RISE PERSPECTIVES

Author: Jerrell Price

Growing up in Blue Springs, Missouri, I never imagined how far sport would take me. As the son of a Hawaiian mother and a Black father, raised in a predominantly white neighborhood and school system, I learned early on that identity is layered. That truth came into sharper focus years later when I came out as gay at 23. I didn’t yet have the language for privilege, intersectionality, or power. What I had was a ball, a court or field, and the unshakable sense that sport was where I belonged.

Over the years, that belonging deepened and expanded. I played nearly every sport I could growing up – basketball, football, cross country, track and field, baseball, even golf. Other than my family, sports were my first classroom in difference: teammates of all races, religions, and economic backgrounds coming together to chase something bigger than ourselves. What I couldn’t see at the time was that this would also become the framework for my life’s work.

Today, I live in New York City and serve as Senior Vice President of External Affairs at RISE, where I work with athletes, leagues, and communities to harness sport’s power for equity and social justice. My professional path – from practice player and student manager for the women’s basketball team at Missouri State, to roles at George Mason, NCAA, Big Ten Conference, UNICEF USA, and now for the past five years, RISE, was always guided by one lesson: sport doesn’t just reveal who we are, it shapes how we use who we are to drive change.

That truth carried into my personal life. Coming out as gay in 2013 while living in Washington, D.C., I joined the DC Gay Flag Football League and quickly realized that sport could be more than competition – it could be diplomacy in action. I found not just teammates, but advocates: people who understood that visibility itself was political. When I later moved to New York in 2017, I brought that lesson with me to the NY Gay Football League. These leagues taught me that diversity, which simply means differences, is not a barrier – it’s an advantage. In every huddle, stories collided: a first-generation college student navigating family expectation while forging their own path; a veteran adjusting to civilian life and finding community through sport; a woman breaking into a male-dominated industry sharing her fight for respect; a recent immigrant seeking belonging. Those exchanges shaped me just as much as the championships we chased.

This is where privilege enters the story. Too often we talk about privilege as if it’s something to apologize for. I see it as power. My education, my gender, and even the city I live in – all give me privileges that others may not have. The responsibility, then, is to use them not for myself but for others: to open doors, to amplify voices, to make space where none exists. In sport, that means creating inclusive cultures, elevating underrepresented perspectives, and modeling leadership that doesn’t shy away from politics but embraces it.

Because sport has never been separate from politics. Muhammad Ali, known for his boxing prowess, famously refused to be drafted into the Vietnam War, citing his religious beliefs. Colin Kaepernick, a former NFL quarterback, sparked controversy and dialogue by kneeling during the national anthem to protest racial injustice and police brutality. Other notable figures include Bill Russell, who used his platform during the Civil Rights Movement, Megan Rapinoe, prominent voice in the fight for gender equality and LGBTQ+ rights, and Arthur Ashe, a tennis champion who became a vocal advocate for civil rights and social justice. All this to say… athletes have long been at the forefront of global conversations.

Fans, too, play a role. Every time we cheer, protest, or support a cause tied to sport, we influence the cultural and political moment. When I line up on a flag football field, my very presence – a biracial, gay man leading his team – is a small but powerful act of representation. It reminds us that sport is not just entertainment; it’s diplomacy, it’s protest, it’s progress.

The most transformative part of sport, though, is how it builds perspective. I’ve had teammates who challenged my assumptions, colleagues who expanded my worldview, and opponents who reminded me that respect matters even when competition is fierce. Each conversation about race, gender, or identity adds another lens through which I see the world. Sport teaches us to listen, to adapt, and to celebrate, not erase, differences.

At RISE, this is the work we do every day: equipping athletes, coaches, and fans to see sport not as a distraction from society’s toughest issues, but as a tool to confront them. Identity isn’t a checkbox; it’s a compass. Privilege isn’t a burden; it’s power. And sport isn’t just a game; it’s a platform to shape culture.

As I reflect on my journey – from Missouri to New York, from Missouri State University to RISE, from courts and fields to boardrooms – I’m convinced that our greatest wins happen off the scoreboard. They happen when we use the privilege of sport to drive social impact, when we see differences not as divisions but as opportunities for unity, and when we remember that every huddle, every halftime, every post-game conversation can spark change. It gives us the time to reflect, to listen and to think critically.

Because in the end, sport is more than the game. It is identity in motion, privilege in service, and perspective in action. And when we harness that power, we don’t just change the score – we change the world.