Our lives are socially structured in many ways. This means that we are frequently directed to behave in a certain manner, embrace particular values, and think about ourselves in socially patterned ways. Gender and sexuality are especially influential aspects of social structure that affect our aspirations, interactions, and identities.

As sociologists who study such influences, we recently investigated the relationship between gender, sexuality, and sports fandom among U.S. adults in a study published in Sociology of Sport Journal. Prior research indicates that most Americans are sports fans. Yet, historically, sports cultures have often been organized by and for heterosexual men as spaces for them to have fun and connect with one another as they watch and talk about sports. Sports have also been used as sites where men could successfully “prove” themselves to be heterosexual and masculine. In contrast, sports cultures have often been unwelcoming spaces for women and lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, or queer (LGBTQ) adults. This has been less true within women’s sports fan communities, although women’s sports are also characterized by a long legacy of homophobia. Still, many people across all gender and sexual identities love to watch and follow sports.

Yet there is evidence that women and LGBTQ people have often withdrawn from sport or organized their own sports as a response to hostility in many sports cultures. For example, initial signs of withdrawal can be seen in sport participation patterns from the 2017 Youth Risk Behavior Surveillance System that indicated more male high school students (60%) had played on at least one sports team over the previous year than female students (49%). Heterosexual (57.9%) students were also much more likely to have played, compared to LGB (38.5%) students and those unsure of their sexual orientation (43.7%). In forthcoming research to be published in Leisure Sciences, we also trace similar disparities in sports involvement among adults.

Exclusivity in sports fan cultures seems to reflect and partially extend from these trends. For instance, there is ample evidence that women are neglected and marginalized as sports fans. Also, an enormous cross-national survey about homophobia in sports found that many LGB adults specifically said that mistreatment in their sports interactions while in school turned them off from sports. The vast majority of respondents (across different gender and sexual identities) believed that it was not very safe to attend spectator sporting events while clearly identifying as LGB. As a matter of fact, spectator areas were seen as the most common place for homophobia in sports interactions to occur.

Yet progressive changes are also occurring. Women now comprise nearly half of the fanbases of men’s professional sports leagues like the NFL and are the majority of those who follow elite women’s sports. There is also increasing acceptance of LGBTQ players, staff, and fans, evident in the growing number of publicly “out” elite athletes, though this appears to be more the case in women’s sport than in men’s. Some teams are known for their large number of highly devoted LGBTQ fans, and many have organized or joined efforts to counter homophobia in sport and society.

Consequently, we wanted to know more about sports fan identities in the U.S. We also wanted to know the extent to which there are differences in fandom by gender and sexuality—and better understand why these differences may exist, if they do.

What Did We Do?

Using information from a unique new survey of nearly 4,000 U.S. adults that Knoester designed and administered in 2018-19, we examined the links between gender, sexuality, and sports fandom while also considering how childhood experiences of mistreatment may have shaped these connections. Hundreds of lesbian, gay, and bisexual adults, as well as those whose gender identities are non-binary, responded to the survey—it is rare to have such gender and sexual diversity represented in survey research on sport.

Responses to the question “Are you a sports fan?” were indicators of adults’ sports fan identities. Responses ranged from “not at all” to “a little” to “somewhat” to “quite a bit” and to “very much so.”

What Did We Find?

While 10% of respondents reported that they were “not at all” sports fans, 90% identified as sports fans to some extent, and nearly half reported being “quite a bit” or “very much so” fans. Yet there were differences in sports fan identification by gender, with men (53%) more likely than women (38%) and non-binary (13%) adults to report high (“quite a bit” or “very much so”) levels of sports fandom. Heterosexual (46%) adults were also more likely than those who are lesbian/gay (35%), or bisexual (32%) to report high levels of fandom. Gender and sexuality differences remained statistically significant after using regression techniques to better account for the social contexts of respondents.

However, when we considered the intersections between gender and sexual identities, we found an interaction whereby heterosexual and lesbian women reported similar levels of sports fandom but gay men reported lower levels than did heterosexual men. In other words, differences in sports fandom by sexuality existed only among men. Nonetheless, after adjusting for the impact of adults’ social contexts beyond gender and sexuality, we found rather modest differences, on average. Still, heterosexual men more commonly reported strong sports fandom (61% as “quite a bit” or “very much so” sports fans); heterosexual women and both men and women who identify as gay/lesbian more typically reported being “somewhat” of a sports fan.

Finally, we found that both childhood sports identities and previous experiences of mistreatment in sport are related to adults’ sports fan identities. People who reported thinking about sports less while growing up, not thinking of themselves as much of an athlete, and being mistreated in sports reported lower levels of fandom. Yet childhood experiences did not explain the gender and sexuality differences in adults’ fandom. These gaps were likely not a result of sports experiences and identities in childhood, then, but related to processes and experiences that occur in adulthood.

What Does It Mean?

One the one hand, these findings are unsurprising given the role that sports fandom and participation have played in cultivating and protecting heterosexual and masculine identities among men. As other research has found, sport is often still perceived as a “masculine” (and heterosexual) sphere despite high levels of girls’ and women’s involvement, and the cultural meanings attached to sport shape whether and how people decide to get involved. That is, gender and sexuality continue to socially structure sports fandom.

On the other hand, there is reason to believe that gender and sexuality differences in sports fandom have been diminishing. More diverse and inclusive cultures are developing in sport, and one consequence is the greater visibility and acceptance of women and LGBTQ fans.

In the end, though, we found that despite apparent and recent gains, sport still has strides to make toward full inclusivity. Still, substantial numbers of people across different gender and sexual identities identify as sports fans, and this is important to emphasize. Yet there is more work that needs to be done in improving sports experiences for all. In part, this work entails recognizing the power of gender and sexuality as social structures and making institutional changes to address inequities—both in sport and society at large.

Rachel Allison is an Associate Professor of Sociology and affiliate of Gender Studies at Mississippi State University. Her research examines the gender, racial, and class politics of U.S. professional sports. She is the author of Kicking Center: Gender and the Selling of Women’s Professional Soccer, published in 2018 with Rutgers University Press.

Chris Knoester is an Associate Professor of Sociology at Ohio State University. He studies the sociology of family and the sociology of sport. He is the principal investigator of the National Sports and Society Survey, which was supported by the Sports and Society Initiative, the College of Arts and Sciences, and CHRR at The Ohio State University. Additionally, it relied on the willingness of thousands of respondents and hundreds of volunteers to help further social science research on sports and society issues.

Numerous European attendance records have been set at soccer matches in Glasgow, Scotland; 147,365 spectators attended the 1937 Scottish Cup Final at Hampden Park, 149,415 were at the 1937 Scotland vs England match, and 136,505 attended Celtic vs Leeds United in 1970. In all these instances, supporters—the vast majority working class men—stood on steep, mostly uncovered, terraces. Such a design characterised virtually all British soccer stadiums at the time. Getting as many people as possible into the stadium meant little regard for sanitation, comfort, provision of food, and safety.

Such large crowds and spectator experiences form part of the context for understanding the terrible events and resultant changes that occurred 50 years ago when 80,000 fans attended Glasgow’s world-famous derby between Rangers and Celtic on January 2, 1971. Tragically, as spectators were exiting one part of Ibrox Stadium, 66 Rangers fans were killed and almost 200 injured at Stairway 13. As was customary, and like numerous soccer grounds in Britain with little or no crowd control measures in place, fans were left to their own devices when exiting. On this particular day, this meant thousands of Rangers fans departing via a waterfall-like 92-step staircase within a short space of time.

A number of eye-witness accounts noted a developing crush on the stairs. As this intensified, fans rapidly caved in on each other. Several steel barriers on the stairway collapsed as the monstrous collision of bodies led to massive cramming and subsequent asphyxiation for many. A number of years later, The Belfast Telegraph newspaper concluded: “what made Ibrox a recipe for disaster were the vertiginous staircases from which it emptied thousands from the terracing. It was like the 90m ski jump tower, with no chance of turning back”.

British society went into a state of shock and was united in sorrow when the magnitude of the disaster became evident. Alerted to what had occurred, messages of sympathy came from all over the world along with promises of financial assistance for victims’ families. US president Richard Nixon sent his condolences, as did political leaders from around the world. Pope Paul VI also expressed his sympathies for the victims, one of many religious leaders to lend a voice to the tributes.

The disaster spoke to history and context. Two fans had been killed and 44 injured in an accident on the same staircase in 1961. Further incidents of crushing took place in 1967 when 11 were injured and in 1969 when 30 fans were hurt.  A few adjustments to the stairway were made by Rangers FC, but some observers, including the academic Graham Walker, have argued that too little thought was given to design. A recommendation post 1969 to remove a wooden retaining fence on the staircase was not carried out, and this being left in place may have exacerbated the danger to fans and increased the number of fatalities in 1971.

Strikingly, in the wake of these previous accidents, no significant public enquiries took place, no monitoring nor safety legislation enacted. There was no consensus regarding sports crowd safety in Britain, and little evidence of relevant public discourse amongst politicians, police, club officials, or indeed, supporters themselves. The mainly working-class fans that followed soccer in Britain, powerless in terms of the conditions they had been conditioned to expect, largely complied with the cultural practices of the times. Indeed, until the late 1970s the terracing and exit steps of Scotland’s Hampden Park remained unconcreted and thus dangerous to many amongst the record-breaking crowds attending big games there.

Yet, the tragic day at Ibrox in 1971 was critical in beginning a process of major changes in British sports stadium regulations, spawning enquiries into the circumstances of the disaster as well as safety at sports grounds generally.  One of the most influential was headed by British Government appointed Lord Wheatley. His review of fan well-being at British football grounds resulted in the 1975 Safety of Sports Grounds Act. Simply put, if a club did not meet standards, it would not be granted a safety certificate. As far as sports stadiums were concerned, the Ibrox disaster demonstrated in the most tragic way imaginable that soccer had a responsibility for the well-being and safety of its supporters.

In response, Rangers FC significantly renovated its home stadium. In the 1980s, the new all-seater Ibrox could boast being the most modern stadium in Scotland and one of the best in Britain, its conversion resulting in it being awarded Union of European Football Associations (UEFA) five-star status.

However, despite this transformation and lessons to be learned from Ibrox, it took England’s Bradford Football Club’s stadium fire of 1985 when 56 fans were killed and hundreds injured, and the Hillsborough Stadium disaster of 1989, when 96 fans were killed and many more injured in a crush, to finally convince the rest of society that the mass standing terraces, inadequate entrance and exit points, general poor crowd regulations, and overall Victorian conditions endured by supporters, were no longer acceptable.  Arising from these disasters, the Lord Justice Taylor reports and Judge Oliver Popplewell’s report regarding Crowd Control and Safety at Sports Grounds in Britain became the major turning points for soccer stadium re-developments and crowd safety in sports arenas.

Although Ibrox in 1971 was the beginning of the end for self-regulation regarding soccer crowd safety, it took another two decades for local authorities, soccer administrators, and politicians to start paying appropriate and adequate attention. In the wake of new regulations arising from the Popplewell and Taylor reports, combined with a significant increase in financial investment on the part of satellite television and a number of club owners emerging who desired to cultivate a new kind of consumption-shaped fandom, every elite soccer stadium in Britain was refurbished, sometimes completely rebuilt. The mass standing terraces disappeared to be replaced by mainly all-seater stadiums. The new era also meant a major focus on the corporate nature of the sport, resulting in a significant rise in matchday ticket prices and the expense of soccer merchandise generally.

What became known as the Ibrox Disaster is one of the worst crowd calamities in British sports and the ninth most deadly in the history of world soccer.  It is also a political, social, and cultural marker in changes in the construction of, and regulations regarding safety at, British soccer stadiums.

Dr. Joseph M. Bradley is an Associate Tutor at the University of Edinburgh, Scotland, UK. He has authored, joint authored and edited several books, and written numerous journal and newspaper articles on sport and ethnic, national and religious identities, and prejudice.

In recent years, the sport of women’s mixed martial arts (WMMA) has gained substantial popularity in North America. Many have viewed this increase in popularity as indicative of progress toward gender equality, as women have traditionally been discouraged from participating in sports that place a heavy emphasis on so-called “masculine” traits, such as physical strength, aggression, and dominance. Scholars, as well, have viewed the increased participation of women in combat sports optimistically, with some even discussing WMMA as a new “feminist frontier.”

The potentially transgressive nature of WMMA led me to wonder how women’s participation in combat sports impacted their daily lives outside of the gym. If women’s combat sports are indeed a feminist project, one would expect to see feminist ideals manifest in other aspects of women combat sports athletes’ lives, such as in their political views, parenting choices, and gender ideologies. For a study recently published in Sociology of Sport Journal, I interviewed 40 professional WMMA athletes to better understand the impact of the sport on their intimate relationships—an aspect of social life that has preserved many traditional features of patriarchy that privilege men over women. Would these athletes similarly “undo” gender norms in their intimate relationships as they do in their sport, or would such norms go unchallenged?

To help interpret interview participants’ responses, I used the “doing gender” framework of sociologists Candace West and Don Zimmerman, which argues that gender is not an inherent part of our personalities but rather something we “accomplish” through our actions and behaviors in social interaction with others. Specifically, I was interested in understanding how WMMA athletes accomplished femininity in their intimate relationships (or if they aspired to do so at all). My findings revealed that because these women possess traits that are traditionally interpreted as masculine, many of the heterosexual women in my sample actually oversubscribe to gender norms in their intimate relationships to combat feelings of feminine insecurity. I arranged these findings into three distinct themes: doing gender through the body, doing gender through relationship roles, and doing gender through patriarchy.

The first theme—doing gender through the body—revealed the ways in which the participants in my sample specifically sought out taller, heavier men as intimate partners in order to make themselves look and feel smaller and, thus, more feminine. As succinctly summarized by one participant, “When I’m with a guy who’s smaller, it makes me feel bigger.” In fact, 93.5% of the participants in my sample who identified as heterosexual stated that they preferred to be shorter than their partners, and 83.9% of them stated that they preferred to be lighter than their partners. This finding was a clear example of “doing gender,” with West and Zimmerman even explaining in their original article that “even though size, strength, and age tend to be normally distributed among females and males (with considerable overlap between them), selective pairing ensures couples in which boys and men are visibly bigger, stronger, and older…so, should situations emerge in which greater size, strength, or experience is called for, boys and men will be ever ready to display it and girls and women, to appreciate its display.” Importantly, this was not the case for most of the women in my sample who did not identify as heterosexual, with only 22% of these women stating a relative height and weight preference.

The second theme—doing gender through relationship roles—revealed the ways in which participants adhered to fairly strict gender roles in their relationships, such as the woman partner acting as nurturer and care giver, and the man partner as protector and provider. I was particularly struck by the fact that the heterosexual participants in my sample placed such a heavy emphasis on the protector role for their men partners, as it seemed strange to me that such formidable women would feel they needed protection. My participants revealed, however, that protecting themselves instead of having their partner do so would be a violation of gender roles, with one participant explaining, “I don’t wanna’ be the one that’s protecting ‘cause then I’d be the one who was the masculine one.” Again, however, this feeling was not shared by the women in my sample who did not identify as heterosexual.

The third theme—doing gender through patriarchy—revealed the ways in which participants accomplished femininity through deference to men. This was revealed through the finding that 82.5% of my participants were currently, or formerly had been, in relationships with other combat sports athletes or coaches, as it became difficult for these women to see non-combat sports men as sufficiently masculine. As one participant explained, “I like to be able to give my partner a good run for their money, physically, but I don’t really like to win. Because…biologically…I think I’m just attracted to masculine men. They have to be more masculine than me because I am a woman and there is supposed to be a difference.” While, in their MMA careers, all of the women worked tirelessly to ensure that they were bigger, stronger, and more physically capable than their opponents, in their intimate relationships, most of the heterosexual women sought to be smaller, weaker, and less physically capable than their partners to accomplish femininity and combat feelings of feminine insecurity. This stood out as, perhaps, the most explicit example of how these women not only “did” but overdid gender in their intimate relationships.

The findings from this study suggest that WMMA may not in fact be the feminist frontier that some have imagined it to be. Rather, it serves as a cautionary tale that, while the symbolism of women fighters may be encouraging to observers who strive for a more inclusive society, such symbolism does little to alter the lives of women when structural inequalities remain unchallenged.

Justen Hamilton is a Ph.D. Candidate in Sociology at the University of California, Riverside. His research areas include gender, sport, and violence. The complete version of the study discussed in this article can be found in the Sociology of Sport Journal.

Issues related to athlete welfare are impossible to ignore as the National Basketball Association (NBA) leaves the “bubble” behind and begins the 2020-21 regular season on December 22. As play resumes, sleep and athlete recovery will be a major area of media attention and discussion within the league.

It is no secret that NBA players are routinely exposed to poor sleep, jetlag, and overtraining. Teams play 82 games in a 6-month period and travel an average of 40,000 miles a season. Commissioner Adam Silver called rest a “significant issue,” and Michelle Roberts, Executive Director of the NBA Players Association, predicts that sleep will be an issue in future collective bargaining. Just last week, the NBA updated its rest policy, specifying that teams may face fines of $100,000 if they decide to sit out healthy players in nationally-televised games.

Given this context, promoting sleep may seem like an easy way to safeguard players’ wellbeing. But the rise of a “sleep-friendly” NBA shows that fostering athlete welfare is more complex than it may first appear.

Few observers would deny that better and more sleep could benefit NBA athletes, at least in the short run. A 2011 study about the impact of “extra” sleep in college basketball players, for instance, found that when athletes slept 10 or more hours a night, they performed better in physical tasks and reported increased ratings of mood, health, and overall sense of wellbeing.

But in the long run, the strategic use of sleep does not change grueling game or travel schedules. In fact, it makes NBA players and their recovery habits subject to greater moral regulation and invasive digital surveillance. These trends matter for the rest of us because cultural sites like the NBA increasingly shape our collective understandings of sleep problems and the best ways to solve them.

A Sleep-Friendly NBA?

The global sleep industry is worth an estimated $76 billion, as new specialized services, products, drugs, and technologies promise to insulate people from the intrusions of a society that is organized by speed, a 24/7 economy, and endless communication and entertainment.

In our sleep-obsessed times, the NBA is a key site where ideas about daily recovery are being revised. NBA teams consult with sleep experts, such as Dr. Charles Czeisler, and pursue new sleep-related sponsorship agreements. Bedgear, for example, is the “official pillow and mattress partner” of the Dallas Mavericks, and the company regularly hosts game day promotions and community events designed to educate the public on the importance of good sleep for daily performance.

The NBA is also a highly racialized setting. Its athletic workforce is mostly Black, while coaching staffs, medical teams, and team owners are mostly white. Racist and paternalistic attitudes have often meant that NBA players are treated as if they are a “problem” and require constant oversight and management.

A pro-sleep agenda can intensify what was already a place of hyper-visibility and hyper-surveillance for Black athletes. Consider how Rise Science’s signature sleep tracking mattress technology and coaching services create new ways of monitoring athletes off court.

Rise Science has worked with the Chicago Bulls and collaborates with Twilio (another tech start up that specializes in text messaging) to deliver personalized sleep coaching. Ninety minutes before bedtime, athletes receive text messages to remind them to put on glasses that block blue light. Another notification lets athletes know it is time for bed, at which point players are supposed to get into bed alone, don a sleep mask, and set the room temperature between 62-67 degrees. Every morning coaches receive a report that states the team’s “readiness” and notes any potential “high-risk” athletes who did not fully recover. Athletes also receive their personal sleep data on their phones via a Rise Science app.

Sleep coaching services and technologies may certainly be enticing for some athletes. But digital tracking methods are not experienced by everyone in the same way. Many people overlook the impact of scientific racism and medical discrimination, and research shows that prejudicial patterns shape how some Black NBA players encounter biometric sleep technologies. It can be difficult for some players to fully trust team owners or to feel complete confidence about whose interests sleep technologies most serve.

When sleep is a performance-enhancing strategy, the work of being an athlete never stops. Far from easing the burden of endless productivity, sleep opens new avenues to extract more performance and profits from athletes’ bodies. Recovery becomes a new sphere of performance where athletes try to excel.

Sleep creates new moral grounds to assess athletes and their work ethic. Those like LeBron James, who spends $1.5 million annually to prepare his body for competition and refers to sleep “as the best recovery you could possibly get,” are seen as having the “right” priorities.

Those who do not take sleep as seriously may be labeled irresponsible, selfish, anti-social, or even dangerous. Consider recent headlines raising concerns about NBA players who might be “addicted” to multi-player games like Fortnite and League of Legends. Anxieties about late-night gaming might appear silly or even a little dull. Yet this fits into a familiar racist pattern, which reinforces the idea that “irresponsible” Black male athletes need constant supervision.

Sleep like a pro

It is important to challenge toxic sporting cultures that leave athletes exhausted. But it is equally important to recognize the limits of “healthy” sport. Strategies to make competitive sport “healthier”–in this instance through the promotion of sleep—may ultimately diminish the wellbeing of athletes in ways that are not immediately obvious.

Instead of transforming the excessive demands of the NBA workplace, scientific and technical problem-solving aim to change athletes. This leads to new rest-related obligations and intrusive forms of digital monitoring. The cultural prominence of the NBA and other professional sport settings entrenches individualized solutions that make it more difficult to see how social and structural forces, such as racism, shape sleep and sleep disparities today.

For example, sleep researchers highlight the “racial sleep gap,” which shows African Americans sleep less well than their white counterparts. Evidence suggests experiences of racism negatively impact self-reported scores of daytime sleepiness and sleep disturbances. The chronic psychosocial stress related to the anticipation of daily discrimination can create a type of “vigilance” that interferes with sleep.

Relying on technical fixes and asking athletes to “go to bed” dismisses the social and political transformations necessary to create more restful and restorative workplaces and sport settings. But the work of reimagining recovery is already underway and being led by Black women like Tricia Hersey, who founded the Nap Ministry to explore the radical potential of napping and community rest in struggles for racial justice. Ultimately, an emerging “sleep friendly NBA” highlights the need to better account for social difference and inequality in rest-related problem solving that aims to make sport healthier through off-court recovery.

Sarah Barnes is Postdoctoral Fellow in the Sport, Society, and Technology Program in the School of History and Sociology at the Georgia Institute of Technology. Her research interests focus on sport and wellbeing in a rapidly changing society. The full version of Barnes’ recent study on sleep in the NBA was published online ahead of print in Sociology of Sport Journal.

Sport sociologists like Harry Edwards have long fought against the notion that sports and politics can be kept separate, battling back against assaults by people like Fox News’ Laura Ingraham, who in February 2018 told NBA star LeBron James to “shut up and dribble.” In the midst of the NBA and WNBA finals, and at a time of intense political polarization, basketball fans ought to be aware of the stakes that exist for Black athletes and listen to their voices. How else can you as a fan ethically focus on the games if many of your favorite players say that they themselves cannot? In this brief essay, we offer some considerations for basketball fans today, building upon the work of many sports sociologists who have come before us.

But before we look forward, let us take a brief step back. In March, the NBA suspended play amid the global pandemic, while the WNBA delayed its start. In May, the murder of George Floyd by police officers in Minneapolis unleashed some of the largest Black Lives Matter (BLM) protests to date, where many NBA and WNBA players joined in among the protesters. In early June, NBA team owners proposed a plan to bring basketball to a Disney World “bubble” in Orlando with no live fan attendance, which they promised would have safeguards to prevent virus transmission. Later that month, a 113-page NBA manual detailing health rules to thwart virus spread was leaked, amidst controversy among some players that a summer return to play, even if carefully managed, might hamper the work that players were doing to advance the BLM movement. Ultimately, professional basketball returned with the NBA and WNBA in July, and many fans like us found ourselves reinvested in the sport as never before.

With high-flying dunks and bombs-away threes, we realized what we had been missing. For almost a month, basketball was back. Then, all of a sudden, the games were gone again, but this time they were suspended for a different reason—a different kind of “pandemic.” On August 26, the Milwaukee Bucks refused to play a crucial playoff game against the Orlando Magic, telling the press that they were protesting the senseless maiming of Jacob Blake, who was shot seven times in the back by police in Kenosha, Wisconsin. The Bucks’ strike led others in the NBA and WNBA to do the same, and both league’s playoffs seemed to be in jeopardy. Ultimately, the players struck a deal with the league to return to play, but only on the condition that several basketball arenas would be used as voting locations and that a league-wide social justice coalition would be formed.

Since Harry Edwards’ 1969 The Revolt of the Black Athlete, sports sociologists have highlighted the tension that exists in a society that devalues Black lives but elevates Black athletes in certain sports. In this context, Black basketball players, by virtue of their physical abilities and elevated status in society, occupy a unique social position with a powerful political platform the likes of which most American Blacks have never known. And, laudably, many of them are using the media’s microphones as megaphones, their social media feeds for advancing social justice, and their public power as leverage to advance the agenda of the BLM movement. They know that outside of sports, the lives of less athletically talented African Americans are simply not valued to the same degree.

The events of 2020 have brought racial inequality into clearer focus for many people, as numerous African Americans have been killed by the hands of white police officers. But make no mistake: Floyd’s murder and Blake’s maiming were just the latest horrors done unto Black men in America, patterns of institutionally-condoned violence that stretch back to the days of slavery, sharecropping, and Jim Crow. The lives of Black men—and women like Breonna Taylor—have simply never mattered as they should.

So what about our role as basketball fans? On one hand, the return of basketball was welcome news – for us. But as human beings, we know this is selfish. If we keep watching the games, but do nothing to fight the racism on which their protests are focused, or do nothing to combat the white supremacist ideology that has been softpedaled by the President and contributes to the ignorance that helps racism endure, then we will have missed our opportunity to be true supporters of our sporting heroes. Without us—the “average” basketball fan—the voices of these players will never be amplified to the degree necessary to achieve real societal progress.

Many fans have traditionally thought of basketball fandom as apolitical. According to this line of thought, you’re supposed to root for a team, a city or region, but never advocate for a political cause. But as basketball fans today, we feel the need to show our support for these players who are clearly prioritizing their values over profits, even at great risk. To properly support the players we root for, we must educate ourselves and help advocate for the causes they are fighting for, such as transforming the nation’s criminal justice system. As we mentioned above, after Blake’s shooting, one of the conditions demanded by players for the season to continue was that NBA arenas would be turned into polling places for the upcoming election. LA Clippers Coach Doc Rivers was seen donning a mask saying “vote” and actively fought against voter suppression, while LeBron James and others started a voting rights group. Our favorite players are not taking their democracy for granted, so neither should we.

America needs change now, and that change must include us as basketball fans. We may not be as talented athletically as our heroes, but our voices, when raised in concert, can also echo not only to the rafters but also out of the arena. When change seems hard to achieve, let us be inspired not only by the dunks and three-pointers made by our favorite players, but by the spotlight that they are putting on the crucial—and inseparable—intersection between sports and politics. Now, amid two pandemics, basketball players are slamming down the cruel idea of “shut up and dribble,” and it is time that we as fans do our part, too.

Aaron L. Miller, PhD teaches at California State University, East Bay, and St. Mary’s College of California. Ziggy Tummalapalli is a senior at Palo Alto High School.

A TIME magazine article recently discussed college athletes realizing their power to create meaningful change. While college athletes as a collective have great power, it is Black athletes in particular who are leading this charge by placing emphasis on their racial identity. Recent atrocities, such as the unjust shooting of Jacob Blake, as well as the murders of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, and George Floyd, have placed increased attention on racism. Injustice has caused college athletes to speak out, when in the past, they have remained mostly silent.

Black college athletes are expressing frustration with conditions in society and on their campuses as they grapple with racism, stereotypes, and exploitation. While Black female college athletes are also using their voices and advocating for social change, this article focuses primarily on Black male college athletes in football and basketball, as they are in particularly influential positions to affect change due to the attention these sports receive. Coinciding with this attention, Black collegiate football players help produce revenue streams that can supplement much of the athletic department budget, which is why many departments are pushing so hard to play football amidst a global pandemic.

Within research on Black male athletes, the focus has often been primarily on their athletic identity. This focus on athletic identity comes from athletes being socialized to direct most of their attention and effort to sport while neglecting other social roles. However, recent events that perpetuate the unjust and systemic mistreatment of Black people have appeared to spark change. This was evident with Florida State defensive tackle Marvin Wilson taking a stand. Wilson stated, “Yesterday, I took a stand that was not only for me or FSU football. Not even for athletes in general. It was for big George Floyd, Black people in general, for our oppression that we’ve been going through for over 400 years.”

While privileged members of society may implore athletes to “stick to sports,” Black college athletes recognize that they must deal with the social implications associated with racism in the United States. Sociology of sport research on Black college athletes and activism has found that athletes who are in positions of influence often feel a responsibility to speak up about social issues. We are seeing that play out in college athletics today, and there is a particular focus on activism through the experiences and meanings ascribed to being Black. For example, University of Texas football player Jordan Whittington tweeted, “Texas football player for a couple years, but Black forever.” Not only are many Black college athletes becoming more outspoken, but their actions have also followed suit, as seen in the example of Ohio State basketball player Seth Towns who was detained after engaging in a peaceful protest following the George Floyd killing.

Black athletes are tired of being reminded of the historical subjugation of Black people through indignities, exemplified by Mississippi State running back Kylin Hill’s statement about not playing unless the state of Mississippi removed confederate symbols from its flag. Black college athletes are tired of their coaches lacking cultural awareness and supporting entities that degrade and devalue movements aimed at providing social reform. Such was the case as Oklahoma State’s star running back Chuba Hubbard called out head coach Mike Gundy for wearing a One America News shirt and vowed not to play “until things changed.” Black athletes at the University of Texas, meanwhile, threatened to abstain from participating in recruiting efforts or donor events unless their demands were met, as they were tired of having classes in buildings named after men who would not value their lives because of their racial identity and being forced to sing songs with racist undertones.

When athletes’ Black identity supersedes their athletic identity, college athletic departments and institutions of higher education will be forced to not only listen to their concerns and demands but also implement meaningful change. Black athletes, as a collective, are becoming less tolerant of their institutions turning a blind eye to coaches perpetuating racism and stereotypes, demonstrated by the firing of strength coach Chris Doyle at Iowa after numerous players spoke of bias and abusive behavior in the football program. In the process of addressing athletes’ concerns, athletic departments will be forced to weigh the value they place on their Black athletes’ perspectives versus the value they place in a gift from a donor who may disagree with their position. As ESPN writer David Hale noted, “too often, athletic departments chose to appease offended donors and fans rather than support the athletes who spoke out.” However, the new wave of athlete activism is forcing athletic administrators and institutions to take the demands of their Black students seriously.

Athletic departments and institutions are not the only stakeholders impacted by the current wave of activism among Black athletes. Fans and alumni will also be forced to make critical decisions. For example, they will have to decide whether a school’s “history and traditions” are more significant than creating a socially just and hospitable environment for Black athletes. Are they going to support Black male college athletes embracing their racial identities and fighting for social justice, or will they deem them unembraceable?

A continued focus on racial identity can lead to critical change within college athletics and society. Black athletes have the leverage to ignite some of this change, which has been evident in previous events, such as with Missouri in 2015, where the football team threatened to abstain from football-related activities until the university president resigned. Current evidence regarding the power of Black college athletes can be seen with the sweeping changes at the University of Texas in a move toward racial equity, as well as pushing athletic administrators to lobby for the removal of the confederate flag in Mississippi. These athletes increasingly realize the power they have, while also understanding that sport is not always the most important aspect of their lives. When Black college athletes place their identity of being Black at the forefront, change will happen.

Jonathan Howe is a doctoral candidate at The Ohio State University. His research focuses on Black male student-athlete identity and racial diversity in college athletics. You can follow Jonathan on Twitter: @mr_howe25

Stories of sexual abuse and assault continually emerge from the world of college athletics. Heinous acts committed by people in positions of authority, such as Larry Nasser, Jerry Sandusky, and Richard Strauss, have come to light in recent years. In the news, we see countless examples of sexual assault by individual athletes at schools across the country. The consequences for offenders vary greatly because of cover-ups, lax investigations, and special treatment for athletes. Part of the problem is that the people who have a responsibility to report allegations of sexual assault, such as coaches, often fail to do so. Unfortunately, a forthcoming policy change is likely to make the situation worse.

On May 6, Secretary of Education Betsy DeVos released a new set of regulations regarding sexual assault under Title IX, the law governing gender discrimination at federally-funded institutions. The revised guidelines are set to go into effect August 14. As a scholar who has been writing about Title IX for over a decade, I explain how the proposed changes regarding mandatory reporting are likely to affect the culture of college sports and campus communities more broadly. This analysis is based on what we know from past incidents of and research on sexual assault and harassment committed by coaches, student-athletes, and other athletic department personnel.

Under Title IX guidelines, school employees with a duty to report allegations of sexual assault, domestic violence, and similar crimes are known as “responsible employees,” a concept similar to that of a mandatory reporter of child abuse and negligence. Current regulations designate nearly all university employees, with the exception of counseling professionals and ministry, responsible employees. The new regulations, however, will allow schools to significantly reduce the number of mandatory reporters on campus by excluding coaches, athletics directors, and other athletics personnel, as well as faculty and some staff. This change is dangerous and philosophically inconsistent with the concept of a mandatory reporter. Rather than narrowing the scope of those responsible, regulations should expand the circle of people around a victim who are able to recognize or report abuse. Additionally, these changes contradict student services and conduct policies which aim to reinforce the message that all community members play a role in supporting victims of sexual assault and building safer campuses.

First, the obvious issue with the new guidelines is that having fewer “responsible employees” will likely lead to fewer reports. Student are already wary of reporting sexual assaults, as they are typically underreported on and off campuses. Given that many athletics personnel, who are currently deemed responsible employees, have failed to report sexual assault allegations in the past, it is unlikely the situation will improve under the new guidelines.

We have ample evidence of the horrific consequences that occur when coaches do not report abuse. For example, countless victims could have been spared the abuse of Larry Nasser if the coaches who were first told about his assaults on athletes at Michigan State had actually reported it. A similar case exists with Richard Strauss at Ohio State, which recently announced an initial settlement with 350 former members of the OSU community because of his abuse.

Collecting data about campus sexual assault is notoriously difficult. However, a substantial portion of sexual assault currently goes unreported. This is important, because campus rapists can be repeat offenders. An early study found that 60 percent of campus rapists committed more than one rape, while a 2015 study reported a more modest 25 percent. Regardless, cases of sexual assault could have been prevented if responsible employees had done their duty by reporting sexual assault allegations. For example, consider the case of Erica Kinsman, who found out during her ordeal that she was not Jameis Winston’s only victim at Florida State. Or consider any number of the women suing Baylor University where, it has been revealed, covering up assault committed by football players was systemic.

Given the above examples, in which perpetrators often went years without being punished, or were never punished at all, an observer may wonder why the new, less-strict Title IX reporting changes really matter. First, in order to create a climate of shared responsibility toward maintaining student health and safety on campus, it is symbolically important to include athletics personnel in the list of employees responsible for reporting abuse. Second, these changes are being implemented at a time when schools are finally—nearly 10 years after the 2011 Dear Colleague Letter that clarified schools’ responsibilities regarding sexual assault—settling into best practices, including rolling out training to all personnel. At this point, we have not had time to see the effects of better, more concerted institutional efforts at addressing campus sexual violence. Finally, we have not effectively assessed the deterring effect of lawsuits with large payouts or settlements. Although individuals such as Winston and Head Coach Jimbo Fisher were not personally held responsible, Florida State as an institution was—in addition to millions of dollars to fight the lawsuit brought by Kinsman, the school eventually paid out nearly a million dollars in a settlement to her and her lawyers. In other cases, such as at Baylor, individuals have experienced some level of accountability, as the head football coach, Art Briles, was fired (although with a healthy severance package) and has yet to coach again at the college level. At the very least, lawsuits have led to public reviews and revisions of Title IX policies and procedures on campuses, which results in more protections for victims.

The proposed changes to sexual assault reporting responsibilities reinforces an unfortunate norm that absolves coaches from responsibility to the university at large. Instead of viewing coaches as contributing members of an educational community, the new policy changes further position them as people hired to recruit athletes and get wins.

Exempting more people from reporting sexual assault is not the way to make campuses safer. Studies and investigations show that athletes commit sexual violence at a greater rate than their non-athlete peers. Coaches (including assistant coaches and other team personnel) are likely to be the people who hear about these crimes. With the forthcoming policy changes, the Department of Education is giving coaches latitude to handle sexual assault reports however they choose, rather than reporting them to the proper authorities. The people protected by these rule changes are those who are not going to be held responsible for sexual assault and those that can now legally ignore those crimes.

In a final point, it is important to note that schools will not necessarily be required to remove coaches from the list of mandatory reporters, and pending lawsuits against DeVos and the DOE means that the rules themselves, along with the date of enactment, are uncertain. In other words, schools can (and should) continue to designate coaches and other athletics staff as mandatory reporters. Ultimately, doing so can serve as an important step in creating an environment in which everyone on campus has a stake in ensuring not just that sexual assault offenders are punished, but that sexual assaults are prevented in the first place.

Kristine Newhall is an assistant professor of Kinesiology at SUNY Cortland where she teaches courses in sports ethics and sport and sexuality. Her research interests focus broadly on the intersections of race, sexuality, and gender in contemporary and 20th century sports and fitness cultures. Current projects include athletes’ coming out narratives; the history of women’s sports spaces; applications of Title IX; sexual violence and intercollegiate athletes; and trans policies and representations.

In March 2020, COVID-19 abruptly halted sport as we know it across almost all ages, levels, and communities in North America and much of the world. In a matter of days we went from sport to no sport—from sport everywhere to nowhere. So what does this mean for sports fans and for society in general? What are the implications of a society without sport?

Sociologists of sport have documented the ways in which sport serves as one of society’s most important tools of socialization. As human beings, we are inextricably and inherently social. In this context, sport often serves as one of the most entertaining, effective, and memorable ways for many people to feel connected, to get to know one another, and to cultivate a sense of community. In many ways, sport is a form of escapism from our busy, social-media-saturated, often energy-depleting lives. It is a highly commercialized and commodified sector used to entertain and distract. From a youth development standpoint, sport participation can serve as a positive activity in building character, teaching life skills, and developing mental, emotional, social, and physical wellbeing.  Moreover, it has the ability to engender and facilitate connections with other people – it is, fundamentally, a form of human competition that is built, guided, and glued together by human social relations. Of course, sport is not without faults and flaws, having frequently been a site of sexism, racism, classism, ableism, transphobia, homophobia, animal abuse, and environmental degradation.

While we should not overlook such problems, sport often functions as a way to feel human, helping many people across ages, abilities, levels, races, and sexes feel a certain sense of belonging, community, and identity that isn’t found to the same extent in other cultural practices. Through sport, we are able to be around people who like the same teams we like and cheer with us as “our” team scores a touchdown. Such practices can build bonds, individually and collectively. Sport is often associated with large social gatherings, and these kinds of gatherings are loaded with cultural meaning. More to the point, these gatherings are in many ways the cultural frontrunners in identity-forming, friend-making, and community-building.

So what happens when sport is abruptly halted, when socialization through the physical medium of sport (that is, when the act of playing and watching) is no longer a thing to be enjoyed or entertained by? The answer, perhaps, lies in the evident importance and impact of sport through its absence. The United Nations, for example, identified the disruptions to sport as a concern, while urging sport organizations to find new ways to engage with fans and mitigate the negative effects of COVID-19 on well-being and social development. People are certainly still interested in sport, as conversations about sport on social media increased during the initial lockdown period. If anything, the absence of sport has galvanized its sociocultural significance in terms of social relations, particularly in the age of social media and online engagement.

In a recent study conducted by the Global Sport Institute at Arizona State University, 46% of participants said that the stoppage of sport had made them depressed, 52% said they feel lonely and isolated, and 30% said they wanted to seek a mental health professional. As social beings, what does “social distancing” really mean for us, and how will this impact how we socialize within/through sport in the future? Sport can be seen as an integral part of our society with respect to connection, community, and social development. Accordingly, having sport as we know it disrupted can indeed inhibit human interaction/socialization, in turn engendering a decline in mental health. Because sport is one of the most celebrated, popular, treasured, income-generating, policy-making, and nation-and-character-building sectors in North America, sport is important. Many sporting competitions and activities could be postponed until well into 2021. So, it may be that perhaps the lack of sport and the anxieties felt with this reality will provide a kind of shared nostalgia, a collective apprehension woven by the love and wanting of it.

Emma Calow is a second year PhD student in the American Culture Studies program at Bowling Green State University. Her program track is ethnicity, gender, and social identity, with a concentration in sport studies. Her research interests lie in sport and society as they intersect with race, gender, American nationalism, and athlete activism. You can find her on LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/emma-calow-she-her-hers-71489ba5/

On a sunny Sunday afternoon in June 2020, Black Lives Matter protesters in Bristol, England pulled down a statue of Edward Colston from its pedestal, dragged it through the city’s streets and dumped it into the harbour. Colston, who some revered for his philanthropic donations to schools and hospitals, was a 17th century slave trader. He made his fortune through his involvement in the Royal African Company, a mercantile corporation that oversaw the forced removal, transportation and annihilation of hundreds of thousands of Black Africans. The dismantling of his statue – which had stood for 125 years – was an iconic event in the demonstrations across the United Kingdom, adding new momentum to campaigns to remove or replace public monuments, and to rename buildings that have racist, colonial connections.

Hours after Colston’s statue fell, as reports cascaded across social media, Liam Rosenior, a professional soccer coach for Derby County, tweeted his reaction. He informed his followers that Rosenior is a slave name and that when he was a child growing up in Bristol he had attended a school named after Colston. His tweet ended: “Pardon me for enjoying this moment of irony.” Just a couple days earlier, Rosenior, a keen scholar of Black history and whose daughters are American citizens, had written an open letter to Donald Trump in The Guardian newspaper, condemning the US President’s “open hatred, indifference and disregard towards a people subjugated by physical, economic, mental and emotional abuse for more than 400 years.”

Rosenior’s words echoed those of another Black British former soccer player, Howard Gayle. In 2016, Gayle publically rejected the award of an MBE (Member of the Order of the British Empire), part of an array of honours conferred annually by Queen Elizabeth II, because of its associations with British colonialism. Both players trace parts of their family histories to Sierra Leone. Already a major location in the transatlantic slave trade, Britain’s principal role in the industry and decimation of the population there commenced in the early 1600s. Later on, at the end of the 18th century, Sierra Leone was selected by British abolitionists and philanthropists as the site for the repatriation of London’s “Black Poor,” including freed slaves and African Americans who had fought for the British Army in the American Revolution. “When you look at what the empire did to my family and our ancestors, it just doesn’t bear credence,” Gayle stated. “I would always have felt uncomfortable writing those letters [MBE] after my name.”

English soccer responds to Black Lives Matter

Ten days after the toppling of Colston’s statue, soccer in England’s top men’s division (the Premier League) returned after its Covid-19 enforced intermission. During this break in play, the extent and outcomes of a different pandemic were brought to global public attention: systemic anti-Black racism. Following the killing of African Americans including David McAtee, George Floyd, Tony McDade and Breonna Taylor by police officers or members of the US National Guard, anti-racist protests took place in a variety of cultural settings across the world. For the first round of resumed English soccer matches, “Black Lives Matter” replaced players’ names on the backs of their jerseys. Players and officials all took a knee immediately before kick-off in every remaining game to show their solidarity and collective opposition to racism.

“Sport participation and stardom do not provide reprieve from larger societal, racist violence” writes anthropologist Stanley Thangaraj. In a hitherto unprecedented contribution to the public conversation on race in the UK, several Black elite soccer players – men and women – spoke out powerfully against global racial injustice. Watford’s Andre Gray, whose back is tattooed with a montage of historic US, South African and Jamaican political and cultural leaders, stated, “So the marches over here are not just for the police brutality in America – it’s for England, as well. And Paris and all over the world. It’s because of the systematic racism that is everywhere.”

Both Nedum Onuoha, a British player for Real Salt Lake in the MLS, and the US international DeAndre Yedlin, who plays for Newcastle United, described how they felt unsafe and fearful as young Black men in the United States, especially during interactions with police officers. Aston Villa’s Anita Asante and Liverpool’s Rinsola Babajide drew attention to common state practices of anti-Blackness and police brutality in the US and the UK. Jess Carter of Chelsea and Ebony Salmon of Bristol City, meanwhile, emphasised the contemporary significance of the global anti-racist protests, plus their own capacity to be role models for young Black women. Aston Villa’s Tyrone Mings attended a Black Lives Matter protest in Birmingham, England with “Won’t Be Silenced” written on his facemask, and he posted afterwards on Instagram that the “energy and power” of the demonstration was “like nothing I’ve felt before.”

Thinking, acting and resisting across space and time

The involvement and leadership of Black soccer players (as well as support from a number of white allies) was a well-noted feature of the popular anti-racist uprisings of summer 2020 in the UK. Yet scholarly and journalistic commentaries on these developments tend to restrict the influence and impact of key sportspeople to particular spaces and times. They do not acknowledge that the orientations and perspectives underpinning the players’ activism are, in fact, both transnational (extending beyond individual countries) and transhistorical (spanning different eras) in scope. This viewpoint disconnects the players’ actions from other people, places and periods. It deters any consideration of how the principles, purpose and power of what they say and do are informed and nourished by transnational networks and interactions; and it inhibits recognition of how they often draw on happenings and movements from the (sometimes distant) past as well as the present.

As the examples above illustrate, Black soccer players are familiar with manifestations of anti-Blackness and white supremacy in other places and from varied points in history. Connecting them to the issues and problems of modern English soccer and British society allows these athletes to contextualise and comprehend their own experiences and struggles. Moreover, drawing on the techniques and tactics of global anti-racism enables them to align in critical mass against racism and other social injustices on both local and worldwide scales. They protest against global inequality and oppression, as well as the difficulties they face in their own careers. They speak outside their sport, beyond their nation and past their own lifetimes. Yet, at the same time, they refuse to displace racism as something that is external to the UK. Instead, they draw attention to its presence, not least in sport and the police, forming part of what sociologist Gargi Bhattacharyya labels “a globally integrated machinery of state racisms.”

The scholar-activist Urooj Shahzadi states that, “if we do not organize our collective strength we risk losing deeply important histories and collective solutions.” Black Lives Matter has shown that an expansive, cross-cultural and transnational politics and practice of anti-racism is fundamental to challenging anti-Blackness and white racial violence as a global phenomenon. Black soccer players (and sportspeople more widely) have outlined and enacted a compelling approach to striving for racial justice in sport and society. As professional soccer institutions face up to their own need for deep self-reflection, structural reform and more radical anti-racist policies, they could do far worse than follow the players’ lead.

Daniel Burdsey is a Reader in the Centre for Spatial, Environmental and Cultural Politics at the University of Brighton, UK; and an Associate Professor (status only) at the University of Toronto, Canada. His new book Racism and English Football: For Club and Country will be published by Routledge in fall 2020.

Follow the University of Brighton Sport and Leisure Cultures research group on Twitter: @sport_research

Since COVID-19 has shut down sporting events in North America and many parts of the world, sports fans are desperately trying to find anything to watch. In North America, the National Basketball Association and National Hockey League had to suspend their seasons indefinitely, NCAA March Madness was cancelled, and Major League Baseball, which was set to start the season at the end of March, has not yet decided on a potential date to open the 2020 season despite creative contingent plans being floated around by league officials. With no baseball games on the schedule in North America, baseball enthusiasts can turn to Taiwan, where its professional baseball league started the season on April 11. To abide by social distancing policies of Taiwan, no fans are allowed in stadiums, but robot spectators fill the bleachers in lieu of actual people.

How can baseball be played in Taiwan under a global health crisis when almost every other league in the world has cancelled or postponed their seasons? Thanks to early and effective governmental measures to combat and contain the virus, along with an affordable and quality centralized health care system, Taiwan has received international praise for its success in mitigating the spread of the virus. Taiwan has managed to do this despite its exclusion from the World Health Organization (WHO) as well as its proximity to mainland China, where the virus originated. As of April 24, more than three months after Taiwan’s first reported COVID-19 case, there were only 428 total confirmed cases and 6 deaths in Taiwan. Everyday life has been minimally disrupted in Taiwan without large-scale closures or shutdowns. Restaurants and most businesses remain open. Social distancing policies were implemented by the government in early April, but with the level of risk lower than most other countries, baseball has returned to action.

Taiwan’s professional baseball league, the Chinese Professional Baseball League (CPBL), has typically received little attention outside of Taiwan. Established in 1989, the CPBL currently includes four teams (CTBC Brothers, Uni-President Lions, Fubon Guardians, and Rakuten Monkeys) with a fifth team (Wei Chuan Dragons) expected to officially join the league in 2021. During the first weeks of the 2020 season, the international attention and media coverage were unprecedented in the league’s history. In response to the unexpected attention from the English-speaking world, the league soon arranged for English-language broadcasts alongside traditional broadcasts in Mandarin Chinese, and most games are streamed online for free. Such conditions provide a gateway for baseball fans around the world to be introduced to the island-nation’s rich and robust baseball culture.

Baseball was introduced to Taiwan by Japanese colonizers in the late 19th century, and the sport continued to thrive after the Japanese left. Since its introduction, baseball has been intertwined with the island’s geopolitical context as well as the national identities of Taiwanese people. Perhaps Taiwan’s most discussed success in sports was its domination of Little League Baseball from the 1970s through early 1990s, which was directly linked to strong governmental involvement by the Chinese Nationalist Party (or Kuomintang, KMT) which fled to Taiwan after losing the Chinese Civil War to the Chinese Communist Party in 1949. For the “Republic of China,” the KMT-controlled government in Taiwan, youth baseball had become an important venue for promoting Chinese nationalism in Taiwan and abroad. In the 1970s, the KMT government continued to claim that it was the only legitimate regime in mainland China, despite losing most of its support from the international community. Thus, Little League Baseball became one of the few arenas where the authoritarian regime could “win” its political and ideological battle.

After Taiwan went through a process of democratization in the 1990s, the cultural meaning of baseball also changed. The KMT was no longer the only powerful political party, and the ideology of Chinese nationalism gradually gave way to increased Taiwanese nationalism. Before the 1990s, people in Taiwan largely identified themselves as Chinese or both Chinese and Taiwanese, but citizens have increasingly started to embrace an exclusive Taiwanese national identity since the turn of the century when the KMT lost the presidential election in 2000. To put it simply, an important element of Taiwanese nationalism is an emphasis on the differentiation between being Chinese and Taiwanese. Politically, Taiwan has not been recognized as an independent country because of the constant political pressure from mainland China, but Taiwanese people argue that the distinction between China and Taiwan is obvious and significant in terms of history, culture, and political system. Under this context, baseball started to become an important cultural symbol because it was uniquely Taiwanese—it was very popular in Taiwan, but it had a marginal presence in mainland China.

During the COVID-19 crisis, baseball and Taiwanese nationalism have once again converged—Taiwan’s effective governmental measures have helped successfully prevent a widespread outbreak, which has allowed for the operation of professional baseball. Taiwan’s President Tsai Ing-wen sent several tweets during the league’s opening week, introducing this league to an international audience. Baseball players, fans, and league officials also took advantage of the surprising spotlight, and more and more information about the league was quickly made available in English. All of these efforts could be understood within the geopolitical context of Taiwan in which there has been a persistent desire to be recognized by the world, especially when actual military threats and political attacks from China remain constant.

Yet, there is a problem—the name of the league. After all, the league is called the “Chinese” Professional Baseball League, a fact that has already caused confusion among new followers from the English-speaking world. In fact, many new CPBL followers assumed that the games took place not in Taiwan but China, which could significantly undermine the essential message Taiwanese people wanted to send to the world: Taiwan is different from China. It remains to be seen how long the CPBL can enjoy this level of international attention when baseball elsewhere returns to action (the KBO, South Korea’s professional baseball, began its season in early May), but the 2020 CPBL season has already provided an example that sports can be heavily intertwined with the ongoing process of nation-making. The history of Taiwan, its complicated relationship with mainland China, and the changing and fluid national identities of Taiwanese people have made baseball more than just a cultural signifier of a nation. While it used to be a significant part of promoting a specific version of Chinese nationalism in the 1970s, baseball is now a symbol of Taiwanese nationalism which accompanies a proud effort to fight COVID-19.

Daniel Yu-Kuei Sun is a lecturer in Sport Management at Towson University. His research interests include 20th century American sport history, sport in Asian America, and sport in contemporary Taiwan.