Jason Collins' Jersey Retired By Nets, Because Apparently We Honor Mediocrity Now
You know, there are moments in sports that genuinely deserve celebration. A rookie hitting a walk-off grand slam. A quarterback engineering a 98-yard drive with 30 seconds left on the clock. A goalie making 50 saves in a Game 7. These are things that make you leap off your couch and high-five a complete stranger.
And then there’s Jason Collins.
The Brooklyn Nets have decided to retire the jersey of a guy who averaged a robust 3.6 points and 3.8 rebounds per game over 13 seasons. That’s not a typo. We’re not talking about a franchise cornerstone. We’re talking about a guy who was a professional foul machine and a glorified warm body on the bench for most of his career. The man averaged more personal fouls per game than points. Let that sink in for a second.
So, why the ceremony? Why the hanging of the number 98 from the rafters? Because in 2013, Collins became the first openly gay active player in a major American sports league. That’s it. That’s the whole resume.
Now, before the mob comes for me with pitchforks and rainbow flags, pump the brakes. I’m not here to say being the first openly gay player in the NBA isn’t a significant cultural moment. It absolutely is. It took guts. It broke a barrier. It probably helped a lot of closeted kids feel a little less alone. Good for him. Seriously. That’s a real human accomplishment, and it deserves a round of applause.
But retiring a jersey? That’s a different ballgame. That’s a hallowed honor reserved for legends. We’re talking about guys who changed the game, who filled the arena, who brought championships home. Think Bill Russell. Think Larry Bird. Think Michael Jordan. Think Kobe Bryant.
Now think Jason Collins. Career stats: 6.7 points per 36 minutes. He was a journeyman who played for six different teams, a guy who was traded more times than a used car. His most famous on-court moment before 2013 was probably getting into a fight with Shaq, which is like a Chihuahua barking at a grizzly bear. It was sad, not iconic.
By retiring his jersey, the Nets aren’t honoring basketball excellence. They’re honoring a PR move. They’re patting themselves on the back and saying, “Look how progressive we are!” It’s the sports equivalent of posting a black square on Instagram and calling it activism. It’s a performative gesture that cheapens the very real achievement of the man it’s supposedly celebrating.
This is the problem with modern American culture, man. We’ve completely lost the plot on what constitutes greatness. We’ve replaced objective achievement with subjective identity politics. It’s not about what you did anymore; it’s about what you represent. You don’t need to be good at your job. You just need a compelling backstory.
Think about it. If Collins had come out in 2024 and had the exact same career, would anyone even remember his name? No. He’d be a footnote, a trivia answer. But because he came out in 2013, at a time when it was still a big deal, he’s been elevated to this sainted status. He’s been given a honor that eludes guys who actually, you know, played basketball at a high level.
There are dozens of Nets players who were objectively better than Jason Collins. There are guys who played for the team for a decade, who led them in scoring, who made All-Star teams. Where’s their jersey in the rafters? Where’s the ceremony for them? Oh, that’s right. They don’t have a cool story about their sexuality, so they can go kick rocks.
This isn’t about being anti-gay. This is about being anti-stupid. This is about being anti-diluting the meaning of achievement. You can be a trailblazer and a role model and a pioneer, but that doesn’t automatically make you a sports legend. It makes you a person who did a brave thing. There’s a difference, and we’ve forgotten that.
It’s like giving a Nobel Prize in Physics to a guy who’s a great motivational speaker but has never actually done any physics. Sure, he’s inspiring. But he didn’t discover anything. He didn’t advance the field. He just talked a good game.
Jason Collins was a role player. A fringe NBA talent who carved out a career through hustle and grit and being 7 feet tall. That’s his legacy on the court. That’s what he earned. The off-court stuff is a separate category, and it’s a shame the Nets are conflating the two.
What’s next? Are we going to retire the jersey of the first guy to wear a headband? The first guy to have a meme made about his reaction on the bench? We’re sliding down a slippery slope of mediocrity, folks, and Jason Collins’ number is the grease on the hill.
The Nets should have honored him with a nice tribute video, maybe a pre-game ceremony where they give him a commemorative basketball. They could have donated to a LGBTQ+ charity in his name. There are a million ways to honor his courage without cheapening the franchise’s history.
But no. They had to go and hang his number in the rafters. They had to make him a permanent fixture in a pantheon he doesn't belong in. They had to turn a moment of genuine progress into a hollow symbol of corporate wokeness.
So here we are. Celebrating a career average of 3.6 points per game like it’s a hall of fame resume. It’s a joke. It’s a bad joke that’s not even funny. It’s just sad.
And honestly? It’s a disservice to Collins himself. He did something genuinely brave. He should be remembered for that, not for being a mediocre basketball player who got a jersey retired because of it. By doing this
Final Thoughts
It’s tempting to frame Jason Collins’s coming out solely as a moment of personal bravery, but that undersells the strategic weight of his decision. By being a journeyman, not a superstar, he proved that authenticity wasn't a luxury reserved for the league's elite—it was a viable path for the everyday professional. His legacy isn't just the first openly gay active player in the big four leagues, but the quiet, stubborn dismantling of the locker-room code that said it couldn't be done.