For a sport that prides itself on speed and power, ice hockey is remarkably good at standing stagnant. It reassures itself with myths that the locker room has evolved, that inclusivity campaigns have done their work, that everyone is welcome if they “just play the game”. And yet, despite this progressive narrative, the NHL (National Hockey League) has never had an openly gay active player, showing the gap between how fast the sport moves and how little it changes. By putting queer players and complicated relationships front and centre, Heated Rivalry imagines a world that ice hockey has yet to catch up with.
In case you have been off the grid for the past three months (or perhaps living under a rock on Mars), Heated Rivalry is a Canadian TV series based on the book of the same title from the Game Changers series by Rachel Reid. The show stars Hudson Williams as Shane Hollander, a Japanese-Canadian hockey player for the Montréal Metros, and Connor Storrie as Ilya Rozanov, a Russian hockey player for the Boston Raiders. The story follows the secret, decade-long romantic relationship between these two rival NHL captains as they navigate an intense public animosity to conceal a passionate, secret romance. While Heated Rivalry certainly has its steamy moments, the heart of the show is the intimacy the characters must keep hidden and the human side of hockey that the game rarely allows anyone to see.
Their romance remains a closely-guarded secret, lived under the constant pressure of being discovered. Even on their phones, they disguise each other’s identities, saved as Lily and Jane to avoid suspicion. Part of the reason is the discrimination and attention they would face if exposed, but their situation is also heightened by who they are and what’s on the line. In the show, two other characters come out publicly after a Stanley Cup win, but both Scott Hunter and Kip Grady are white Americans, and only one is a hockey player. Shane Hollander, by contrast, is Japanese-Canadian and captain of his team, a rare feat in a league where non-white players face steep barriers. Historically, there have been just four non-white captains, and only 7% of NHL players identify as Black, Asian, Latino, or Indigenous, showing that ice hockey’s walls are not just about culture or sexuality, but also race. On paper, Ilya Rozanov is every hockey cliché: white, masculine, and attractive. In reality, being a Russian citizen means that even the thought of coming out carries real legal risks. Their intersectional identities are central to their characters and influence how they navigate a traditionally hyper-masculine industry.
The struggles of Shane and Ilya on screen mirror real-life ice hockey dynamics, where race, nationality, and entrenched culture still dictate who can fully participate in the league. Jesse Kortuem, a real-life hockey player who recently came out in mid-January, said he walked away from the sport out of fear that he could not reconcile his athletic career and sexuality. In his coming out post, he states “For a long time, however, the rink did not feel like a place where I could be all of me. I felt I had to hide parts of myself for far too long.” Kortuem credits Heated Rivalry for giving him the courage to come out, saying, “Never in my life did I think something so positive and loving could come from such a masculine sport.”
On the other end of the spectrum, the first former ice hockey player to come out, Brock McGillis, says he does not see the show impacting hockey culture intensely enough to open the space permanently. It is important to note that while 17 ice hockey players have come out, none have ever played in the NHL. They are all from other professional, minor, or college levels. This makes the NHL the only major North American men’s professional league with no openly gay current or former players.
Over the past decade, the NHL has made attempts to appear more open and inclusive, but these efforts have often fallen short. The league held its first Pride Night on 30 March 2011, and by the 2017 season, all 31 teams had hosted one. By 2023, Pride Nights included full rainbow-themed jerseys and tape for players’ sticks. And yet, the initiative faced pushback: players on several teams voiced opposition, often citing religious reasons. In response, the NHL introduced rules in mid-2023 banning teams from wearing rainbow jerseys or using rainbow-coloured tape altogether. Inclusivity clearly has its limits on the ice.
Despite this, the success of Heated Rivalry has been welcomed for bringing new fans to the game. Yet if real representation and activism are barred on the ice, why should the NHL benefit from a show that exposes the very culture it refuses to change? Heated Rivalry may be fictional, but its impact is real. By centering queer, intersectional players and their hidden lives, the show exposes the rigid culture and barriers that continue to define hockey on and off the ice. It reminds us that progress cannot come from surface-level campaigns or spectacle alone. Meaningful change requires confronting deeply rooted cultural and structural issues. Until the league actively supports all players regardless of race or sexuality, the lessons from Heated Rivalry remain aspirational rather than lived reality. The show offers a vision of what hockey could be, but now it is up to the real sport to catch up.
Visual: Jemma ThomSon
