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I've been an Atlanta Braves fan since
high school. Not die-hard, mind you, but I do have a small
collection of bobbleheads on my computer and have gotten into more
than one fist fight about their legitimate place in history. Even
during the John Rocker fiasco, I blamed it all on the player and not
the organization. After all, Kareem was busted with pot back in the
'80s, that didn't make Magic a pothead, I argued. But this thing
with John Smoltz is really tough to shake.
I've interviewed this man several times over the years. We've talked
about our Michigan background, our love for Krispy Kreme donuts and
the direction the organization was headed. I always knew he was a
Christian fundamentalist and we've had chats about Christianity. I'm
not saying we were friends by any stretch of the imagination. In
fact since leaving journalism earlier this year, I've not spoken to
him or any other professional athlete in months.
Still, I've always found Smoltz to be an intelligent, upright kind
of guy who was good for the community. He has a great sense of
humor, the amount of charity work he does is outstanding and his
competitive spirit is one to behold. If an adult could still have a
sports hero, John Smoltz was mine.
Now, there's
this story about him comparing gay marriage to marrying an
animal. At first I thought it was some sort of farce. While the
Associated Press is one of the most respected news sources in the
world, the recent accounts of "journalists gone wild" means no one
can be truly trusted. Yet deep down inside, I knew better. Smoltz is
such a high profile athlete, it's doubtful someone would make
something up about him knowing how easily the facts could be
checked. The quote ("What’s next? Marrying an animal?")-- and the
attitude-- must be true.
I never told John Smoltz I was gay. I was not closeted in my
work--some within the Braves organization knew-- it just simply
never had come up. But I did tell him I had a son, that I too was a
Christian and thought Krispy Kremes were a gift from God.
I never told him he was my hero. That too never came up, though I've
always tried to write about the good things he did for the community
and highlight his sharp wit and sense of humor. I was never one of
those journalist who got his jollies from finding out dirt and
writing bad news.
But I tell you all today, if we ever crossed his path again, whether
he remembers my name or not, I will tell him those two things. Then
I will tell him something else. . . that his comment really hurt my
feelings. Not that I'm expecting a hug, or an apology of some sort.
I just want him to know that just because you don't agree with
someone doesn't mean you have to disrespect them so viciously.
I want him to know that my being gay and wanting to legally protect
my partner does not diminish my love for Michigan, Krispy Kremes or
God.
I want him to know that the next time he is interviewed he should
remember that people look up to him and the things he says are taken
to heart.
I'm an adult and I'll get over it, but could the man I thought was
great for the community be OK teaching kids such hatred? If he is
then excuse me while I look for my black, wool suit . . . my hero
just died and I'm spending the rest of summer in mourning.
LZ Granderson lives
in Atlanta
July 12, 2004 |
