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“I think people are really enamored with me because you don’t often see someone like me – animated, flamboyant – but still able to back it up on the volleyball court,” says Jordan Lucas, the outside hitter for Cal State Northridge’s men’s team.

Although college volleyball has a devoted following and can attract big crowds – 92,000 fans went to see Nebraska take on Omaha in 2023 – it doesn’t usually attract the same attention as basketball or football. That changed last month though when clips of Lucas’s “flamboyant” play – he’s fond of celebrating with a flick of his hair or a dismissive wave at his opponents – went viral, amassing millions of views on social media. College athletes enjoying social media fame is hardly new: stars such as Paige Bueckers, Harper Murray, Olivia Dunne and Shedeur Sanders all had their viral moments. But Lucas’s case is different. It isn’t just about the highlights, it’s about the conversation surrounding them. Lucas is gay, and that fact has become inseparable from how audiences engage with his game.

Gay male athletes have always existed, but most of them navigated their careers either by remaining closeted or by conforming to a version of masculinity that preserved their place within the rigid expectations of sport: dominant, stoic, unmistakably “masculine.” Lucas does not. His flamboyance is not muted for acceptability; it is central to his presence, both on and off the court. And while that draws attention, it also invites scrutiny, something he admits has become difficult to ignore.

“I feel like people come for the entertainment and the show, and now they’re starting to get invested in my life outside of the court. It’s taken some getting used to,” he says. The duality is striking: on the court, Lucas is passionate and emotive; off it, he describes himself as more reserved.

That tension came into focus during a broadcast, when UC Irvine announcer Charlie Brande remarked, “I’m amazed Jordan Lucas hasn’t been popped by somebody … The antics he’s making under the net, it’s very distasteful.” Brande issued an apology, acknowledging that violence should never be “acceptable or tolerated.” It was later confirmed Brande will no longer call UC Irvine volleyball games.

Lucas’s so-called “antics” were actually celebrations: gestures that are ubiquitous across sports, especially in high-pressure moments. Lucas’s difference lies in how he expresses himself: finger snaps, hair flips, waves to opponents, the occasional sashaying turn. In another context, he might be praised rather than dismissed.

“I celebrate because it’s fun. In professional sports – the NBA, NFL, MLB – it’s about talent, but it’s also about what separates you from the pack,” Lucas says. “I’m not going to tone down who I am. That’s why people watch me play.”

He adds that teammates, coaches, and staff have been overwhelmingly supportive of his self-expression.

Lucas’s path to volleyball wasn’t predetermined. He was raised in a family of basketball fanatics – his older brother Jarod played for Nevada and Oregon State and the siblings have supported each other’s careers – but Jordan resisted the sport from an early age.

“I hated basketball. It was a growing pain, especially for my dad, because it’s all he’s known,” he says. He eventually concentrated on volleyball, a move that proved transformative. “I felt like I could always be myself in volleyball. It was an escape. I was living two lives: my volleyball life, where I could be myself, and my personal life.”

Even before this viral moment, Lucas recalls being a polarizing figure. “People either love or hate the way I play,” he says. “But they’re enamored, because you don’t really see people like me in this sport, or in sports in general.”

The backlash, both online and in person, has been intense at times, but it has also sharpened his resolve. “Being gay, I’ve known who I am for years. When people antagonize me, it just gives me more fire. It’s like, let me show you who I am,” he says. “I’m not going to let anyone disrespect me. I’m not losing.”

Online comments ranged from dismissive to overtly homophobic: “sassy ball,” one reads; “Gayyyyy,” says another. Lucas notes that much of the venom comes from men. “There’s this stereotype that men in sports have to be dominant, brute, hyper-physical. I’m not really like that. I like antics. I’m more feminine,” he says.

For Lucas, the issue is less about criticism and more about inconsistency. “You’re not telling the best NFL players not to do end zone dances or post on TikTok. I’m doing the same thing – just in a more feminine way.”

Still, the support has been just as visible. Figures such as Mark Cuban and Billy Porter, along with players across the WNBA, have voiced encouragement. Lucas is acutely aware of what his visibility represents. As one of the few openly gay players in men’s volleyball, he occupies a space that extends beyond the game itself.

“I think about the young boys I could inspire,” he says. “My plan was to be done with volleyball, but so much is changing.” While he remains uncertain about his next steps, his intention is clear: “I want younger LGBTQ athletes to see me and know they can succeed in sports, that they can flourish and be seen.”