What I Didn’t Know That Night

Miami. Ohio State. New Year’s Eve. And the moments that matter more than the score.

It’s New Year’s Eve morning.

Tonight, Miami and Ohio State will meet in a College Football Playoff quarterfinal — history, pressure, and legacy colliding under the brightest lights. By the time the ball is kicked, we’ll be talking about matchups, margins, and moments that define seasons.

But for me, this game always pulls me backward before it pushes me forward.

Twenty-two years ago, on January 3, 2003, Ohio State beat Miami in overtime for the national championship. I was a junior wide receiver at Pitt then. We had lost to Miami six weeks earlier on the final play—an incompletion that still lives somewhere between my hands and my chest. Had my arms been a few inches longer, or the throw a touch shorter, some Pitt alums like to remind me, things might’ve turned out differently.

So watching the Buckeyes and the Canes play for a trophy that felt like it almost belonged to us wasn’t exactly appealing.

Still, I watched.

Halftime came. I drifted into my dad’s home office and started checking email/Instant Messenger—the early-2000s version of scrolling—when my younger brother Ravi walked in.

He sat down. Didn’t say anything.

I knew immediately something was different. Not wrong. Just heavier.

What I didn’t know—what I couldn’t know at the time—was that this moment would matter far more than anything happening on the television.

He finally looked at me and said he needed to talk.

I cracked a joke. Tried to lighten the air. Failed.

He paused. Took a breath.

And then he told me he was gay.

I didn’t hesitate. I told him I loved him. That he was my brother. That I didn’t care. That if anyone ever said anything sideways to him, they’d have to deal with me.

I meant every word.

But here’s what I understand now, at 44, that I couldn’t articulate at 26:

Love isn’t the same as safety.