The Rise of the Trump Dance in Sports Culture
Last month, during an electrifying match against the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, Nick Bosa, the standout defensive end for the San Francisco 49ers, marked a routine sack with a jubilant yet awkward display of hip-swivels and fist-pumps. His movements resembled those of an automaton awakening to consciousness. This performance has since been dubbed the Trump dance. For Bosa, who had recently faced an $11,255 fine—merely 0.033 percent of his staggering $34 million annual salary—for wearing a “Make America Great Again” hat on the field weeks prior, this was a bold, albeit tongue-in-cheek, homage to the president-elect.
The mismatched choreography of politicians is seldom mirrored on the football field, yet this instance created an intriguing synergy. After all, Trump has mastered the art of theatrical gloating in politics, similar to the exuberant displays athletes exhibit following successful plays.
The Trump dance has emerged as a notable trend in the realm of sports, where the president-elect has long sought a foothold. Sometimes, it appears to be a clear endorsement of Trump himself; other times, it simply celebrates the joy of clumsy movement. Following Bosa’s spirited display, Las Vegas Raiders tight end Brock Bowers joined the fray, celebrating a touchdown with the same dance, his fists pumping in a hilariously stilted manner reminiscent of Trump at his rallies. Similarly, Christian Pulisic, a prominent player for the U.S. men’s national soccer team, also partook in the dance, clarifying that he was not making a political statement but merely found it amusing.
The heavyweight champion Jon Jones introduced his own twist on the shimmy while Trump looked on from ringside, flanked by notable figures like Kid Rock and Elon Musk, resembling a proud father witnessing the antics of his offspring.
Tracing the origins of this peculiar dance is challenging; however, over the last decade, numerous Trump campaign events have harnessed the spontaneous energy of dance. It is clear that Trump has a penchant for greeting the familiar tune of “YMCA,” a staple in his campaign playlist, with animated arm movements reminiscent of inflatable tube men outside car dealerships. Often, he punctuates this with imaginary golf swings, adding a whimsical touch. One particularly memorable instance occurred in October at a Pennsylvania town-hall event, which was twice interrupted by medical emergencies. Trump seized the moment, requesting the song to be played “nice and loud,” before launching into his signature twist. After about 39 minutes of idle movement alongside Kristi Noem, an immigration hard-liner who would later be nominated by Trump to lead the Department of Homeland Security, the candidate exited the stage to the melancholy strains of “Memory,” the sentimental showstopper from the musical “Cats.”
Media coverage of this town-hall-turned-listening-party often misinterpreted its allure. It was frequently cited as evidence of Trump’s peculiar and excitable demeanor, or perhaps a sign of his diminishing mental acuity. However, this performance showcased how his supporters perceive him: not as a malevolent authoritarian or a threat to the fabric of American democracy, but as a charming, self-assured elder who finds joy in a kitschy disco classic. (It’s worth noting that this particular song has enjoyed lasting popularity among gay men as a celebration of cruising and flirtation.) If the dance were not such an authentic reflection of Trump’s genuine enthusiasm for “YMCA,” one might interpret it as a clever branding strategy, a nod to the everyday struggle of finding the rhythm. Like his playful stint at a McDonald’s or the infamous mug shot taken post-indictment in Georgia, the Trump dance has been widely circulated online, evolving into an inside joke and meme—an emblem of defiant confidence against critics and adversaries.
