#especially those who have built their platform on their queerness and then completely refuse to engage in any intersectionality

[ryn-holt]

Idk might fuck around and make a list of white queer ‘Progressive’ YouTubers who have remained completely silent on the multiple genocides.

[wolfstar-in-color]

June Creator Spotlight: BigBlackDog

Hello, colorful cuties, and welcome to our first creator spotlight!!

Each month, we will highlight a different creator in our lovely fandom who features diverse characterizations. We will invite you to get to know them better through questions and answers, Fandom Discourse(tm), and a featured prompt created by our guest!!!

For our first spotlight, we are more than pleased to highlight the incredible work of bigblackdog!!! See a little snippet of this wonderful interview below, along with bigblackdog’s prompt! Look below the cut for our complete interview. Don’t forget to share and interact with this post, and if you have anyone you’d like to recommend for a spotlight, shoot us an ask! You can find our first guest’s Tumblr here.

“I've experienced ups and downs in the wolfstar fandom. It often feels like the wolfstar fandom is willing to engage in discussion about every political issue but race. And the few people who are trying to talk about race consistently encounter this silence.”

bigblackdog’s prompt: I want to see more latino characters who are not impoverished or criminalized. Give me a joyful latino/e remus!

Hello, I'm bigblackdog! I'm almost 30, and I've been active in fandom on various platforms for about seven years now. I'm latina/e and live in the u.s. with a small white dog.

Q: How did you start creating in the fandom? What did you wish to bring into the fandom? 

A: Like a lot of fans I started with self insert fic as a middle schooler. Sometimes the practice of self-insert gets ragged on in fandom, as if you're not doing real character work, but I think it's really cool. And if you're an under represented identity in the traditional western canon of literature, self insert is a radical practice. Making space for yourself in a story that refuses or ignores your identities is a radical act. And that's what i want to bring to fandom-- disruption and self care.

Q: What things about s/r as characters or in their relationship inspire you to create around them? 

A: Wolfstar was the first queer ship I was introduced to. I wasn't someone who arrived in fandom with my own robust queer reading skills, I needed other queers to hold my hand and introduce me to queer ships and how to find them and build them. My interest in r/s was simply a clinging to queerness I wasn't finding in other places. I really think it could have been any characters, as long as they were queer.

Q: What things would you like to highlight about the Wolfstar fandom and your experience in it? 

A: I've experienced ups and downs in the wolfstar fandom. It often feels like the wolfstar fandom is willing to engage in discussion about every political issue but race. And the few people who are trying to talk about race consistently encounter this silence. It's hard not to feel bitter. But i've also met some amazing people and overall feel that fans really are trying their best to be welcoming and inclusive.

Q: What type of content do you wish you saw more in the fandom? 

A: I want to see more discourse that aims at amplifying underrepresented voices like wolfstar-in-color. I want to see more fans of color joyfully and irreverently writing themselves into the magical world!

Q: What is your favourite wolfstar fancontent (fic/fanart/gifset/etc) and how does it inspire you? 

A: I love dontthinkonithermione's rp. Not only does she do an amazing nerdy know it all Hermione, she envisions Black characters in every corner of the hp world. Have you seen her Hogwarts p.e. professor rps? i love the space she creates for herself, and the joy she does it with.

Q: Which of your own identities inform your creative processes? How has that process been for you? 

A: I started out in fandom really trying to feel out the nooks and crannies of being queer. As i've spent more time in fandom and become more confident in my queerness I've started looking closer at some of my other identities-- Latina, mixed, adhd-- and how i can squeeze them into the hp world. For a long time it was hard, especially with being Latine and mixed, to envision how that identity could belong in a 90s British boarding school in the Scottish wilderness. I also really struggled with the feeling that i would get "diversity" wrong. I’ve also struggled with feeling like I have to write diversity because i'm an underrepresented voice. Brown people are often pressured to do the work of educating white people about racism and in fandom spaces that often means pressure to write the reality of racism instead of the fantasy that white writers get to play with. And sometimes i just want to write a pwp without worrying about the revolution, you know? But i really love fandom for its refusal to play by the rules of capitalism and canon, eventually i started to feel like putting more of myself into my writing was another rule i could break.

Q: What advice do you have for other content creators with diverse backgrounds in the fandom? What would you say to people that might feel they don’t have the “right” history/experience/characteristics to participate in the creation of content related to Wolfstar? 

First, there's a lot of content on tumblr that aims to silence your voice, learn how to recognize the difference between cancel culture and encouragement. Sometimes content that seems well meaning still presents writing diversity as a list of black and white rules (and virtue signaling) instead of encouragement for underrepresented voices to share their own messy experience. Set those rules gently aside. Second, fandom is built on the idea that the author isn't the only person who gets to play. we all get to play. It doesn't always feel like we were invited, but the great thing about fandom is there is no barrier to entry, no prior experience or publishing hoops to jump through. This is our playground too. If canon is dead then why can't our stories be brown and queer and neurodivergent? Third, find your people. i've found that having just one other person to talk about race with has made the whole space feel more welcoming.

Q: How could we build a more diverse fandom? 

A: We have to stop prioritizing white and cis male voices. We recognize that policing irl is a problem inextricable from whiteness and maleness, but we don't see that fandom policing online is also a problem deeply embedded in whiteness and maleness. White and cis male people frequently use their discomfort with difficult topics to change the subject from a critical discussion to one that prioritizes their white and/or male feelings. The same thing happens online when personal discomfort is used to cancel or undermine content that's challenging to a white or male voice. White and cis male voices are used to having their needs met above others. And we still cater to that in fandom spaces when we privilege 'fetishization' discourse over racial discourse. When we lift up bipoc and women/trans/nb voices and the issues they're concerned with we'll make fandom a more welcoming place for underrepresented voices.

Q: What’s your favourite thing to modify in Sirius’s or Remus’s characterizations to bring new perspectives to them? 

A: It really depends on the story i'm writing and what issue i'm trying to figure out. Sometimes i need Sirius to be Adhd to come to terms with my brain, sometimes i need two brown boys to fall in love and be happy against all odds.

Q: What does diversity mean to you? What does that encompass in fannish spaces? 

A: This is a hard question! I tend to think of diversity as those voices that are disenfranchised or pushed to the margins. And fannish spaces have all the same hierarchies and blind spots as other spaces. In fannish spaces there's the idea that you can curate your experience to some extent, but for marginalized voices, at least in my experience, no matter how much you curate the marginalization is still there.

Q: What are your ideas about the notions of culture and ethnicity? How do you relate to those notions? 

A: There was a time in my life where relating to my ethnicity was largely a process of recognizing larger systems of oppression and how they worked against my various identities. And for a while it was a really helpful way to frame my experiences. Now I feel a little less attached to ethnicity as like, a monolithic concept threaded through my whole life and more attached to the small things that I enjoy about my ethnicity and culture-- making a really good pot of beans, for example.

Q: Leave us with a quote or work of art that always inspires you. 

A: "Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare." Audre Lorde

[biofunmy]

Lesbians Won The Women’s World Cup

Alex Grimm / Getty Images

Lesbian athletes Ashlyn Harris, Megan Rapinoe, and Ali Krieger of the USA following their team’s victory in the 2019 FIFA Women’s World Cup France final match between the US and the Netherlands at Stade de Lyon.

Four years ago, at a bar in Brooklyn, I cried a few drunken, happy tears watching soccer titan Abby Wambach, fresh off a World Cup win, run ecstatically toward the stands to kiss her then-wife, Sarah Huffman. Wambach, one of the best players of all time, would be retiring from the game with a 5–2 win over Japan and yet another coveted title under her belt. It thrilled me that someone who’d proven herself the best of the best on the world’s stage was also openly gay, and openly in love. Wambach and her team’s triumph felt less like an American win to me and more like a win for the gays — and lesbians, specifically — just a week after the Supreme Court had legalized same-sex marriage nationwide.

At the time, Getty Images infamously captioned its shot of Wambach and Huffman embracing with “Abby Wambach of USA celebrates with a friend,” releasing a deluge of memes poking fun at the ways in which mainstream culture willfully overlooks romantic affection between women. But in the years since, the queerness of the US women’s national soccer team has only grown more visible — so visible, in fact, that it’s pretty much impossible for even the densest of straight people to ignore.

Over the weekend, the USWNT beat the Netherlands 2–0 in this year’s World Cup final for its second consecutive World Cup win, a victory that, as star forward, team cocaptain, and America’s lesbian sweetheart Megan Rapinoe pointed out, would have been impossible without queer power: “You can’t win a championship without gays on your team … that’s science right there.” Rapinoe’s out teammates include Ashlyn Harris and Ali Krieger, who announced their engagement earlier this year, while their coach, Jillian Ellis, is also an out lesbian. And then there’s fan-favorite Kelley O’Hara, who, recovering from a nasty head-to-head collision during yesterday’s match, replayed Wambach’s famous kiss with one of her own: She ran to the stands after the game and embraced her girlfriend, in a moment at once completely unexceptional and rather profound. She hadn’t previously made any grand pronouncement about her sexuality, but openly kissing her partner spoke for itself.

USA Today Sports

Megan Rapinoe kisses girlfriend Sue Bird after defeating the Netherlands in the championship match of the 2019 FIFA Women’s World Cup.

I don’t closely follow most sports, soccer included — I still barely understand what offsides means, no matter how many times my friends try to explain it to me — but this World Cup, as with the last, I was drawn in by all these incredible lesbians. For one thing, a lot of the players look like the kinds of hot mean girls with ponytails who both intimidated and titillated me in my closeted youth. For another, I’ve become enamored with the way the US team (and especially Rapinoe) has used its international platforms to advocate for LGBTQ rights, equal pay, and racial justice.

Lately, I don’t feel particularly proud to be an American. A few days before the World Cup finals, President Donald Trump hijacked the National Mall to stage his 4th of July rally, as a monument to (white) American exceptionalism and supremacy. At a time of year when we’re all supposed to be celebrating our hard-won freedoms, there are men, women, and children detained in cages and subjected to horrifying treatment at the border. That doesn’t make me proud; it makes me sick. I’m not proud of where the United States — supposedly the best place the world — stands in international rankings when it comes to gun violence or maternal mortality rates. I’m not proud that trans women of color are being killed at epidemic levels, nor am I proud of a health care system that bankrupts citizens for the crime of poor health. I feel, if anything, perversely grateful that my race and class status have afforded me the safety and well-being so frequently denied to others in this country.

I’ve become enamored with the way the US team has used its international platforms to advocate for LGBTQ rights, equal pay, and racial justice.

But do you know what does make me proud? The fact that Megan Rapinoe was among the first American athletes to kneel in solidarity with Colin Kaepernick, and that during the World Cup, she continued to protest by refusing to sing the national anthem. I’m proud that Rapinoe, earlier this year, said she wouldn’t go “to the fucking White House” if her team was invited after a potential World Cup win; and I’m proud of her teammates, whom Rapinoe said wouldn’t likely accept a Trump invitation either. I’m proud that Wambach, Rapinoe, and other women’s soccer players would have no problem playing with and against trans women athletes, and have demanded an end to discriminatory anti-trans policies in international sports. And I’m proud that, for all the policy’s other faults, Title IX helped build a team of women champions by mandating schools provide equal sporting opportunities for girls.

Someone’s pride is inevitably someone else’s shame, however, and everything I love about the US women’s team is everything plenty of others despise about it — in our country and around the world.

Rapinoe, for example, for her protests and for her refusal to let an explicitly anti-LGBTQ administration use her as a photo op, is “ungrateful,” “selfish,” “divisive,” and (of course) “un-American.” Trump has led those charges, playing to his base the same way he once did with Kaepernick, accusing Rapinoe of dishonoring the American flag (and, bizarrely, managing to twist a jab at a white soccer player into a racist tirade). It will never cease to stun and disappoint me that so many Americans can be whipped into a furious frenzy when someone who’s gay, or black, or otherwise marginalized dares speak out against injustice in ways they deem to be impolite or brash or unseemly. As Adam Serwer recently wrote in the Atlantic: “when those in power are caught abusing that power in ways that are morally indefensible and politically unpopular, they will always seek to turn an argument about oppression into a dispute about manners.”

Meanwhile, as Rapinoe and her fellow players who have spoken out against US atrocities are branded as “un-American” by conservatives at home, they’re considered by naysayers abroad to be all too American. Even before the US beat England’s lionesses in the semifinals, the British press continually attacked the USWNT for their “arrogance.” Pundits were surely going to lose their minds when, during the game itself, Morgan celebrated a goal with a gently ribbing gesture — she pretended to sip a cup of tea — that, on 4th of July weekend, amusingly recognized the fact that our country was born of anti-colonialist revolution.

I don’t have any problems with poking light fun at a powerful country like England. But I admit I was less comfortable when, in the World Cup opener, the USWNT completely demolished Thailand 13–nil, kicking off early rounds of criticism that the team was too arrogant for reveling in another country’s humiliating defeat. Beating the Brits at their own beloved game is one thing, but bulldozing a team made up entirely of people of color — who have far less cultural and economic power than ours does — feels, I’ve got to say, rather different.

Yes, our women’s team hasn’t achieved pay parity with our far crappier and far less beloved men’s soccer team — an injustice deserving swift rectification. But watching the World Cup, especially in the earlier rounds — before semifinals consisting of the US, England, the Netherlands, and Sweden had rendered the pitches blindingly white — I spent more time thinking about the pay disparities between our women’s team and others around the world, particularly in less wealthy countries.

Our team is great because of public policies like Title IX, and because, in the US, women’s sports are slowly beginning to earn the respect they deserve. Also, of course, we’ve got some incredible individual athletes, all of whom I love and admire. Still, I can’t really bring myself to join the chants of “USA!” whenever I’ve been to games in bars bedecked in red, white, and blue, because there’s a part of me that recognizes at least some of the USWNT’s supremacy is born of unearned American advantage.

While most of the criticisms lobbed against this team have struck me as completely ludicrous, I do cede the point that this is really the first time that an American team has dominated in a truly international sport — which means soccer has become yet another arena for the US to gloat about our supposed supremacy. Merch declaring “USA vs. Everybody” leaves a bad taste in my mouth; it sounds less like a great team (rightfully) owning their greatness and more like an uncomfortably cheery summary of US imperialism’s bloody history.

And yet it is precisely because of my discomfort with slobbering jingoism that I’m grateful to the US players who champion a messier, more honest, more noble vision of the American patriot: someone who is constantly pushing this country — which wasn’t, in fact, built on a foundation guaranteeing universal freedoms — to be a better and more equitable place.

I’m grateful to the US players who champion a messier, more honest, more noble vision of the American patriot.

And even though I haven’t managed to fully embrace the American-branded celebrations of our win (the flags, the constant loops of “Born in the U.S.A.,” all the insufferable chanting), I’ve still felt overcome with joy these past couple days, seeing these women unapologetically celebrating their win. They’ve been shamed for their celebrations because they’re Americans, yes, but also because, obviously, they’re women — women who dare to take up space, who refuse to demur or downplay their own greatness.

The queer joy, in particular, has felt revelatory to me. Rapinoe’s girlfriend, WNBA superstar Sue Bird, wrote a completely delightful Players’ Tribune entry last week about how in love she is with this remarkable human — someone who’s not only openly gay, but credits her sexuality for her successes, and uses her own marginalized identity as a way to empathize with and advocate for others. Watching the game yesterday in a bar with some of my best gay friends, who decided against a “USA” chant and went with “LES-BI-ANS” instead, I felt exactly like Bird: “I was happy. I was crazy. I was PROUD. I was pretending to know about soccer. I was a little overwhelmed. I was pretty damn American. And I was in love with Megan Rapinoe.”

I was also in love with Ashlyn Harris, whose boozy Instagram stories of the team celebrating in beer goggles in the locker room after the game deserves an EGOT, and whose commitment to shouting “gays rule” has sustained me at least through the next week. I was in love with all of them, their goofiness and their clear affection for each other, their euphoria a shining light in this long, dark American summer. We can all use a little joy these days. ●

CORRECTION

Jul. 08, 2019, at 17:29 PM

Adam Serwer’s name was misspelled in an earlier version of this post.

Sahred From Source link Sports

from WordPress http://bit.ly/32lh35c via IFTTT

[biofunmy]

Lesbians Won The Women’s World Cup

Alex Grimm / Getty Images

Lesbian athletes Ashlyn Harris, Megan Rapinoe, and Ali Krieger of the USA following their team’s victory in the 2019 FIFA Women’s World Cup France final match between the US and the Netherlands at Stade de Lyon.

Four years ago, at a bar in Brooklyn, I cried a few drunken, happy tears watching soccer titan Abby Wambach, fresh off a World Cup win, run ecstatically toward the stands to kiss her then-wife, Sarah Huffman. Wambach, one of the best players of all time, would be retiring from the game with a 5–2 win over Japan and yet another coveted title under her belt. It thrilled me that someone who’d proven herself the best of the best on the world’s stage was also openly gay, and openly in love. Wambach and her team’s triumph felt less like an American win to me and more like a win for the gays — and lesbians, specifically — just a week after the Supreme Court had legalized same-sex marriage nationwide.

At the time, Getty Images infamously captioned its shot of Wambach and Huffman embracing with “Abby Wambach of USA celebrates with a friend,” releasing a deluge of memes poking fun at the ways in which mainstream culture willfully overlooks romantic affection between women. But in the years since, the queerness of the US women’s national soccer team has only grown more visible — so visible, in fact, that it’s pretty much impossible for even the densest of straight people to ignore.

Over the weekend, the USWNT beat the Netherlands 2–0 in this year’s World Cup final for its second consecutive World Cup win, a victory that, as star forward, team cocaptain, and America’s lesbian sweetheart Megan Rapinoe pointed out, would have been impossible without queer power: “You can’t win a championship without gays on your team … that’s science right there.” Rapinoe’s out teammates include Ashlyn Harris and Ali Krieger, who announced their engagement earlier this year, while their coach, Jillian Ellis, is also an out lesbian. And then there’s fan-favorite Kelley O’Hara, who, recovering from a nasty head-to-head collision during yesterday’s match, replayed Wambach’s famous kiss with one of her own: She ran to the stands after the game and embraced her girlfriend, in a moment at once completely unexceptional and rather profound. She hadn’t previously made any grand pronouncement about her sexuality, but openly kissing her partner spoke for itself.

USA Today Sports

Megan Rapinoe kisses girlfriend Sue Bird after defeating the Netherlands in the championship match of the 2019 FIFA Women’s World Cup.

I don’t closely follow most sports, soccer included — I still barely understand what offsides means, no matter how many times my friends try to explain it to me — but this World Cup, as with the last, I was drawn in by all these incredible lesbians. For one thing, a lot of the players look like the kinds of hot mean girls with ponytails who both intimidated and titillated me in my closeted youth. For another, I’ve become enamored with the way the US team (and especially Rapinoe) has used its international platforms to advocate for LGBTQ rights, equal pay, and racial justice.

Lately, I don’t feel particularly proud to be an American. A few days before the World Cup finals, President Donald Trump hijacked the National Mall to stage his 4th of July rally, as a monument to (white) American exceptionalism and supremacy. At a time of year when we’re all supposed to be celebrating our hard-won freedoms, there are men, women, and children detained in cages and subjected to horrifying treatment at the border. That doesn’t make me proud; it makes me sick. I’m not proud of where the United States — supposedly the best place the world — stands in international rankings when it comes to gun violence or maternal mortality rates. I’m not proud that trans women of color are being killed at epidemic levels, nor am I proud of a health care system that bankrupts citizens for the crime of poor health. I feel, if anything, perversely grateful that my race and class status have afforded me the safety and well-being so frequently denied to others in this country.

I’ve become enamored with the way the US team has used its international platforms to advocate for LGBTQ rights, equal pay, and racial justice.

But do you know what does make me proud? The fact that Megan Rapinoe was among the first American athletes to kneel in solidarity with Colin Kaepernick, and that during the World Cup, she continued to protest by refusing to sing the national anthem. I’m proud that Rapinoe, earlier this year, said she wouldn’t go “to the fucking White House” if her team was invited after a potential World Cup win; and I’m proud of her teammates, whom Rapinoe said wouldn’t likely accept a Trump invitation either. I’m proud that Wambach, Rapinoe, and other women’s soccer players would have no problem playing with and against trans women athletes, and have demanded an end to discriminatory anti-trans policies in international sports. And I’m proud that, for all the policy’s other faults, Title IX helped build a team of women champions by mandating schools provide equal sporting opportunities for girls.

Someone’s pride is inevitably someone else’s shame, however, and everything I love about the US women’s team is everything plenty of others despise about it — in our country and around the world.

Rapinoe, for example, for her protests and for her refusal to let an explicitly anti-LGBTQ administration use her as a photo op, is “ungrateful,” “selfish,” “divisive,” and (of course) “un-American.” Trump has led those charges, playing to his base the same way he once did with Kaepernick, accusing Rapinoe of dishonoring the American flag (and, bizarrely, managing to twist a jab at a white soccer player into a racist tirade). It will never cease to stun and disappoint me that so many Americans can be whipped into a furious frenzy when someone who’s gay, or black, or otherwise marginalized dares speak out against injustice in ways they deem to be impolite or brash or unseemly. As Adam Serwer recently wrote in the Atlantic: “when those in power are caught abusing that power in ways that are morally indefensible and politically unpopular, they will always seek to turn an argument about oppression into a dispute about manners.”

Meanwhile, as Rapinoe and her fellow players who have spoken out against US atrocities are branded as “un-American” by conservatives at home, they’re considered by naysayers abroad to be all too American. Even before the US beat England’s lionesses in the semifinals, the British press continually attacked the USWNT for their “arrogance.” Pundits were surely going to lose their minds when, during the game itself, Morgan celebrated a goal with a gently ribbing gesture — she pretended to sip a cup of tea — that, on 4th of July weekend, amusingly recognized the fact that our country was born of anti-colonialist revolution.

I don’t have any problems with poking light fun at a powerful country like England. But I admit I was less comfortable when, in the World Cup opener, the USWNT completely demolished Thailand 13–nil, kicking off early rounds of criticism that the team was too arrogant for reveling in another country’s humiliating defeat. Beating the Brits at their own beloved game is one thing, but bulldozing a team made up entirely of people of color — who have far less cultural and economic power than ours does — feels, I’ve got to say, rather different.

Yes, our women’s team hasn’t achieved pay parity with our far crappier and far less beloved men’s soccer team — an injustice deserving swift rectification. But watching the World Cup, especially in the earlier rounds — before semifinals consisting of the US, England, the Netherlands, and Sweden had rendered the pitches blindingly white — I spent more time thinking about the pay disparities between our women’s team and others around the world, particularly in less wealthy countries.

Our team is great because of public policies like Title IX, and because, in the US, women’s sports are slowly beginning to earn the respect they deserve. Also, of course, we’ve got some incredible individual athletes, all of whom I love and admire. Still, I can’t really bring myself to join the chants of “USA!” whenever I’ve been to games in bars bedecked in red, white, and blue, because there’s a part of me that recognizes at least some of the USWNT’s supremacy is born of unearned American advantage.

While most of the criticisms lobbed against this team have struck me as completely ludicrous, I do cede the point that this is really the first time that an American team has dominated in a truly international sport — which means soccer has become yet another arena for the US to gloat about our supposed supremacy. Merch declaring “USA vs. Everybody” leaves a bad taste in my mouth; it sounds less like a great team (rightfully) owning their greatness and more like an uncomfortably cheery summary of US imperialism’s bloody history.

And yet it is precisely because of my discomfort with slobbering jingoism that I’m grateful to the US players who champion a messier, more honest, more noble vision of the American patriot: someone who is constantly pushing this country — which wasn’t, in fact, built on a foundation guaranteeing universal freedoms — to be a better and more equitable place.

I’m grateful to the US players who champion a messier, more honest, more noble vision of the American patriot.

And even though I haven’t managed to fully embrace the American-branded celebrations of our win (the flags, the constant loops of “Born in the U.S.A.,” all the insufferable chanting), I’ve still felt overcome with joy these past couple days, seeing these women unapologetically celebrating their win. They’ve been shamed for their celebrations because they’re Americans, yes, but also because, obviously, they’re women — women who dare to take up space, who refuse to demur or downplay their own greatness.

The queer joy, in particular, has felt revelatory to me. Rapinoe’s girlfriend, WNBA superstar Sue Bird, wrote a completely delightful Players’ Tribune entry last week about how in love she is with this remarkable human — someone who’s not only openly gay, but credits her sexuality for her successes, and uses her own marginalized identity as a way to empathize with and advocate for others. Watching the game yesterday in a bar with some of my best gay friends, who decided against a “USA” chant and went with “LES-BI-ANS” instead, I felt exactly like Bird: “I was happy. I was crazy. I was PROUD. I was pretending to know about soccer. I was a little overwhelmed. I was pretty damn American. And I was in love with Megan Rapinoe.”

I was also in love with Ashlyn Harris, whose boozy Instagram stories of the team celebrating in beer goggles in the locker room after the game deserves an EGOT, and whose commitment to shouting “gays rule” has sustained me at least through the next week. I was in love with all of them, their goofiness and their clear affection for each other, their euphoria a shining light in this long, dark American summer. We can all use a little joy these days. ●

CORRECTION

Jul. 08, 2019, at 17:29 PM

Adam Serwer’s name was misspelled in an earlier version of this post.

Sahred From Source link Sports

from WordPress http://bit.ly/32iRy4c via IFTTT