Queer Sports

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Queer Sports

Queer sport clubs for LGBTQ fans and athletes

By Jireh Deng

Published August 24, 2023 5:00 AM

An image of two people playing basketball at an outdoor basketball court. One person wears blue athletic clothing; the other wears a white shirt and red basketball shorts. Both people are suspended in the air outstretched, going after the basketball while others on the court and the sidelines watch.

Queer ballers at WNBGAY jump up for a rebound.

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Jireh Deng

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For LAist

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Topline:

In L.A., queer sports clubs create a safe space to compete and serve as a place to find community.

Why it matters: Often, the only space for queer people to find community is in the context of a bar, and those environments aren’t necessarily conducive to genuine connections. These queer sports groups expand the opportunities for queer people to create friendships with their peers outside the nightlife scene.

Why now: There is a national debate around including transgender athletes in sports. But these seven queer groups aren’t waiting for national sports associations to decide who gets to play. They’re creating spaces of inclusion and safety for everyone.

There’s a frenzy of madness and tangled limbs on the basketball court until someone shoots for a goal. Then it’s all eyes on the ball as everyone holds their breath, watching its graceful airborne arc in anticipation.

But this time, the ball narrowly misses and bounces off the rim, sending a dozen queer ballers scurrying to the opposite end of the court to play offense and defense. The heat is picking up on the courts of Highland Park Recreation Center.

Here, a group of queer basketball players in Northeast L.A., aptly named WNBGAY, meet up twice a week for a pickup basketball game. WNBGAY isn’t the only queer recreational sports group in Los Angeles — there are at least a dozen more scattered throughout the region — ranging from a dozen to a hundred attendees a week. Spaces like WNBGAY have become safe gatherings for gay men, lesbians, trans, non-binary and queer people alike to meet up and play sports, make friends and find community.

Cass Spillman, who runs an event staffing agency, says WNBGAY started two years ago informally as a group chat on Instagram amongst friends who wanted to play ball, until the desire for a queer space for ballers grew into something official. Spillman started helping to organize set locations and times for regular meetups.

Now they have official WNBGAY merch they use to raise money for equipment they need, like basketballs and more.

The most exciting part has been seeing real WNBA players sport their attire while playing.

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“[There’s] joy that comes across my face when I just see somebody wearing WNBGAY merch in the wild,” Spillman says. “Because even though I don't know that person, they're repping us [and] they're proud of what we're doing here.”

Dream Team Society

Queer recreational sports groups like WNBGAY and Dyke Soccer LA reflect the large sapphic fanbase that supports many of the women’s professional leagues like the Women’s National Basketball Association and the U.S. Women’s National Soccer Team.

But groups are carving out new spaces within other sports that aren’t typically friendly to queer and trans people.

Surfing, a sport often associated with a laidback counter-culture, can often be exclusionary to newcomers with unspoken rules around locals who claim certain beaches. When the World Surf League moved to include transgender people in competitions, famous surfers like Bethany Hamilton spoke up to boycott the WSL.

But Dream Team Society has been pushing to normalize queer bodies in the ocean. Freelance photographer and videographer Shelly Simon organizes monthly meetups for Dream Team Society. Back in March, they hosted an event at the beach for Trans Day of Visibility with over 100 attendees. More recently, Simon collaborated with San Diego Gay Surf to celebrate the end of Pride Month with a bonfire at Ocean Beach.

A group of people standing in two small groups on a green space in what looks to be a park. One person is in a crouching position, petting a dog. In front of them are a black surfboard and a sign that reads, "Trans bodies belong on the beach."

For Sergio Morales, who founded San Diego Gay Surf a year and a half ago, the effort started with simply reposting photos to connect with other queer and gay surfers. But Morales quickly wanted to have in-person meetups at the beach.

“There isn't a space for us out there. There's no representation for the queer community in surfing and most of the sports,” says Morales. “So why not start a space where we can bring the local community together and just build that?”

Queer recreational groups aren’t just for those who identify as LGBTQ. Allies of the spaces are similarly drawn to the welcoming atmosphere of inclusivity that allows them to show up fully as themselves. Like Valeria Diaz, who doesn’t identify as queer but comes from a racially mixed background. In other spaces, it feels like her heritages clash, but as a member of San Diego Gay Surf, she’s found acceptance beyond the binaries of identity.

Two people standing on their heads on a grassy area, behind them are people and surf boards.

“There's a lot of people who work within boxes. Like you have to be Caucasian or you have to be Hispanic,” Diaz says. “This group really just encompasses the idea of love for all, no matter if you're gay, straight … we're all humans, and I think that's why I keep coming back to this group, because our values align.”

Queer Run Club

New queer recreational sports groups like Queer Run Club formed last August out of the need for a connection from the isolation experienced during the pandemic. From Silver Lake to Long Beach to Culver City, Jessi Baron and DJ Ki have made it their mandate to rotate their weekly runs throughout Los Angeles to make their events accessible throughout the county.

A group of three people run a dirt path in a park with a city skyline and trees in the background.

Baron and Ki have made it their goal to reach a diverse range of queer runners, not just geographically, but across identities. They say it's important to note that Queer Run Club was started by two queer people of color.

“That was like an intentional move on our part to let people know, like, this isn't just going to be a white-only space,” says Ki. They point out that there are few sapphic bars beyond the newly established Honey’s at Star Love and Ruby Fruit. “This isn't only going to be like a gay man's space. It's for everyone. I feel like the turnout is so diverse as well. Not just ethnic and racial but like age groups.”

WeHo Dodgeball

One neighborhood is home to some of the most active queer sports groups. The West Hollywood Recreation Center is home to multiple queer sports that utilize its facilities. West Hollywood Aquatics brings together local swimmers and water polo players who compete internationally.

But WeHo Dodgeball’s Tuesday and Thursday games at the recreational center bring the friendly competition to another level. At any time during their evening tournaments, four games are happening simultaneously, with referees managing the organized chaos as people hurtle balls to knock the opposing team out of play.

Two people wearing athletic clothing inside a gymnasium in motion with their legs bent, positioned in front of a row of three orange balls. In front of a number scoring system that reads 0 1. Three people are in the background in a similar position, going after another orange ball.

For some, the connections forged in the heat of the sport go beyond friendly competition. It’s helped people find queer friends, partners and even chosen families. MJ Rios works as a high school choir teacher in East L.A. and has been part of WeHo Dodgeball since its inception over a decade ago in 2010 by local organizer Jake Mason. They’ve been grateful for how the space not only destigmatizes queer athletes but also female-identifying athletes who are allies to the LGBTQ community like herself.

“The group of people here, I will tell you that even at my own wedding, most of my invites were dodgeball people,” Rios says. “They've been my family for over a decade.”

Chris Witherspoon only joined WeHo Dodgeball a few months ago, but he’s already been sucked into the sport’s social orbit. He works as an audio engineer and commits to making the sometimes two-hour round trip from the San Fernando Valley, where he lives, to West Hollywood on Tuesdays to play dodgeball. For Witherspoon, it’s difficult trying to make LGBTQ friends in his neighborhood, so as someone who isn’t from Los Angeles, WeHo Dodgeball has helped him find a group of friends where he feels seen and included in his queerness.

“Because the LGBT community is smaller, you see a lot of the same people and the same faces,” Witherspoon says of WeHo Dodgeball. “These leagues tend to be more social. So every time we play a game, afterward, we go out to the bars.”

It’s hard to dismiss the fact that the whole reason why these queer recreational sports teams exist is because of the exclusion of queer athletes from sports. Val Horton, a league manager with WeHo Dodgeball, wants to center joy in queer recreational sports in light of all the contemporary challenges that queer and transgender people face in sports and beyond.

“We're living in a world where queer rights are being challenged every single day. And to have a place where we can come and not really have to think about that [and just be] with our people feels even more important now,” says Horton.

Trans Boxing

At Trans Boxing, over half a dozen attendees practice their fight stances, pivoting in circles while sharing grass space with their feathery neighbors at MacArthur Park on a Saturday morning (and avoiding duck poop).

As people pair up for pad work, they’re learning lifesaving skills for defense in the real world. Cal Xu has been training in martial arts long before they came out as queer. But since coming out as non-binary, Xu is uniquely aware that every time they step out into the world, they face a threat as a visibly queer person; training has helped them feel safer in their body.

“It's hard to exist as a queer person and just not hear what's going on politically,” Xu shares. “Dressing the way that I want to dress, presenting the way I want to present has felt so much more safe. Because I know that if push comes to shove and I really need to, I can defend myself.”

Two people, one of Asian descent wearing a white tank top with tattoos on their arms and pink and blue striped gloves, spar with a black person wearing the same pink and blue gloves and a black shirt standing, opposite facing each other.

Miles Enriquez-Morales founded Trans Boxing during the pandemic when the New York City-based organization ran classes online.

After recovering from top surgery, Enriquez-Morales started the Los Angeles chapter to offer a sanctuary for transgender and gender non-conforming people who want to participate in sports like martial arts without the toxic machismo and homophobia that can be prevalent in institutional spaces. Learning at the park is only temporary until they can find a place to call home.

“I have options where I could move the gym into a space that's very queer but maybe it's not as boxing [focused] as I would want it to be. And then maybe I could move it to a place that's very boxing-oriented and it's not as LGBTQ-accepting as I would want it to be,” Enriquez-Morales says. “Feeling like those are my only two options is really disheartening because it feels like I have to compromise.”

For now, all the equipment they use is funded by Trans Boxing’s Patreon subscribership and paid out of Enriquez-Morales’s own pocket when there is further gear needed for classes.

LBians

But not all queer groups face the same constraints on physical space. Like the lesbian bike riding group, LBians, which meets monthly to ride throughout Long Beach’s LGBTQ neighborhood. Locals call the Broadway corridor and its rainbow crosswalks “the gayborhood,” with half a dozen gay bars within walking distance.

Every month, LBians meets at Hot Java Coffee on Broadway for some exercise, and a lot of socializing — the end of every ride usually ends with drinks and food at a local brewery or bar.

Vanessa Cisneros juggles organizing these meets alongside their full-time job as a fraud analyst and stacked courseload studying software engineering. It’s not easy, but Cisneros says seeing the joy on the faces of her peers makes it all more worth it.

An image of a street scene, a partially shown crosswalk painted to resemble a rainbow. Standing on the curb is a group of people on bikes next to a large road sign that reads "Beach Garden" with a blue background.

“I love after every single ride someone comes to me, hugs me and thanks me for creating this awesome space. There's people who made lifelong friends here,” Cisneros says.

“Seeing this community is just awesome … [you’re] making new friends with people you won’t meet anywhere else.”

Queer Racquet Society

Part of the inclusivity of queer sports is how organizers have prioritized athletes of all skill levels and sought to make queer recreational sports the genesis for genuine connections outside the bar.

Through Queer Racquet Society, Teline Guerra has shown up amongst her sapphic peers at Griffith Park Tennis Courts while reclaiming the sport she used to play in high school.

“No one's dating-focused. You're focusing on tennis. When you're working out, no one's dressed to impress here,” said Guerra. She also points out that relationships like these, built outside the queer clubs, create change for the LGBTQ community.

Two women in motion holding tennis rackets on a tennis court at night. One light-skinned woman has dark, long brown hair in a ponytail wearing a blue track jacket and black shorts with black socks and white tennis shoes. The other woman stands slightly out of focus in the background, wearing a pink sports bra and black leggings with white shoes and holding a tennis racket.

“Community is not who you f**k … the community that gets laws passed, the community that protests, the community that stands up for others starts with this kind of thing.”

On water and land, queer people are reclaiming access to the physicality of their bodies in the sports they love and are learning. There are still moments of discomfort when a safe space is burst, like when members of the Queer Run Club notice a man catcalling them from the sidelines. But they're able to shrug off moments like this because they have safety in numbers. And perhaps a safe space in queer sports isn’t necessarily about where you are at, but who you are with.

When have you experienced queer joy?

News

T.K. Carter

Veteran actor dies at 69

By The Associated Press

Published January 11, 2026 1:03 PM

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Mary Altaffer

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AP

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Topline:

Veteran actor T.K. Carter, who appeared in the horror film "The Thing" and "Punky Brewster" on television, has died at the age of 69.

Details: Carter was declared dead Friday evening after deputies responded to a call regarding an unresponsive male in Duarte, California, according to the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department. Police did not disclose a cause of death or other details, but said no foul play was suspected.

DUARTE, Calif. — Veteran actor T.K. Carter, who appeared in the horror film "The Thing" and "Punky Brewster" on television, has died at the age of 69.

Carter was declared dead Friday evening after deputies responded to a call regarding an unresponsive male in Duarte, California, according to the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department.

Police did not disclose a cause of death or other details, but said no foul play was suspected.

Thomas Kent "T.K." Carter was born Dec. 18, 1956, in New York City and was raised in Southern California.

He began his career in stand-up comedy and with acting roles. Carter had been acting for years before a breakthrough role as Nauls the cook in John Carpenter's 1982 horror classic, "The Thing." He also had a recurring role in the 1980s sitcom "Punky Brewster."

Other big-screen roles include "Runaway Train" in 1985, "Ski Patrol" in 1990 and "Space Jam" in 1996.

"T.K. Carter was a consummate professional and a genuine soul whose talent transcended genres," his publicist, Tony Freeman, said in a statement. "He brought laughter, truth, and humanity to every role he touched. His legacy will continue to inspire generations of artists and fans alike."

Downtown Los Angeles

a lively protest scene with a prominent figure in the foreground wearing a large inflatable frog costume. The frog costume is green with black markings, big red eyes, and a blue scarf tied around its neck. The person in the costume is holding a cardboard sign that reads: “RENEE GOOD ICE BAD” in bold, black letters.

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A protest taking place on a city street lined with historic buildings. The street is filled with a dense crowd of demonstrators holding various signs and banners.

A protest scene taking place outdoors on a city street during what appears to be late afternoon or early evening, as the sunlight is low and casts a warm golden glow across the crowd. A person is holding a prominent cardboard sign with bold, handwritten text that reads: “DISAPPEARED, MURDERED” in large orange and red letters at the top.

a street protest taking place near a bright red CitySightseeing Hollywood Los Angeles double-decker tour bus.

Pasadena

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A group of people participating in a street protest or demonstration in an urban setting with modern buildings in the background. One person is wearing a wide-brimmed hat, a blue long-sleeve shirt, and a gray crossbody bag. This person is holding a large American flag on a wooden pole. Another person is wearing a denim jacket adorned with multiple pins and buttons, along with a white shirt that reads “DANCING FOR DEMOCRACY.”

A person holding a white sheet of paper with bold, handwritten and printed text. The paper reads:
At the top, in large handwritten letters: “NO MORE” Below that, in printed text:
“19 shootings 10 injuries 5 deaths”

News

US-wide anti-ICE protests

People take to streets after Renee Good's death

By Chandelis Duster and Sergio Martínez-Beltrán | NPR

Published January 11, 2026 6:34 AM

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Ben Hovland

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MPR News

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Topline:

People have been taking to the streets nationwide this weekend to protest the Trump administration's immigration enforcement tactics following the death of Renee Good in Minneapolis, a 37-year-old woman who was shot and killed by a U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) officer this week.

Where things stand: At least 1,000 events across the U.S. were planned for Saturday and Sunday, according to Indivisible, a progressive grassroots coalition of activists helping coordinate the movement it calls "ICE Out For Good Weekend of Action."

In L.A.: Here's what we know about planned protests.

People have been taking to the streets nationwide this weekend to protest the Trump administration's immigration enforcement tactics following the death of Renee Good in Minneapolis, a 37-year-old woman who was shot and killed by a U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) officer this week.

At least 1,000 events across the U.S. were planned for Saturday and Sunday, according to Indivisible, a progressive grassroots coalition of activists helping coordinate the movement it calls "ICE Out For Good Weekend of Action."

Leah Greenberg, a co-executive director of Indivisible, said people are coming together to "grieve, honor those we've lost, and demand accountability from a system that has operated with impunity for far too long."

"Renee Nicole Good was a wife, a mother of three, and a member of her community. She, and the dozens of other sons, daughters, friends, siblings, parents, and community members who have been killed by ICE, should be alive today," Greenberg said in a statement on Friday. "ICE's violence is not a statistic, it has names, families, and futures attached to it, and we refuse to look away or stay silent."

Large crowds of demonstrators carried signs and shouted "ICE out now!" as protests continued across Minneapolis on Saturday. One of those protestors, Cameron Kritikos, told NPR that he is worried that the presence of more ICE agents in the city could lead to more violence or another death.

"If more ICE officers are deployed to the streets, especially a place here where there's very clear public opposition to the terrorizing of our neighborhoods, I'm nervous that there's going to be more violence," the 31-year grocery store worker said. "I'm nervous that there are going to be more clashes with law enforcement officials, and at the end of the day I think that's not what anyone wants."

The night before, hundreds of city and state police officers responded to a "noise protest" in downtown Minneapolis. An estimated 1,000 people gathered Friday night, according to Minneapolis Police Chief Brian O'Hara, and 29 people were arrested.

People demonstrated outside of hotels where ICE agents were believed to be staying. They chanted, played drums and banged pots. O'Hara said that a group of people split from the main protest and began damaging hotel windows. One police officer was injured from a chunk of ice that was hurled at officers, he added.

Minneapolis Mayor Jacob Frey condemned the acts of violence but praised what he said was the "vast majority" of protesters who remained peaceful, during a morning news conference.

"To anyone who causes property damage or puts others in danger: you will be arrested. We are standing up to Donald Trump's chaos not with our own brand of chaos, but with care and unity," Frey wrote on social media.

Commenting on the protests, Department of Homeland Security (DHS) spokesperson Tricia McLaughlin told NPR in a statement, "the First Amendment protects speech and peaceful assembly — not rioting, assault and destruction," adding, "DHS is taking measures to uphold the rule of law and protect public safety and our officers."

Good was fatally shot the day after DHS launched a large-scale immigration enforcement operation in Minnesota set to deploy 2,000 immigration officers to the state.

In Philadelphia, police estimated about 500 demonstrators "were cooperative and peaceful" at a march that began Saturday morning at City Hall, Philadelphia Police Department spokesperson Tanya Little told NPR in a statement. And no arrests were made.

In Portland, Ore., demonstrators rallied and lined the streets outside of a hospital on Saturday afternoon, where immigration enforcement agents bring detainees who are injured during an arrest, reported Oregon Public Broadcasting.

A man and woman were shot and injured by U.S. Border Patrol agents on Thursday in the city. DHS said the shooting happened during a targeted vehicle stop and identified the driver as Luis David Nino-Moncada, and the passenger as Yorlenys Betzabeth Zambrano-Contreras, both from Venezuela. As was the case in their assertion about Good's fatal shooting, Homeland Security officials claimed the federal agent acted in self-defense after Nino-Moncada and Zambrano-Contreras "weaponized their vehicle."
Copyright 2026 NPR

News

Bob Weir

Grateful Dead great has died

By Felix Contreras, Isabella Gomez Sarmiento | NPR

Published January 11, 2026 6:10 AM

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Ed Perlstein

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Getty Images

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Topline:

Bob Weir, the guitarist and songwriter who was a founding member of the popular and massively influential American rock band the Grateful Dead, has died.

Details: According to a statement from his family posted on his website and social media pages, Weir died from underlying lung issues after recently beating cancer. He was 78.

Read on... to revisit the life of Weir.

Bob Weir, the guitarist and songwriter who was a founding member of the popular and massively influential American rock band the Grateful Dead, has died. According to a statement from his family posted on his website and social media pages, Weir died from underlying lung issues after recently beating cancer. He was 78.

A member of the Dead for its first three decades, and a keeper of the flame of the band's legacy for three more, Weir helped to write a new chapter of American popular music that influenced countless other musicians and brought together an enormous and loyal audience. The Grateful Dead's touring, bootlegging and merchandising set an example that helped initiate the jam-band scene. Its concerts created a community that brought together generations of followers.

Known to fans as "Bobby," he was born in San Francisco as Robert Hall Parber, but was given up for adoption and raised by Frederick and Eleanor Weir. In 1964, when he was still a teenager, Weir joined guitarist Jerry Garcia in a folk music band, Mother Mcree's Uptown Jug Band. In May of 1965 Weir and Garcia were joined by bassist Phil Lesh, keyboard player Ron "Pigpen" McKernan and drummer Bill Kreutzmann to form an electric, blues-based rock and roll band that was briefly named The Warlocks. After discovering that there was another band using that name, Jerry Garcia found a phrase that caught his eye in a dictionary and in December of that year they became the Grateful Dead, launching a 30-year run over which time they grew into a cultural institution.

Weir was a singular rhythm guitarist who rarely played solos, choosing instead to create his own particular style of chording and strumming that gracefully supported Garcia's distinctive guitar explorations especially during the extended jams which were the heart of the band's popularity.

Lyrics were largely a product of a communal effort between Weir and Garcia, as well as lyricists John Perry Barlow, Robert Hunter, that often blurred the lines between who wrote what. The opening lines to "Cassidy," which first appeared on Weir's 1972 solo album Ace and was played by the Dead on live recordings including the 1981 double album Reckoning, reflect the combination of metaphor, rhyme and storytelling set to memorable melodies that the band's audiences could memorize, analyze and sing along to:

I have seen where the wolf has slept by the silver stream
I can tell by the mark he left you were in his dream
Ah, child of countless trees
Ah, child of boundless seas
What you are, what you're meant to be
Speaks his name, though you were born to me
Born to me, Cassidy

Weir's emotive singing, on "Cassidy" and other songs like "Sugar Magnolia," "One More Saturday Night" and the band's unofficial theme, "Truckin', " often included whoops and yells, in contrast to Garcia's calm and steady approach. His occasional tendency to forget lyrics was usually greeted by thunderous applause from fans.

After Garcia's death in 1995, at age 53, the surviving members of the band carried on in various forms and arrangements, the longest running of which was Weir's Dead & Company, which also featured Grateful Dead drummers Kreutzmann and Mickey Hart. Weir and the band concluded their "final tour" in July of 2023, but then returned to the stage for two extended residencies at the Sphere in Las Vegas, in 2024 and 2025.

A self-described "compulsive music maker," in 2018 Weir formed yet another band to mine the depths of the Grateful Dead catalog. It was a stripped-down guitar, acoustic bass and drums outfit that he called Bobby Weir & Wolf Bros. Its members included renowned bassist and producer Don Was.In October of 2022, Weir & Wolf Bros worked with a classical music arranger to present yet another iteration of the Dead's catalog, notable for never being played the same way twice, with a group that largely only plays what's written on the paper in front of them, the 80-piece National Symphony Orchestra.

In a 2022 interview with NPR, Weir explained the reason for that collaboration, and in doing so, seemed to offer a possible explanation for why the band's music stayed so popular for so long: "These songs are … living critters and they're visitors from another world — another dimension or whatever you want to call it — that come through the artists to visit this world, have a look around, tell their stories. I don't know exactly how that works, but I do know that it's real."

Weir's work to shepherd and sustain the Dead's legacy was rewarded by ever younger generations of Deadheads, the band's loyal following, who attended tour after tour, often following the band from city to city as their parents and grandparents did during in the 1960's, '70s, '80s and '90s.

In an interview with Rolling Stone in March 2025, Weir shared his thoughts on his legacy, as well as on death and dying, that had a hint of the Eastern philosophies that were popular when the Grateful Dead emerged from the peace and love hippie movement of San Francisco. "I'll say this: I look forward to dying. I tend to think of death as a reward for a life well-lived," he said.

Hey, LA listener!

The Brief

Dream Team Society

Queer Run Club

WeHo Dodgeball

Trans Boxing

LBians

Queer Racquet Society

Downtown Los Angeles

Pasadena

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