For decades, sports culture has embraced a kind of hyper-masculinity that rejects even the appearance of softness or vulnerability. Even in 2026, a half century after the Stonewall revolution, gay athletes remain a taboo in top sports. There are no out gay players in the NFL, and across the pond only two active pro soccer players have publicly come out since Justin Fashanu outed himself in 1990. John Donnelly’s The Pass, a three-act psycho-drama that premiered in London a decade ago, suggests that the very act of pursuing an elite athletic career has a corrosive effect on the player.
We first meet Jason (Matisse Ratron-Neal) when he’s 17 and sharing a Bulgarian hotel room with another young hopeful, Ade (Terry Bell), the night before a decisive game that will determine which one of them will make the team roster. The two strut about in their skivvies, chug ill-advised beers, mock each other’s race with Nutella and shaving cream facials, and banter with false bravado about their prospects in a sport that has consumed them since just about birth. There’s a fine line between laddish rough-housing and flirtatious foreplay that Jason explores with eager curiosity. But Ratron-Neal, with his full beard and tattooed body, proves unconvincing as a brash teenager.
In the twisty second act, the room is upgraded in quality (scenic design by Seth Byrum) and Justin has emerged as a top soccer star, with a wife and young kids back home. He finds himself in a Spanish hotel with an enthusiastic table dancer/honey trap (Ino Badanjak, sporting an Irish accent for some reason) hoping for a celebrity shag. The two engage in a prolonged exchange where both of their ulterior motives for the encounter are revealed for an encountered that will be both recorded and leaked.
By the time we catch up with Jason in the third act, he’s near the end of his career (“My knee’s chalk”), divorced, and pondering what life might look like once he leaves the pitch for good. Being the narcissist that he is, he rings his old pal Ade, who’s living contentedly as a contractor with a boyfriend and an active life in an amateur football club. Ade is rightly puzzled, and far more indulgent of a former teammate whose ruthless gamesmanship may have included that pre-match come-on all those years ago. There’s no good reason for Ade to linger after Jason makes a left-field proposition, but he does — even when the party expands to include a starstruck bellhop (Oliver Rowland-Jones) delighted to share booze and drugs with a real-life celeb.
Donnelly seems to be trying to suggest the corrosive effects of toxic masculinity in the elite sports world might be even more intense for closeted gay athletes trying to suppress their true natures. But Ratron-Neal’s Jason is a rather obnoxious twat from the jump, and his efforts to hide his secret seem more calculated than tragic. Heated Rivalry this ain’t. It’s nearly impossible to muster any sympathy for the guy as he makes a series of selfish choices that often wind up humiliating those around him; being closeted didn’t harden him so much as exacerbate the pre-existing flaws in his character.
Under Max Hunter’s sluggish and scattered direction, the actors struggle to maintain our interest over a two-hour, intermissionless running time. The Pass has momentary bursts of action and energy, but ultimately drags on like one of those scoreless matches in a Tier 21 league. ★★☆☆☆
THE PASS
LaMaMa, Off Broadway
Running time: 2 hours (with no intermission)
Tickets on sale through Sept. 4 for $49 to $99