Leagues of Their Own: The delicate question of lesbians and softball.

'On road trips those who were dating roomed with one another and slept together." "Changing in the locker room made me feel very uncomfortable." "The issue was so pervasive at my school that I felt choked out."

That lesbians play softball is a terribly old stereotype, but few outside of college athletics have heard what it's like for a non-gay girl who wants to play the sport. If you're not crazy about your daughter showering in a very-far-away-from-don't-ask-don't-tell gym shower, high-school and college softball might not be for her. In Diamonds Are a Dyke's Best Friend: Reflections, Reminiscences, and Reports from the Field on the Lesbian National Pastime, Yvonne Zipter makes a compelling case that softball teams have long been the best way to meet lesbians. She quotes one woman's account: "I'm not saying all women who play softball are gay, but . . . if you think someone is gay and you don't have proof to satisfy your curiosity, [asking "Have you ever played softball?"] may be a solution."

Of course, when it's a recreational softball league for adults, that's no one's business. But it is an issue on high-school and college teams. Zipter cites another experienced player: "I met my first lover through softball . . . My daughter -- she's eighteen -- she plays softball. She has a girlfriend, too. They met playing softball in high school together."

Although experiences certainly differ -- one coach at a private girls' school, for instance, says lesbian social pressure within softball is waning -- the stereotype continues to ring true for many girls today. One woman -- now 35 -- who has played softball since age six and works at a softball-related organization, says that of the hundreds of athletes and coaches she's worked with, "approximately ten" subsequently continued with softball professionally. Many of the women, she says, have independently given her the same reason for throwing in the towel: Oftentimes "not only was there incredible and persistent pressure put on them to participate in and join the lesbian community," but they sometimes were even "pressured to leave."

Another girl, from a conservative Catholic family, says she was clueless going into softball. "The older I got the more I began to realize that some of my teammates and close friends were lesbians or bisexual. . . . I noticed that as the competition advanced, the higher the percentage of lesbian players." She wondered, "Was I comfortable enough to be a 'softball player' in a new environment? Did I want that label on me at a new school?" (She eventually quit because of a shoulder injury.)

Still, with the exception of a few small, lesbian publishing houses (e.g., the now-defunct Firebrand Books, publisher of Diamonds Are a Dyke's Best Friend), you're not going to find too many people wanting to talk about the issue. In fact, whatever your morality and whatever your lifestyle, hardly anyone wants to touch the topic. As a result, few coaches -- especially male coaches -- are willing to talk about the L-word, for fear they will be construed as enemies of women's sports. In her book Strong Women, Deep Closets, openly lesbian former swimming and basketball coach Pat Griffin complains: "When anyone in women's sport has a grievance or when they want to explain why women's sport is not more popular, lesbians are always a vulnerable and convenient scapegoat."

So what exactly is the "lesbian problem"? Why can't some girls come out of the closet without straight girls and their parents getting all bent out of shape? As one college-sports insider puts it, "lesbian athletes are often clique-ish within their teams and can be sexually aggressive" -- neither of which makes for team spirit. As the same (male) insider puts it: "The fact is that young, athletic college girls are, well, hot. The football players are going to hit on them and, hell, so did I. But their lesbian teammates are hitting on them, too, and what's unique about that is that those teammates share hotel rooms, showers, and locker rooms with them."

One college player reports: "It was uncomfortable to dress/undress around those teammates who you knew were gay. It's not that I had the fear that they were pursuing me -- that is a line that most don't cross, going after straight people. It's just that I felt the same uncomfortableness that I would feel changing around a guy." Many other straight girls, she says, would never dream of showering with their team. Also, "there was locker-room talk, much like guys do . . . . The girls talk about nasty stuff also." She estimates that in the first team she played for, 50 percent of the team were practicing lesbians, and another 25 percent "were struggling with the issue, riding the fence." This is significant, she says, especially when you consider that female college athletes have "a strict schedule of classes, practices, weights, traveling, etc., and [therefore] little time for guys. As a college softball player you are always around your team." Just a few lesbians on a team can start a trend -- whether it be a "lesbian until graduation" preference, or something more permanent.

This woman wound up transferring out of a large state school in order to be able to play softball while avoiding the softball culture. But when she called one particular small Christian college, she didn't get very far. "I told [the coach] my name and the university that I was leaving and explained to him my interest in his school. He cut my sentence off short and said, 'I'm sorry, but we don't need any of your type on our team. We are not that kind of team.' He hung up. He knew the school's rep; he had stereotyped me immediately and didn't even give me a chance to meet him. That hurt."

So what's the solution? Some schools have attempted banning open lesbians from their teams, but that rarely goes over well, at least publicly. Rene Portland, Penn State women's basketball coach, is known for her short-lived "no alcohol, no drugs, no lesbians" rule. The girl who switched schools because of the atmosphere at her first school went on to a smaller school where the married coach consciously tried to recruit so that the usual lesbian cliques could not form. But even there, the girl says, the "team is now [two years later] about one- third gay. You just can't keep it out."

One male university athletic official -- who, by the way, says he has no moral qualms about homosexuality -- suggests a two-part solution. To straights, he says: "Become less homophobic, more tolerant." To gays, he says: "Throwing [gayness] in people's faces doesn't help nurture [tolerance]." But as an administrator, he still faces tough choices. He knows, for example, how to deal with a male coach who gets sexually involved with a female player: You fire him. But with lesbian coaches that's not so easy. "I just wouldn't know what to do," he says, if a lesbian coach were to become involved with a female player. "You've got to walk on eggshells with those issues. . . . People do not want to go there."

But these issues cannot forever remain below the public radar. It may, in fact, be impossible to change softball; but -- at the very least -- parents and players should know what they are getting into. At many schools, softball isn't just about wholesome athletic competition. To those families who think it is: buyer beware.