Many years ago, I was a football fan — a diehard, even. I stuck with the Panthers through seasons so bad they should’ve been classified as disaster zones, and I relished the rare payoff of seeing them claw their way to a Super Bowl.

Those days are long gone. The NFL has morphed into a walking parody of itself—a late-night comedy sketch scripted straight from a corporate DEI handbook, spliced with what used to be satire about effeminacy. From the heavy-handed political sermons to the nonstop social engineering, it’s become an endurance test I have no interest in taking.

And now, they’ve cranked the dial to “open rebellion.” The league is actively platforming open sodomites—men dressed as women—on the sidelines, dancing in lockstep with female cheerleaders. Same glitter, same pom-poms, same exaggerated, hyper-feminine choreography. The only difference is the stubble.

Cue the Patriots’ latest ad campaign for this deviance.

No real NFL fan is interested in seeing that. Not one. It’s not football. It’s not entertainment. It’s a distraction—an awkward, jarring, attention-splitting sideshow that actively pulls you out of the game. You come to watch a collision of helmets, grit, and raw power, and instead you get front-row seats to a choreographed parody of womanhood performed by men.

It’s the kind of thing that doesn’t just kill the mood, it kills the appetite for the sport altogether. And that’s exactly what happened to me. This kind of social and political engineering in professional sports is precisely what drove me away from it.

Why are they doing this? Why take the most masculine sport in America and put it in heels and lip gloss? The answer is as gross as it is simple. Because corporate elites are so far removed from reality, they’re practically orbiting another planet. They’ve been catechized into the cult of social idealism—a new religion where the high priests preach that real masculinity is a disease and the cure is the modern sexual revolution.

They don’t want to celebrate manhood, they want to neuter it, dress it up, and teach it how to hair-flip in unison.

Make no mistake, this isn’t happening because you, the fan, demanded it. It’s because their religious cult leaders demanded it…the cultural ideologues they serve with greater devotion than they’ve ever served the paying customer. And let’s not pretend we don’t know the ultimate name on their chain of command. This is subservience to Satan, plain and simple.

And no, this isn’t “inclusivity,” though that’s the pretty little label they slap on it to make it sound virtuous. This is the Romans 1:28 package deal—the one where God gives people over to a depraved mind, and the first symptom is the inability to even blush at the sexual immorality.

What you’re watching on those sidelines is not a harmless dance routine. It’s a perverse public service announcement for the homosexual lifestyle. It is, in every sense of the word, an advertisemen—an open declaration of preferred sexual practices and lewdness, acted out in sequins and fake smiles. And let’s stop lying to ourselves, there is nothing “inclusive” about including perversion.

Scripture condemns it. Even modern science condemns it. Both tell the same truth: especially male-male sexual acts are physically dangerous, medically high-risk, and often violent in their nature. You don’t have to take my word for it. Read the medical literature. But if you want the biblical version, it’s even clearer. Romans 1:27 (ESV):

“and the men likewise gave up natural relations with women and were consumed with passion for one another, men committing shameless acts with men and receiving in themselves the due penalty for their error.”

Hopefully, I don’t have to paint you a picture of what that means.

Yet the NFL presses on, hell-bent on baptizing its fanbase into the liturgy of the modern sexual revolution. They parade it proudly, daring anyone to look away, knowing full well that their sponsors will clap like trained seals while the long-time fans quietly slip out the back door.

It is an unshakable devotion to an ideology that has nothing to do with football, nothing to do with the fans, and everything to do with a culture that celebrates the unnatural as the ultimate form of bravery.

So the NFL will keep its men-in-makeup sideline acts, even as the stands grow quieter and the ratings trickle down the drain. And that’s fine. Let them. Let them twirl and strut and grin for the cameras as the empire crumbles, clutching their ideology like a life raft while the game they’ve hijacked drowns beneath them.

Maybe not today, maybe not this decade, but ultimately, it will die, and they will love it, because they hate God (Proverbs 8:36).