LGBTQIA+ topics in sport, human movement and education

ABSTRACT

The purpose of this paper is to introduce the Second Issue of our Double Special Edition on LGBTQIA+ Topics in Health, Wellbeing and Education. This special issue focuses on LGBTQIA+ Topics in Sport, Human Movement and Education. We introduce the issue by outlining the debate about the ‘inclusivity’ of queer bodies in sport. We then introduce each article and explain how they fit into these larger debates in sport and education. We conclude the paper by outlining key takeaways from the issue. We also provide recommendations for future LGBTQIA+ research in sport, human movement and education.

KEYWORDS:

• Queer
• gay
• transgender
• lesbian
• physical activity
• physical education
• masculinity

Introduction

Some bodies are in an instant judged as suspicious, or as dangerous, as objects to be feared, a judgement that is lethal. There can be nothing more dangerous to a body than the social agreement that that body is dangerous. We can simplify: it is dangerous to be perceived as dangerous. (Ahmed, 2017, p. 143)

In April of this year, the United States (USA) Court of Appeals halted the enforcement of West Virginia’s law banning transgender participation in school sport (Raby, 2024). Immediately following the decision, however, the West Virginia governor (and other state governors) vowed to appeal the decision. Currently, 25 of 50 states in the U.S.A. have laws banning transgender students from participating in school sports (Movement Advancement Project, 2024). Also in April, Lucy Frazer (Secretary of State for Culture, Media and Sport in the United Kingdom [UK]) urged sporting bodies to ban transgender athletes from female sports, claiming it would keep ‘women’s competitive sport safe’ (Stacey, 2024). In other words, many politicians across the world are clear when it comes to queer, and especially transgender, bodies in sport: they are dangerous.

Lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, intersex and asexual (LGBTQIA+¹) persons have a complicated history in sport (Cahn, 1994; Griffin, 1998; Pronger, 1990). Historically, queer bodies were labelled ‘dangerous’ and excluded from participation in both implicit and explicit ways. In the last decade, sporting institutions have undergone rapid transformation in ways it has been imagined, consumed and engaged. Some scholars argued the broader sociopolitical shift around LGBTQIA+ acceptance has brought about an era of ‘inclusive masculinities’ in sport. According to these scholars, modern sport institutions not only accept LGBTQ+ athletes, but heterosexual athletes openly engage in traditionally queer sexual behaviours (e.g. same-sex romantic kissing, spooning) without stigma (e.g. Anderson & McCormack, 2015; Scoats et al., 2018).

Crucially, we do not believe that masculinities or discrimination looks the same in 2024 as they did in 2000. Like Anderson (2005) and colleagues (Cleland, 2018; Magrath et al., 2015; McCormack & Anderson, 2014), we believe much has changed in the last quarter century. We depart from inclusive masculinities researchers, however, and concur with Pringle (2024), as well as Storr and colleagues (2021), that overly optimistic (and perhaps phantasmatic) portrayals of sport as ubiquitously inclusive is not just theoretically and empirically questionable but is dangerous for LGBTQIA+ people. So, whilst we agree there has been an increase in visibility of some queer bodies (e.g. white, cisgender, and/or high athletic ability), this is not true for most LGBTQIA+ persons.

Caudwell (2015) argued that bodies considered to be queer(er) when it comes to norms around ethnicity (whiteness), culture (western), sexuality (heteronormative) and gender (cisgender) continue to experience discrimination in sport. In other words, bodies that are too queer have experiences that contradict (and question the veracity of) claims that sport is inclusive. The theoretical traditions and empirical evidence used to substantiate optimistic narratives of inclusivity have primarily centred around (gay and heterosexual) white (cisgender) men’s experiences. Not only is this dangerous for most queer people (Pringle, 2024) but it ignores the complex, diverse and nuanced experiences of LGBTQIA+ persons. Not to mention, discrimination within sport becomes reduced down to deterministic concepts like homohysteria or homophobia that are gauged through a white, male and heteronormative gaze (Caudwell, 2015).

The papers assembled in this issue address the academic and political debate above. The issue is the second part of a double special edition addressing LGBTQIA+ Topics in Health, Wellbeing and Education (see Landi et al., 2023 for part one). In this issue, we explore the complexity and diversity of LGBTQIA+ experiences in sport and education. We suggest that sport and educational spaces have become battlegrounds for LGBTQIA+ rights. Some battles have been about which queer bodies are allowed access to sports (Love, 2017). Others explored the role of LGBTQIA+ marketing, visibility and promotion strategies (Melton & MacCharles, 2021), the authenticity of DEI (Diversity, Equity and Inclusion) initiatives (Ciszek & Lim, 2021), as well as experiences of LGBTQIA+ persons (Caudwell, 2014; Denison et al., 2021; Hartmann-Tews et al., 2021; Pérez-Samaniego et al., 2019). As an institution, sport can entrench and transform discriminatory values and practices. This is especially true in educational settings. Below, we provide an introduction to the papers that comprise this issue.

Outline of papers

The papers in this special issue were divided in two sections. The first section explores unique sporting spaces for LGBTQIA+ persons. The three papers in this section include studies about a tennis club in Australia (Storr & Richards, 2024), a professional bodybuilder in Hong Kong (Pang et al., 2024) and an American mountaineer that climbs across the world (Russell et al., 2024). The second section is focused on traditional sport and education spaces. This section has five papers including an analysis of LGBTQ+ athletes’ relationships in sport in North America (Herrick et al., 2024), an examination of U.S.A college coaches’ perspectives on transgender inclusion (Arnold et al., 2024), transgender and non-binary students experiences of sport and physical education in Ireland (Neary & McBride, 2024), gay men’s experiences in a Physical Activity and Sport Science (PASS) department in Spain (Vilanova et al., 2024) and LGBTQ+ teachers experiences in the U.K. (Llewellyn, 2024). Below we explore these papers in relation to the broader special issue and literature.

Section 1: non-traditional movement spaces

We start our issue with a paper by Storr and Richards (2024). Storr and Richards (2024) reported on a national study commissioned by Tennis Australia to explore the positive role tennis sport clubs can have on LGBT+ people. LGBTQ+ related DEI initiatives are increasing in sport organisations across the world (Ciszek & Lim, 2021) and in Australia (Storr, 2021). Rather than engaging in research that only critiques sport organisations, much can be learned by examining the positive role sport can have for LGBTQ+ communities (Elling et al., 2003). Yet, most of this research is in team sport environments whereas this paper takes place in a LGBT+ Tennis club (individual sport).

Storr and Richards (2024) used the concept ‘social capital’ to argue small and tight-knit LGBT+ tennis clubs can have benefits for LGBT+ persons. These benefits included community bonding, authentic identity expressions, building support networks across different ages and providing safe spaces for LGBT+ people. Storr and Richards (2024) gave important insights on the debate about inclusivity in sport. For one, they described positive practices that augment LGBT+ participation in tennis. This adds to literature exploring how sport organisations can be more inclusive. Further, small-knit LGBT+ clubs provided counter (and safe) spaces for queer bodies. This responded to a need for alternative spaces because mainstream sports remain discriminatory (Storr et al., 2022). As an individual sport, tennis is unique because it can address participation across the lifespan (not just young persons). Thus, an important insight from Storr and Richards (2024) is how age at the intersection of gender and sexuality affect inclusivity.

Pang et al. (2024) continued the focus on non-traditional movement spaces by investigating the experiences of a gender-fluid bodybuilder in Hong Kong. The authors presented autobiographical accounts of Siufung Law’s (third author) experiences as a trans*, female bodybuilder. These narratives provided insight into how she² navigated homophobic and transphobic practices across multiple spaces. The paper also examined how Law negotiated gendered expectations related to bodybuilding, as well as how racialised narratives played out on her (Asian) body. Pang and colleagues’ (2024) narratives are set in different places including Hong Kong, the Philippines and Canada. The authors explained how Law’s body is judged, and how expectations are placed on it, very differently (along lines of gender, race, nationality and muscularity) depending on the space she occupies.

Pang and colleagues (2024) provided an excellent example of how queer sporting bodies face multiple limitations and forms of exclusion. They re-affirmed that gender (not only homophobia) continues to affect the way bodies are judged in sport (Thorpe et al., 2017). They also illustrated how gender norms intersect with trans* (Caudwell, 2014) and racialised (Pang, 2021) expectations that ultimately limit and even exclude, queer bodies from sport. Crucially, discrimination looks and feels very different based on location. Pang and colleagues (2024) offered rich and complex narratives that provided evidence of how homophobia is only one of multiple intersecting factors affecting discrimination and inclusiveness in sport.

In the third paper, Russell et al. (2024) introduced Erin Parisi, the first trans* person to attempt climbing the highest mountain on each continent. Russell and colleague’s (2024) took us through Erin’s stories of how she experienced invisibility, struggle and navigated diverse sociocultural spaces in her journey for greatness. Russell’s team (2024) highlighted how Erin negotiated gendered discourses around sport and the body. Erin’s journey (including identity formation and mountaineering) illustrated how her body is constricted by gendered and sexualised norms on the mountain but is also transformed physically and emotionally. Erin continually goes through oscillations of invisibility and visibility, identity construction and identity reconstruction, as well as inclusion and exclusion.

Russell and colleagues’ (2024) gave us much to think about in relation to ‘inclusivity’. Non-traditional sport settings (like mountaineering) offer a unique space for people to negotiate and construct their identities whilst also challenging dominant narratives within sport. Russell and colleagues (2024) highlighted the ways that Erin used (and continues to use) her ‘TranSending 7 Project’ to induce positive changes within the climbing community (for example, renaming of climbing routes deemed sexist and transphobic). Yet, it is clear from Erin’s experiences that her journey is an uphill battle. She still faced sexist, homophobic and transphobic discrimination along her path. Thus, the mountain becomes a symbol of loneliness, support, challenge and transformation for Erin personally and sport more broadly.

Section one highlights how non-traditional sports can be both supportive but challenging for LGBTQIA+ persons. Non-traditional sport spaces include but are not limited to LGBTQIA+ sport clubs, individual and/or aesthetic sports, adventure-related sports and others. These spaces offer unique places for LGBTQIA+ persons because they are not as rigidly structured around the ethos as traditional team sports. For example, some non-traditional spaces, like roller derby, have de-emphasised the focus on gender (Breeze, 2015). Other spaces, like LGBTQ+ clubs, are preferred because of their focus on authentic expression (Elling et al., 2003; Gaston & Dixon, 2020). Whilst non-traditional sports act as alternatives to traditional settings, they still carry historical debris from binary gender systems, racialised norms, age restrictions and cultural tropes. Therefore, the experiences across these spaces are not the same for all LGBTQIA+ people and differ greatly by social, cultural and geographical setting. So, whilst there is evidence non-traditional sporting cultures provide alternative spaces for queer bodies, these spaces may ‘feel different’ depending on identity and place.

Section 2: sport and education

In section two, we focused on traditional sport at the intersection of education. Our fourth article was contributed by Herrick et al. (2024). Here, Herrick and colleagues (2024) conducted a large-scale survey with 741 self-identified LGBTQ+ persons. There was a range of adults that participated in this survey according to genders (e.g. cisgender men and woman, trans* men and women, non-binary), sexualities (e.g. LGBQ+) and ethnicities (e.g. African, Caribbean, East Asian and White). There were also a range of participants in other demographics such as competition level, education level and social class. This sample is one of the largest to qualitatively examine types of relationships that LGBTQ+ persons experience in sport.

Herrick and colleagues (2024) identified four types of relationships that LGBTQ+ people experienced: (a) exclusionary: experienced discrimination; (b) inert: non-threatening but not welcoming; (c) inclusive: athletes felt part of the team and LGBTQ+ identities were accepted; and (d) alternative: participated in LGBTQ+ organisations (e.g. LGBTQ+ sport clubs). Critically, 56.8% of LGBTQIA+ athletes’ relationships were classified as exclusionary, 16.5% as inert, 20.2% as inclusive and 20.2% as alternative. In other words, 73.3% of LGBTQ+ athletes’ relationships were classified as either ‘discriminatory’ or ‘not welcoming’. This result painted a contradictory picture to the ‘inclusive’ and ‘optimistic’ narratives presented in research. Herrick and colleagues (2024) discussed these results in relation to demographic factors, as well citing that a person’s athletic ability and degree of identity expression affected these relationships. Given this, LGBTQ+ athletes’ relationships are based on numerous nuanced factors that intersect differently.

Arnold et al. (2024) provided the fifth article of the issue. Arnold and colleagues (2024) conducted a survey with 1358 coaches at National Collegiate Athletic Association (NCAA; the largest university sports organisation in the U.S.A.) member schools. The survey measured coaches’ attitudes towards transgender athletes (quantitative) as well as collected open responses about coaches’ beliefs on transgender participation (qualitative). Arnold and colleagues (2024) identified five classifications of beliefs about transgender inclusion: (a) It’s not right: Transgender identities not valid; (b) Need to protect (cis) women’s sports; (c) Transgender rights are human rights; (d) Sport can help social issues; and (e) Unsure what to believe.

Arnold and colleague’s (2024) provided evidence that transgender participation in NCAA sports remains a polemic issue. Many coaches constructed and viewed transgender bodies as ‘dangerous for women’ or in some cases, against ‘God’s will’. Ironically, even amongst the coaches that expressed a belief that transgender athletes should be allowed to participate in sport, some still held negative attitudes towards transgender people (Arnold et al., 2024). This illustrated that persons who believe they are allies to trans* causes may actually still hold discriminatory attitudes that contradict their stated beliefs. Arnold and colleagues’ (2024) study made it clear that NCAA spaces are not unambiguously positive or inclusive. Perhaps most worrying, the very people holding discriminatory attitudes and values against transgender athletes are those in charge of their safety and well-being: their coaches.

In the sixth article, Neary and McBride (2024) explored transgender and non-binary young people’s experiences of sport and physical education in Ireland. This work adds to the minimal research we have with current transgender young people. To our knowledge, the few studies that explored current transgender and non-binary young people’s experiences in physical education are from Aotearoa New Zealand (Landi, 2019), Finland (Berg & Kokkonen, 2022), Spain (Fuentes-Miguel et al., 2023) and the U.K. (Caudwell, 2014; Phipps & Blackall, 2023). Neary and McBride (2024) are the first to do so from Ireland. Their research reinforced previous findings illustrating physical education practices as segregated based on gender (e.g. lines, uniforms and policies) which often led to transgender students being confused and wanting to drop out of sport and physical education (Berg & Kokkonen, 2022; Landi, 2019). Neary and McBride (2024), however, move beyond ‘feelings’ and ‘experiences’ to explore how these gendered practices systematically shut transgender and non-binary bodies out of different opportunities at the intersection of education and sport.

Neary and McBride’s (2024) paper illustrated the difficulties of cultivating inclusive environments for transgender and non-binary students in sport and physical education. They argued this is rooted deeply in the gendered structure of sport and education environments. Important to their findings, even when allies (e.g. parents and teachers) encourage and try to increase transgender participation, the gendered policies and structures of sport and educational institutions make it incredibly difficult for all parties involved. Further, they considered how this exclusion effects transgender and non-binary young people in Ireland. Thus, Neary and McBride (2024) illustrated how transgender bodies are often too queer for gendered structures that schools, sport and physical activity are built on.

In our seventh article, Vilanova et al. (2024) explored experiences of gay men in a PASS department at a Spanish University. This work extended on research examining gendered and sexualised nature of Spanish PESTE (Physical Education and Sport Tertiary Education) programmes more broadly (Castro-García et al., 2023; Devís-Devís et al., 2018; Pereira-García et al., 2021; Serra Payeras et al., 2018). For example, men comprise the majority of faculty and student demographics in Spanish PASS departments (Serra Payeras et al., 2019, 2022). Further, PESTE curricula are based on gendered norms (Pérez-Samaniego & Santamaría-García, 2013) resulting in LGBTQ+ identified persons reporting negative experiences in PASS departments (Devís-Devís et al., 2018).

Vilanova and colleagues (2024) argued that despite progress being made at broader university levels for LGBTQIA+ inclusion, PASS departments were slow to be supportive for the gay men in their study. Discriminatory practices persisted in these departments that included homophobic language, micro-aggressions and traditional body norms where gay men were forced to hide their identities. Given this, the degree to which gay men expressed their sexuality was connected to the degree of discrimination they experienced. Vilanova and colleagues’ (2024) findings extended on arguments being made that some queer bodies are more are less acceptable than others depending on context and their degree of queerness.

Llewellyn’s (2024) paper concluded our issue and contributed to literature on LGBTQIA+ teachers. Early research with lesbian (physical) educators found women were forced to hide their personal life in schools, being called ‘living a double life’ (Clarke, 1997), ‘living in two worlds’ (Woods & Harbeck, 1992), as well as a ‘public-private divide’ (Sparkes, 1994). Llewellyn (2024) disrupted these binaries by arguing there is a new LGBTQ+ teacher subjectivity where teachers are ‘honest’ about who they are but also must maintain a professional distance. Llewellyn (2024) also worked to disrupt deeply rooted binaries between teachers and students, where students are seen as ‘innocent’ subjects (e.g. Alldred & David, 2007).

Llewellyn’s (2024) insights on LGBTQ+ teachers in the U.K. provided broader context about queer bodies in education. Teachers in Llewellyn’s research stated young people are not passive and innocent, but agential and resourceful. Despite teachers having positive outlooks of young people, school leaders constructed young people as ‘too young’ and in need of protection. This is important because LGBTQ+ teachers are often first understood in relation to sex/sexuality. Therefore, LGBTQ+ teachers are considered potentially dangerous and corruptive for young people. Just like sport, educational settings more broadly still construct queer bodies as a danger to (innocent) others. Interestingly, these discourses were perpetuated by people who considered themselves to be ‘inclusive’ allies. As such, there is evidence suggesting that what some are calling ‘inclusive’ practices may be more performative.

In the second section, we examined several LGBTQ+ topics at the intersection of sport, health and education. The articles found that LGBTQ+ people have negative sporting relationships, are viewed negatively by coaches, are excluded based on gender and are constructed as ‘dangerous’ to others. In other words, the experiences of LGBTQ+ people, and the cultures that surround them, may be shifting but they are still incredibly complex, nuanced and filled with unique challenges for queer bodies. The papers comprising this special issue provided evidence that ‘inclusivity’ is subjective and right now the term is potentially being defined by persons who feel they are inclusive, but at the expense of queer(er) bodies who are often secluded.

Reflection: inclusion through seclusion?

When we started this special issue, we were interested in the juxtaposition between the arguments about queer bodies in sport and education. On one hand, there is evidence to suggest the political climate is becoming deeply polarised and sport has been (and continues to be) challenging for LGBTQIA+ persons (e.g. Caudwell, 2014; Denison et al., 2021; Hartmann-Tews et al., 2021; Pringle, 2024; Storr et al., 2022). On the other hand, there is a stream of research suggesting a cultural shift in the ethos of sport exemplified by diminishing homophobia and an era of ‘inclusive masculinities’ where LGBTQIA+ people and openly queer sexual behaviours are accepted (e.g. Anderson, 2005; Anderson & McCormack, 2015; Magrath et al., 2015; Scoats et al., 2018). Against this backdrop, we presented eight papers from across the world (e.g. Australia, Canada, Hong Kong, Ireland, Spain, the U.K. and the U.S.A.) that explored the complexities involved with being queer(er) in sport and educational spaces.

The descriptions and experiences expressed in these manuscripts do not bode well for claims of inclusivity. In some studies, LGBTQIA+ persons were seen as ‘dangerous’ and a threat to the fabric of sport institutions. Their experiences were marked by sexism (e.g. Pang et al., 2024; Russell et al., 2024), racism and nationalism (e.g. Pang et al., 2024), transphobia (e.g. Neary & McBride, 2024), homophobia (Llewellyn, 2024; Vilanova et al., 2024) and an intersection of these. Given this, it may be time to re-consider if homophobia (especially understood through western and cisgender lenses) should be considered the primary factor affecting inclusivity in sport. It may be worth exploring the complexities of how discrimination operates and how this affects diverse LGBTQIA+ persons differently. In other words, what may be considered inclusive to one person in LGBTQIA+ communities (e.g. gay, white, cisgender men and young) may actually be volatile and discriminatory for others in the same space – especially considering the diversity in ethnicity, gender, age, sexuality and/or sex.

Another point worth dwelling on is how location comes to matter. The role that space plays (Vertinsky & Bale, 2004) cannot be overlooked in evaluating inclusivity. This is because different spaces (or locations) actively produce a diverse range of cultures and norms. So not only is there a diversity in subjectivities across different LGBTQIA+ communities (e.g. gender, sex, sexuality, ethnicity, age) but there are also differences in place-based cultures. Therefore, ‘inclusivity’ is not only about which queer body is engaging in sport, but it is also matters where they participate. This was evident in the case of Law (Chinese, trans* bodybuilder) who encountered different forms of discrimination based on the country she was competing (e.g. Hong Kong, Philippines and Canada). It was also illustrated with Parisi (trans* mountaineer) as she travelled through multiple countries and changed behaviours based on context (Russell et al., 2024). Future research on LGBTQIA+ topics in sport must consider how place and subjectivity interact to produce degrees of inclusivity for queer bodies.

LGBTQIA+ persons encountered challenges, as well as opportunities, within sport and education. For example, sport-related spaces aided the identity development and empowered gay men in University PASS departments (Vilanova et al., 2024). We also saw evidence that non-binary and transgender young people instigated leaders to reflect on gendered practices (Neary & McBride, 2024). Furthermore, mountain climbing – and the physical challenges that come with it – helped Parisi to imagine and cultivate multiple identities (Russell et al., 2024). We saw LGBT+ persons across a range of ages in sport clubs building connections (Storr & Richards, 2024). These spaces did not go without challenges, but the struggles endured in these challenges helped to create support networks, develop a sense of self, as well as imagine new ways of being queer in sport and education. Not to mention, these spaces offered opportunities for LGBTQIA+ persons to disrupt norms related to gender, sexuality, age, ethnicity and the body (e.g. Llewellyn, 2024; Pang et al., 2024; Russell et al., 2024).

Claiming sport is unambiguously inclusive, however, is simply not possible. The challenges posed throughout these papers were sometimes insurmountable and even dangerous. For example, LGBTQIA+ persons faced discriminatory and non-supportive team relationships (Herrick et al., 2024). They may have coaches that openly reject their identity and even humanity (Arnold et al., 2024). There was evidence of negative mental health and exclusion from sport and education (Neary & McBride, 2024; Vilanova et al., 2024). One person even became a target for online bullying and harassment (Pang et al., 2024). Across different spaces, queerer bodies are still being labelled as dangerous and/ or corruptive (Arnold et al., 2024; Llewellyn, 2024; Neary & McBride, 2024; Pang et al., 2024). Despite this, LGBTQIA+ persons are still making the best of their situations. This left us wondering if the reason why some research has described sport as ‘inclusive’ is because queerer bodies are either ‘getting by’ or being secluded from sport.

One of the main reflections we took from this issue is that queerer bodies are increasingly secluded in sport and education. This was evidenced in a few ways. For one, LGBTQIA+ individuals were opting to participate in LGBTQ+ sport clubs (Storr & Richards, 2024), individual competitions (Pang et al., 2024) and even climbing mountains thousands of miles away (Russell et al., 2024). This seclusion was evidenced by Herrick and colleagues’ (2024), who found 20.2% of their participants chose to engage in alternative sport settings (e.g. LGBTQ+ sport clubs). Not to mention, gay men hid their sexuality in PASS departments (Vilanova et al., 2024). Coaches advocated for transgender athletes to be separated from women (Arnold et al., 2024). Transgender young people dropped out of sport and physical education (Neary & McBride, 2024). Teachers were expected to be ‘honest’ but keep a ‘professional distance’ (Llewellyn, 2024). Thus, queerer bodies are being secluded in multiple ways that include being forced out, silenced or choosing to leave.

In reflecting on the inclusivity of sport and education, the insight around queerer seclusion is critical. Perhaps the silencing of queerer bodies, the self-selection to leave sport, or even ‘going along’ with cultural norms has given some folks the impression that sport is inclusive. Indeed, if queerer people are being silenced, have left or are isolated – then discrimination becomes less visible because queerer bodies are less visible. Juxtapose this with the celebration of some queer bodies (e.g. white, cisgender, normative) or slightly queer behaviours performed by straight white men (e.g. non-romantic kissing), it gives a false impression that sport is inclusive where some (queer) bodies and behaviours become part of a performance to look inclusive.

Putting on a performance of inclusivity, however, is very dangerous. It may give some people the impression they are inclusive and open. Yet, their practices, attitudes and norms persistently and perniciously silence, put off and exclude the queerer bodies they claim to be supporting. Therefore, it is easy to see why research with cisgender, white, athletic men may document some inclusive attitudes and beliefs – because the only queer bodies left are those that conform to dominant norms. Whereas the queerer bodies that are normally discriminated against have been secluded. Perhaps, these documented performances of inclusive masculinities are reliant on the seclusion of queerer people. By secluding those who are too queer, sporting institutions can develop positive attitudes towards the queer bodies that align better to their culture – giving them an impression of inclusivity. Put differently, ‘inclusive sport’ takes queer bodies the same way it takes milk in coffee: ‘just a dash’.

Acknowledgements

We would like to thank the editors Lisette Burrows, John Evans and Jan Wright for their support in making this double special edition come to realisation. We would also like to thank the individual reviewers that spent their time and effort to ensure these articles met the high standard of quality we have come to expect from Sport, Education and Society. Lastly, we would like to thank the authors for their contributions and patience throughout this process. This double special edition would not be possible without your amazing work!

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Notes

1 In this paper, you will see different acronyms that are comprised uniquely but containing these letters. The letters reflect the specific populations/topics discussed at that point.

2 Law chose to use she/her pronouns for the paper, and we continue that in the introduction.