwallace: I got some real, honest-to-God battles to fight, Leo. I don’t have time for the cosmetic ones.
That’s how I felt when I heard about this Roland Martin kerfuffle. Is the guy a dipshit? Of course. Is it worth the anger and agitation that some are trying to stir up? No.
Last week I read the New Yorker piece about the last days of Tyler Clementi. Clementi, you’ll recall, was the Rutgers freshman who killed himself after being spied on by his roommate while he was with another guy. The New Yorker article outlined the on-again, off-again homophobia of Clementi’s roommate Dharun Ravi and the steps that Ravi took to show off his intolerance of Clementi’s lifestyle. This included tweets that invited followers to spy on Clementi when Ravi knew a sexual rendezvous was going to occur.
It’s a painful read. You know the ending and you want to stop, you beg yourself to stop, but you can’t. It’s like watching a car wreck, only instead of steel and fiberglass, it’s souls and lives. You can’t change the ending, you can only witness it and hope never to see it again.
Harder still to read were the letters written by Tyler’s older brother James. James, who is also gay, compiled a series of notes to his departed kid brother, offering apologies for not being the confident and self-assured older brother Tyler needed. He apologizes for missing Tyler’s violin concerts in their youth. He apologizes for how the only context in which people know Tyler now is through his death. And he apologizes that nobody will get to know the proud and intelligent person Tyler would have been.
There isn’t enough time to give a damn about the Roland Martins of the world, not when there are James Clementis left behind by those who couldn’t hang on.
We don’t have time for the cosmetic battles. There are real, honest-to-God battles still left to win.