Ah, Bil. Alas. It was bound to happen. Bilerico has been invaded by cockroaches, er, Repugnants.

As for football players to admire, here's a news item about a former pro who played for the Green Bay Packers, the Washington Redskins, the San Francisco 49ers, the Detroit Lions, and the New Orleans Saints. I'm honored to say I once cooked Thanksgiving dinner for him—a better man than Coach Dungy will ever be.

"Gay athlete Dave Kopay donates $1 million to University of Washington."

"UW ex-player's pledge is more than a cash figure

By Jerry Brewer
Seattle Times staff columnist
Thursday, September 6, 2007

Forty-five years ago, David Kopay was crumbling.
He was a football player, a future All-American, but he didn't even letter his junior year at Washington. He was a gay man in shoulder pads, surrounded by machismo, trapped in a world he knew wouldn't accept him. He was lost.

"That year, oh, it was black," Kopay said. "It was so dark." After all this time, Kopay still must stop an interview, sniffle and say, "I'm sorry. I get so emotional sometimes."

His pain lessens, but it never evaporates. That's OK, though. This angst focuses his mission to defy athletic custom and champion gay rights. In 1975, Kopay became the first openly gay American professional athlete in team sports. Now he's putting half of his life savings toward the cause.
Washington announced Wednesday that Kopay has pledged to give $1 million to the university's Q Center, a haven for people of all sexual orientations.

Kopay isn't one of those athletes with an extra $1 million resting in his sofa cushions, either. He says he never made more than $29,000 a season during his nine-year NFL career. He played without signing bonuses, without guaranteed money. From 1964 to 1972, he tortured his body, and during the past four years, he's had both hips, a shoulder and a knee replaced.

After football, Kopay kept getting passed over for coaching positions, so he sold cars for a while before working at his uncle's California-based business, Linoleum City, which supplies flooring for motion picture and television industries. He plans to retire at the end of this year.

The $1 million gift is "about half my estate," Kopay says. After he dies, the money will go to the university as an endowment. The interest on Kopay's donation will help keep the Q Center running, ensuring its future.

For the 65-year-old former running back, this is more than a donation. It is a chance to remove more of the darkness. "Hell yeah, it's a lot of money to me!" Kopay exclaimed while breaking from work to talk on the phone. "I struggled, and I suffered while in college because it was a different time. But it was a wonderful time, too. If I had not gone through some of that stuff, I wouldn't be who I am now.

"I owe the university everything. And I think a lot of people feel that way." Kopay became an All-American at UW. After his horrible junior season, he helped lead the Huskies to the 1964 Rose Bowl. He will be recognized as a Husky Legend during Saturday's game against Boise State.

Jennifer Self, the Q Center director, admires Kopay's dedication to UW and to improving the quality of life for gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people. She knows Kopay could have chosen to be bitter. Instead, he will protect others from some of the hurt he experienced.
"I believe deeply in my heart that this is an act of forgiveness," Self said. "He's saying, 'When I was there, I was alone, scared and hurt. But I'm going to give you half of my estate.' It's an amazing act of generosity and forgiveness that not a lot of people would do."

Kopay doesn't bother wondering how his college experience would have changed if the Q Center had existed 45 years ago. It's not worth the brainpower. In the 1960s, America couldn't even handle race relations. A center of this kind was an unimaginable as an iPhone.

So Kopay tried to exist. He related more to his black teammates because he didn't feel like he was "this blonde-hair, blue-eyed, all-American kid." He noticed the biting racial slurs that others would say matter-of-factly. He compared them to gay insults he would hear from people who didn't yet know Kopay was homosexual.

Kopay was more than a decade from coming out publicly, but he had his first relationship with a man in college. It was a fraternity brother, but their relationship went largely unnoticed because, Kopay says, "In my fraternity, if you got drunk enough, nothing much mattered."
During his lifetime, Kopay has seen the country become more accepting. During the past few years, however, Kopay has grown concerned by what he calls "a peel back of people's rights" in American politics. So he keeps fighting.
Thirty years ago, Kopay spoke before Congress. He's given his message to the American Bar Association and the American Association of Pediatrics. He wrote a book, "The David Kopay Story."

And he's still fighting. "I can't believe I've done all those things," Kopay said. "I'm like, 'How in the hell did I get in that position? I carried a football under my arm.' "
If he didn't carry that football, he wouldn't have nearly the impact. Kopay will always be known as a great Huskies running back. Now his legacy can extend to what matters most to him.
Acceptance."

You can't be a Republican and NOT help empower those Republicans who ARE homohaters. Actions speak louder than words. He's given to Bush which is the same as advocacy "against a portion of his fan base."