Kentucky Wildcats Basketball: A Way of Life for a Queer Comedian

Basketball has always been more than just a game in Kentucky—it’s a religion, a form of expression, and, for many, a lifeline. For as long as I can remember, the roar of the crowd at Rupp Arena was my soundtrack, and the sound of sneakers squeaking on the court echoed in my ears like a call to worship. But, like many Kentuckians, it wasn’t just the sport that drew me in—it was the culture, the camaraderie, and, for me, the understanding of what it meant to belong to something bigger than myself. As a queer comedian, Kentucky Wildcats basketball played a profound role in shaping who I am today.

When I think back to my childhood, I remember the relentless rhythm of basketball season. Winter in Kentucky wasn’t just cold—it was punctuated by the ebb and flow of Wildcats games, the smell of popcorn at the arena, and the faces of strangers who quickly became like family. My family’s living room turned into a theater during every game, where our spirits would rise and fall with every basket, every pass, every shot. It wasn’t just entertainment—it was a way of life, one that seeped into every fiber of my being.

The Birth of a Wildcat Fan

Growing up in Kentucky, you’re practically born into a legacy of Wildcat pride. It’s in the air, in the soil, in every corner of the state. My earliest memories of basketball weren’t of playing, but of watching. The cadence of the game, the excitement in the crowd, the intensity of the players—these things shaped me in ways I didn’t fully understand as a child.

But what I found most fascinating wasn’t just the wins and losses. It was how people from all walks of life, regardless of their background or beliefs, came together to cheer for one thing: the Wildcats. It was as if the game transcended individual differences, creating a sense of unity and belonging. Growing up queer in a small town in Kentucky, that sense of community, even in something as seemingly simple as sports, was something I craved but didn’t always find elsewhere.

I was different, and in a small town, that difference was often a glaring one. I didn’t fit into the mold that everyone else seemed to occupy. But when I sat down to watch the Wildcats play, I didn’t have to be anything other than a fan. In the arena, it didn’t matter if you were a farm kid or a city kid, gay or straight, rich or poor. For two hours, we were all united by the blue and white of the Wildcats.

Finding Identity in the Game

As I grew older, my relationship with Kentucky Wildcats basketball became more complex. It wasn’t just a distraction anymore—it was a part of my identity. Basketball became a metaphor for my own coming-of-age story, something I didn’t realize until much later in life. Like the Wildcats on the court, I had my moments of brilliance, my moments of doubt, and my moments of trying to fit in while figuring out who I truly was.

In high school, I wasn’t the most popular kid. I wasn’t exactly the class clown, but I had a sense of humor that was my shield, a way to navigate the awkwardness of being queer in a place that didn’t fully understand or accept me. I would tell jokes and make people laugh to deflect attention from the parts of me I didn’t yet have the courage to reveal. I was the Wildcat fan who always knew the stats, the player’s strengths, and the iconic moments in the history of the team, but there was one stat I kept hidden: my true self.

In those early years, the Wildcats weren’t just my team—they were a metaphor for my own inner conflict. Like the athletes I watched every season, I felt like I was constantly balancing competing sides of myself: the funny, charismatic persona I showed the world, and the real me, which I kept locked away out of fear.

Yet, despite the tension, the game was always there for me. There was something undeniably comforting about the rhythm of Kentucky basketball. I could lose myself in the game, in the plays, in the commentary. The Wildcats’ relentless pursuit of victory mirrored my own desire for acceptance, my own drive to break free from the constraints of societal expectations. When I watched the Wildcats hustle on the court, I found my own strength, even if I didn’t fully understand it at the time.

Coming Out with a Wildcat Heart

It wasn’t until I left Kentucky for college that I started to come to terms with my queerness. The transition was difficult—leaving behind the small town I knew, stepping into a world that was at once more open but also more overwhelming. But as I navigated those first years of self-discovery, I realized something fundamental: I was no longer just the kid who watched the Wildcats from the comfort of their living room. I was the person who could stand tall, not just for my team, but for myself.

Coming out as queer in Kentucky was complicated. The state has its challenges when it comes to LGBTQ+ acceptance, but there was always one thing that remained constant: the love for the Wildcats. As I began to speak openly about my identity, I realized that the sense of community I had always found in the basketball games could extend to my personal life, too. The love for the Wildcats wasn’t limited to the court—it could be found in the people who cheered, who screamed, who laughed and cried together.

When I came out, I did so with a Wildcat heart. I drew strength from the team, from the camaraderie I had always seen in the stands. I wasn’t alone. I had my Wildcats. I had my fans. And, ultimately, I had myself.

The Queer Comedian, Kentucky, and the Power of Laughter

As I began my career in comedy, I found that Kentucky Wildcats basketball continued to play an essential role in shaping my voice and my humor. Comedy, like basketball, is about timing, rhythm, and connection. It’s about knowing your audience, reading the room, and hitting the right notes when it matters most. Those are the same skills I had honed as a basketball fan.

I often joke about my upbringing in Kentucky and the complexities of being a queer kid in a place where conformity was the norm. People laugh because they can relate to the universal experience of feeling different or out of place. But underneath the humor lies a deeper truth: I am who I am because of the struggles I’ve faced—and the Kentucky Wildcats, in their own way, played a part in that journey.

Through my comedy, I also learned to embrace the power of community, something I had experienced in the stands of Rupp Arena. The collective joy and heartbreak that basketball fans share is not unlike the collective laughter of an audience. There’s a unity in it, an understanding that we are all in this together, whether we’re cheering on the Wildcats or laughing at my jokes.

A Wildcat’s Legacy: From Fan to Comedian

Today, as a comedian, I carry with me the lessons I learned from Kentucky Wildcats basketball. The resilience of the players, the importance of teamwork, the excitement of the game—these things are woven into the fabric of my humor. My experiences as a Wildcat fan are more than just nostalgic memories; they are a part of who I am, a queer comedian who learned to find strength, humor, and community in the most unexpected places.

Kentucky Wildcats basketball didn’t just shape my love for the game—it shaped my identity. It gave me the tools to navigate life’s challenges and the courage to embrace my true self. And in that way, it made me who I am today: a comedian who understands that, no matter how different we may seem, we’re all part of the same team, trying to make it to the final buzzer.

Whether I’m performing on stage or watching the Wildcats play, I know one thing for sure: in Kentucky, basketball will always be more than just a game—it will be a way of life. And as a queer comedian, it’s the foundation on which I stand.