“This is not a democracy, it’s a cheerocracy.”
BRING IT ON (2000)
Friday night football games are a huge deal when you grow up in Solon, Ohio. Everyone gathers to watch the varsity team play, all the while the cheer team plasters on smiles and waves their pom-poms at everyone sitting on the bleachers. If I close my eyes, I can picture myself as a young kid underneath those bleachers, listening to the feet stomp above me in unison, the smell of cheap nacho cheese in the air, and the crisp, chill sweatshirt weather. I’m not a football fan, but I’d give anything to go back and relive one of those evenings where the only care in the world is whose house you were going to sleep at that night or whether or not you were going to make it to Applebee’s after the game to split one order of chicken tenders with eleven other teens.
When I was fifteen, just a couple months into my high school experience, I would drive to the field with my folks, and they would sit with some adult friends, while I would venture off into the student section with the other high school kids. The student area was tiered off so seniors had the best seats, freshmen had the worst, and just about everyone was sneaking beer in water bottles or flasks they hid under blankets. The nights were always about more than sports; they were about the socializing and drama. Games of telephone would echo throughout the stands, with teenage whispers filling the air—who liked whom and who was breaking up with whom. Throughout the week, students would create their story lines between classes, and Friday night football games would be where it all climaxed, where the dirty laundry was aired. I wouldn’t say I was a loser by any means, but I was B-list at best, so I mostly observed.
It might be hard to tell, since you’re all reading a book about me, but I’ve never loved attention. It’s okay when I have complete control over it, but that’s such a rare occurrence, and I particularly loathe it when it comes to anything regarding romance or sexuality. Growing up closeted, I never felt comfortable in my own skin. People often ask me when I knew I was gay, and the truth is, I always kind of knew, but I was raised in a place where there weren’t many, if any, LGBTQ+ people around me. Being that there were no real-life examples, I worked hard to convince myself that the inklings I had about being gay weren’t real or substantial. To add to that, teenage hormones are so aggressive that it’s hard to know what—or who—you like. Did I want to hook up with the other young women in my school, or did I want to play M.A.S.H. and theorize what it was like behind the scenes of the Vanity Fair cover shoot that featured the Olsen twins, Hilary Duff, Lindsay Lohan, Raven-Symoné, Mandy Moore, Evan Rachel Wood, Alexis Bledel, and Amanda Bynes on the cover? It was the latter, but I didn’t quite know it yet.
Detour
Remember when Saved by the Bell did the Malibu Sands Beach Club episodes? The sight of Zack Morris in a sleeveless neon blouse left me weak at the knees, and when he and Mario Lopez took off their tops to play volleyball? I salivated. But for every time I got twitterpated by those two, I would also get the feels for Kelly Kapowski or Lisa Turtle in a bathing suit. I was so excited, so scared that I was attracted to everyone, and that confused the crap out of me when it came to my sexuality. Looking back, there were so many seminal moments from both genders that got my heart racing, but it was mostly about the men. Here are more than a few that come immediately to mind…
Devon Sawa in Casper. He only appeared for a couple of minutes, but seeing his perfect hair slow dance with Christina Ricci to a Jordan Hill ballad was one of the first times I remember being attracted to the same gender. When I saw him pop up in Now and Then (underrated) the same year, I was fully crushed, and his role in Little Giants made me want to play football, or at least re-watch the football-themed film again and again.
Rebecca Gayheart in 90210. One of the most beautiful humans ever, and her gorgeous eyes on screen in 90210 confused the hell out of me. I’ll never, ever forget when her character…SPOILER ALERT…died. I CRIED SO MUCH THAT NIGHT.
Josh Hartnett! Even though his hair in the ’90s made it look like he got in a fight with a Weedwacker, he was still stunning. His neck mole was, and remains, very influential to my development.
Queer as Folk (US). The original UK version is superior, but during my high school years, I discovered the drama on Showtime in the basement of my parents’ house after they were asleep. The Brian/Justin romance was my gay lighthouse.
Tyson Beckford. Whew! Five stars. Remember when he did the Toni Braxton video?
The Lawrence Brothers in that Disney Channel Original Movie where they were shipwrecked and blouse-less. In the immortal words of Joey in Blossom… “Whoa!”
Denise Richards in Wild Things. Before her two-season arc on The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, Denise lit up the screen in some serious classic films. While my favorite movie of hers is Drop Dead Gorgeous, it was her tour de force in Wild Things that really made me question everything. I truly believe that the hotness of Denise in that film knows no bounds. Bonus points for the Kevin Bacon shower scene at the end.
Tony Danza in Who’s the Boss?
Kurt Russell as Captain Ron.
Eric Nies from The Real World. I actually didn’t watch his season of The Real World until recently (Heather B. is now my everything), but I remember Eric’s abs frequently appearing on MTV during the early ’90s and young me being so enamored. Other Real World alum who got me going include: Alton from Las Vegas, Colin from Hawaii, and Danny from New Orleans. Speaking of MTV, special shout-out to the spring break coverage, specifically the episode of Jerry Springer that was filmed at a beach and aired on MTV featuring men with whipped-cream bikinis.
Aladdin and Prince Eric from The Little Mermaid.
Keanu Reeves in Speed, specifically the second half when he’s wearing just a white tee, but also every frame of Keanu Reeves in anything.
Michelle Pfeiffer as Catwoman. One of the greatest performances ever, so good that anyone who saw it was attracted to her. The scene where she dances with Michael Keaton in Batman Returns…a moment!
Cuba Gooding Jr. when he hosted SNL and did a sketch where he stripped for the Mango character.
Various Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, specifically Tommy, Jason, and Adam the Black Ranger in the feature film when he was assigned the Frog Zord. Johnny Yong Bosch really awakened something within me in that moment. The Kimberly envy within was also real.
Chris Evans’s Flaunt magazine photo shoot. Apparently we’re unable to reprint the photos in this book, but Google it.
Leonardo DiCaprio in The Beach. I rented that movie from my local library upwards of eighty-five times and I can’t tell you what it’s about, but Leo was tan and rarely wearing a top…five stars!
Tom Welling as Superman.
Janet Jackson in the “If” video.
Ricky Martin with the candle wax in the “Livin’ La Vida Loca” video.
The Playgirl paparazzi photos of Brad Pitt from the late ’90s (which were allegedly the inspo for Shania Twain singing about him not impressing her much). Brad always impresses me.
Ryan Phillippe. I already mentioned him in this book, but it bears repeating that his butt is one of the most important butts of all time. Cruel Intentions is the most well-known performance of his butt, but 54 also has an iconic butt shot. Ryan also has a shower scene in IKWYDLS (I Know What You Did Last Summer) that, although it doesn’t show off his ass-ets, it was very important to me, and leads me to the final piece of my sexual confusion puzzle…
Jennifer Love Hewitt. She was the girl next door and a bombshell, although my crush was completely nonsexual. Unlike the others I mentioned, JLH didn’t rev up my sex engine, she just seemed like someone I wanted to marry. I first fell in love with her in Party of Five, but my love continued with IKWYDLS and ISKWYDLS (I Still Know What You Did Last Summer), her music, and more. I even watched the Party of Five spin-off she did with Jennifer Garner (#Justice4TimeOfYourLife) and bought her album (#Justice4BareNaked). The point is, I was in love. Eventually, J. Love would be a guest on my podcast, and interviewing her was a real moment for me. I had her poster on my wall, and she was suddenly in my kitchen, and let me tell you, she was a DELIGHT. I’m not sure if she would even remember me, since celebs do so much press, but she was kind, warm, and even willing to recreate her iconic line, “What are you waiting for?” from IKWYDLS. Blessed.
Anyway, my crush on Jennifer Love Hewitt was real back then, and when I met a girl named Sarah, who looked like the spitting image of her, I was convinced she was going to be the love of my life. The first time I met her was at an open house I went to with my parents. Sarah’s family was moving to town and I happened to meet her at the house her family ultimately moved into. My parents loved to go to open houses just for fun, which used to sound boring to me, but now that I’m an adult and spending roughly three hours a night browsing Zillow with a bottle of bed wine, I get it. Just a few short weeks after that meeting, Sarah and I would be going to the same school. I got home that day after the open house, ran up to my bedroom, and listened to Brandy’s “Have You Ever” on repeat for about six hours, dreaming of starting my life with her, having kids, and becoming Mr. Sarah, or whatever the proper equivalent of that is.
For the most part, Sarah and I never spoke more than three words to each other. I’d say hi or ask how she was, she would respond, and then I would run away with heart palpitations. Every time we talked, my voice would shake, my eyes would twitch, and I would sweat even more than normal (my body was like a waterfall). She made me incredibly nervous, and saying more than a few words to her was entirely too much for me to handle. Plus, she was one of the most popular kids in school, despite being a new student. She was that good looking.
All that’s to say that one Friday night, I decided I was going to talk to Sarah and invite her to the fall dance. I’m not sure where I got the nerve to think that she would go with me since she was A-list and I was the kid who listened to a Brandy ballad for six hours straight on more than one occasion, but I digress. Did I mention I also dressed up like the “Have You Ever” music video, using a cherry-flavored Airheads candy to give me a bold lip to recreate Brandy’s look? The point is, I was confident and delusional, which is how I would describe most of my youth until this time.
For days leading up to me asking her to the dance, I obsessed over how I would do it and what she might say. I’d role-play, pretending Sarah was an inflatable green alien that I won at a carnival game, analyzing every possible outcome, planning out what I would wear, and daydreaming about what I would say if she said yes. While I knew there was a possibility that she would turn me down, the reward far outweighed the risk.
School was rough that Friday, since I wasn’t able to concentrate on anything other than my weekend plans. My brother and I were the same height, so most of my clothes were his hand-me-downs. Every once in a while, he would let me wear some of his more current stuff, and this particular night, I asked him to help dress me. He gave me something I definitely couldn’t pull off, sprayed me with half of a bottle of Nautica cologne, and let me borrow some of his hair gel, which was the kind that turns your hair into a rock. Remember in Hocus Pocus when Bette Midler turns to stone as the sun rises? That’s basically what happened when I put that gel in my hair. Actually, I wish I looked as good as Queen Bette when she was made of stone. I was addicted to acne cream at the time, and my hair was prematurely gray, so the combination of my dry skin and graying hair made me look more like that Hocus Pocus zombie who wakes up on Halloween and coughs dust.
Even though my brother helped dress me, he had no plans to go to the football game. He was a freshman in college nearby, so he was way too cool to go to his old high school’s game. Instead, I once again drove with my parents, who were excited to hang with some of the other parents under a blanket while watching football.
We arrived at the field and assumed our usual routine; Mom and Dad went to meet their friends while I met mine.
“Meet us down by the concessions at the end of the game,” Mom said.
While there WERE cell phones at that time, the Pellegrino family only had one that we all shared. Nowadays, even my eight-year-old niece has a cell, but pre-millennium/pre-Willennium (the Will Smith album that featured a song called “Will 2K”), they weren’t as common.
For the first half of the football game, I anxiously ran around with my friends, stress-eating concession hot dogs and reconsidering my plans to ask Sarah on a date. During halftime I saw her with her bestie, giggling in my direction, and I worried they were both making fun of me. I was convinced that someone must’ve told her I was going to ask her to the dance, and now she had plenty of time to plan her way of saying no, along with making fun of me for even thinking she would go with me.
You ever hear those stories about people able to lift a car in moments of strength, adrenaline giving them what they need to do impossible tasks? That’s what happened to me in the third quarter. Her friend went off to the bathroom or something, and I noticed Sarah was standing solo. This was my shot, and I wasn’t going to miss it. I confidently walked up and stood next to her, always keeping one eye on the field as if I gave a shit about what was happening in the game.
“Hi, Sarah!”
“Hi,” she replied.
…
…
…
“I love football!” I lied, hoping to spark conversation.
“Me too!”
…
…
…
“So, the fall formal is coming up and—”
Sarah smiled warmly and I felt like I was in, like she would say yes. My confidence shot through the roof immediately after I saw her flash her pearly whites. I took a beat, steadied my breath, and took both eyes off the field to look into her beautiful blues just as I heard an announcement over the loudspeaker…
“DANNY PELLEGRINO, YOUR PARENTS ARE LOOKING FOR YOU,” the announcer said for everyone in the stadium to hear. I was mortified but determined to keep my cool in front of Sarah.
“That’s you,” Sarah said.
No shit.
“Do you need to go?” she asked.
“No, no, I’m sure it’s fine. I’ll go later,” I assured. “So, about the dance…I was thinking—”
Before I could finish my sentence, I heard a more familiar voice echoing throughout the stadium. It was my mother.
“DAN, IT’S YOUR MOTHER. WE HAVE TO LEAVE EARLY, SO COME DOWN TO THE CONCESSION STAND! DANSTER? CAN YOU HEAR ME, DANSTER?” she said, her voice trailing off as the mic was taken from her hands.
“YOU HEAR THAT, DANSTER?” the announcer said with a laugh before getting back to the football game.
It was a nightmare. The entire student section looked over at me, laughing and pointing. While I wanted to run and hide, there was still a part of me trying to remain calm in front of the girl of my dreams. If I ran out of the stands in tears, I knew I would never recover. I’d be the kid no one wanted to befriend because he cried like a baby at the football game. Instead, I kept a smile on my face and laughed along with the other kids. It’s always better to laugh at yourself before others do, and if you can’t do it before them, do it with them. Psychologically, it might not be great for one’s self-esteem, but it takes some of the power away from bullies.
“Does your mom always call you Danster?” Sarah asked.
“Yeah, it’s an inside joke thing.”
“What’s the joke?” she followed up.
Truth is, it wasn’t an inside joke, it was just something my mom called me since I was a young kid. One of those nicknames that stuck. It only occasionally snuck out of her mouth in public, unfortunately this time it happened over a microphone for the entire city to hear.
“Yeah, you know I better get going,” I told Sarah, resigning the idea of finishing my mission and asking her to the dance. That ship had sailed. My only goal at this point was to walk off the bleachers, tell my parents I was never speaking to them again, and have them drive me home so I could listen to six more hours of a Brandy ballad, eat the stack of Airheads I hid under my mattress, and then cry again in the shower.
I walked toward the exit feeling low but keeping my head held high. I didn’t want anyone to see how hurt I was that they were laughing and throwing metaphorical pig’s blood on me like they did to Carrie at her prom or in Jawbreaker, when the crowd tossed corsages at Rose McGowan. Seconds felt like hours as I inched my way toward the bottom of the bleachers near the exit. On my way out, I heard the familiar sounds of the cheer squad, who set up shop right in front of the student section, spending the football game encouraging all students to root for the home team. Unfortunately, they took a break from school spirit to drag me with an improvised cheer in perfect formation.
“Ready? Okay!” I heard the squad scream.
“D-A-N-S-T-E-R, your parents are looking for you, hey, your parents are looking for you!” they sang, finishing with one final “D-A-N-S-T-E-R, DANSTER!”
It didn’t quite rhyme, but it was impressive nonetheless that they were able to make up something on the spot like that. Horrifying for me though. Sometimes I close my eyes at night and hear the chant playing over and over again in my head, wincing at the embarrassment of it all. More laughs from the student section followed, along with some finger-pointing from some parents and teachers that I knew as I ran out of that stadium and made my way to the Brandy album as quickly as time would allow.
Sarah and I never went to any dances together. She eventually transferred schools and we lost touch, but I’ll never forget that football game and what a bunch of assholes the other students were, as well as the cheerleading team and townspeople. Kids can be cruel, and while I understand that others have had it way worse, I can’t help but think about how I felt that night. The confidence I had going into that game was forever changed as I was leaving. Anytime I would try to flirt with a girl after that, a familiar feeling of embarrassment would wash over me. There were a handful of years where I dated girls and pretended to be straight, but my flirt game never recovered until I came out of the closet.
The scars of our childhood never fully go away, and although we grow and learn, we never forget those wounds. Surely Sarah doesn’t remember any of it, and Danster was, fortunately, not a nickname that stuck with my classmates. What did stick is the feeling of not being good enough. But looking back now, I realize that I was good enough. I am good enough, and very lucky that I had two parents who were looking for me. Now that I’m older, I still rely on Brandy to get through the tough times, only now I pair the Full Moon album with another brandy—cognac.