From Benches to Boardrooms: Logan Cuvo’s Story of Business, Branding, and Belonging

Interview by Christina Winnegar | April 1 2026

All it took to change the trajectory of Logan Cuvo’s journey was a singular phone call. 

It was during a call taken on his drive home that the most insightful conversation of his journey began. The chapter he had spent nearly his entire life chasing, hockey, not in the way most would think, was coming to an end. For years, the game had defined every aspect of Cuvo’s life, down to the routine, the goals and the version of himself he envisioned becoming. 

Now he was heading home, trying to figure out what came next.

On the other end of the phone call was his father. 

The two were wrapped up in conversation the way they always had, about life, hockey and the uncertainty that comes when a dream begins to shift at the age of 18. His dad gave the insight fathers often do in the silence of questioning moments, offering ideas, throwing out possibilities, helping his son redirect the mindset, coupled with the tilt of an axis. 

Then his father mentioned something they had talked about before. Tape.

Such a simple essential in the sport of hockey, yet one Cuvo had spent years complaining about the kind he used on his stick; the way it would not break down properly or break down too quickly. 

So his father asked the million-dollar question: “Why don't you start a tape company?” he recalled. 

The idea sounded ridiculous at first. He was 18-years-old and had just stepped away from the sport he had spent his entire life pursuing. 

“I asked him, what would we even call it?” Cuvo remembered. His father did not even hesitate. “He said, “Best Dam Tape.”

What started as a conversation on a drive home at the end of a hockey career eventually turned into a business working with professional and collegiate hockey programs, a new way for Cuvo to reinvent himself within the game that had shaped him. 

But long before the spark of a business idea, the branding behind the podcast, and finding a new belonging within the world of hockey, there was simply a kid who could not stay away from the rink. “I mean, my whole life, since I was three-years-old, till 18. It was, it was hockey, hockey, hockey,” Cuvo said.

Hockey was not something discovered on its own. For Cuvo, it was always there, whether it was the most prevalent dedication or in the shadows of dreams.

His father was drafted in the United States Hockey League (USHL), and his uncle played competitively at the 16U level, making them the first close family members to play the sport. Although it was the environment he witnessed from a very young age, Cuvo’s parents were adamant about not involving him. 

The hesitation was never about the sport itself. It came from personal experience, knowing what it could demand.

“I think it was more of how much time and how committed to a sport like hockey a young kid is at that point,” he said.

Still, the dream had a way of weaving itself into Cuvo’s life, literally.

“I had a dream that I was at my karate studio, playing mini sticks with all of my karate people,” he began. “And I walked out of my room at four-years-old, and said, “Hey Mom, I want to play hockey.”

From that day on, the rest was history, and the skates were on.

In the early years, as it does for many, hockey felt surreal—the opportunities coupled with the youth programs. The rinks were bigger, the crowds were more prevalent, and the players he watched seemed within arm's reach.

One memory in particular still resonates today. Like many youth players, Cuvo had the opportunity to participate in the “Mites on Ice” events with the Philadelphia Flyers, skating during intermissions in front of thousands of fans. At that age, it's the biggest stage you could be on. 

Little did he know that time would reflect an even bigger stage with the Flyers in a different capacity. At that point, hockey was not about future careers or development leagues. It was simply the sport that brought him immense joy.

Years later, the Flyers would become one of the National Hockey League (NHL) organizations working with the Best Dam Tape, a concept Cuvo now describes as a full-circle moment. 

When hockey became an identity in his life, around the time AAA hockey came into the picture, something shifted. It no longer held a place as an activity, a hobby, something fun to pass the time. Instead, it became part of who he was as a human. 

The move to Ohio quickly opened his eyes, leading to the realization that he was the only student playing ice hockey in the school community—the difference in numbers made hockey part of how people labeled him. 

Cuvo did not fully understand the path to professional hockey or the sacrifice that might be required. But he understood enough to know that if he wanted to keep moving forward, he had to work. So he did.

The dedication became unmatched, hours in the backyard shooting pucks, stickhandling drills, and extra training sessions with his father. “I think that was where committing that extra step was where things were going to change.” The sport had become the label, the routine and the direction he believed his future would follow. 

The path through competitive hockey rarely moves in a straight line. Through the many different levels, lessons are learned through roster changes and setbacks. Cuvo learned that early on. 

During his 14U season, he was cut from his team, a moment that forced him to reconsider where hockey fit into his life. Decisions were weighted, either the route of football or hockey at the high school level, until the phone rang.

The Indy Jr. Fuel program was on the other line, offering Cuvo a spot on their team. 

“I got a phone call from the Indy Fuel, and they were like, ‘Hey, we can’t believe you got cut. You need to come play for us,” he recited. 

That opportunity changed everything. But like any opportunity, it came with sacrifice. Families from Columbus, including Cuvo's, were driving for endless hours multiple times a week to make practices possible. The commitment across the board was unmatched. 

The call reopened the door to elite hockey. And with that, the ultimate chase continued. Soon, the pursuit of higher-level hockey required an even more difficult decision for an only 15-year-old Cuvo. The decision to leave home and billet, to attend Gilmour Academy, and play high-level AAA and prep hockey.

At the time, he believed he was ready. However, reflecting on the outcome now, he sees it differently. “I told my parents I was ready,” he confessed. “But I wasn’t.”

Living away from home forced him to develop quickly in ways that were no longer just about the ice. There were rides to find, meals to manage, and adult responsibilities to juggle as a teenager alongside the commitment to school and ice time.

The experience, although incredibly difficult during the time, introduced an important lesson that would later shape his mindset in a different space – entrepreneurship. “When nobody’s watching, when nobody’s there to push you, what are you going to do and how are you going to spend your free time?” he stated. 

As Cuvo continued to move through higher levels of hockey, including time with Belle Tire, Gilmour Academy, and junior programs such as Boston Advantage in the United States Premier Hockey League (USPHL) and the National Collegiate Development Conference (NCDC), even going as far to be drafted in the Ontario Hockey League (OHL), the sport began to reveal its masked intensity. 

At each step, prior skills were met with strong, faster and more demanding competition. The reality of junior hockey was far different from the magic of youth tournaments and car rides with teammates to practice. Over time, Cuvo began to understand that his path toward professional hockey was narrowing.

For most athletes, the moment when the pursuit of professional sports ends does not arrive with a clear announcement. It happens quietly, internally in the player's mindset. A season ends. A roster opportunity fades. A decision that once felt temporary slowly prepares you for permanence. 

For Cuvo, that transition came after years of chasing the next level of hockey. Working through elite youth programs, prep school hockey and junior leagues, proactively trying to move forward in a sport where the margin between success and disappointment can be razor-thin. 

Going so far as to have signed a tender to play for the Boston Advantage in the NCDC, another step forward in the demanding world of junior hockey. But something had started to change for him. 

Eventually, he faced a decision that would ultimately prove to be a turning point: he turned down the opportunity to continue pursuing junior hockey after being drafted by the New Jersey Titans that same year. Walking away meant more than just leaving the rink. It meant leaving behind the identity that he had built for nearly two decades, in hopes of pursuing something more. 

When he had returned home, the transition was all but easy. “It was hard. It really was,” Cuvo said. “It was hard to find who I was after hockey and what I was going to do with my time and my identity through all of that.” 

For years, hockey had dictated everything. Suddenly, that structure was gone, and the uncertainty felt unfamiliar. At the same time, the emotional weight of the journey lingered. Like most athletes who dedicate their youth to pursuing a professional career, Cuvo carried with him the knowledge of how much his family had sacrificed along the way. 

“As an athlete, my parents spent a lot on me to pursue professional hockey,” he said. Although his parents never framed that sacrifice as pressure, it was a responsibility he had carried with him. “Part of me was feeling that I let them down throughout that whole process.”

Rather than allowing that feeling to define the end of his chapter in hockey, Cuvo began looking for ways to redirect the energy he had once poured into the sport. Efforts included exploring different business ideas, diving into e-commerce, and trying to understand how his skills might translate outside the rink. 

The search for direction eventually led him back to a familiar passion, hockey. But this time, it would not be from the bench or the locker room; it would carry from the business aspect of the game. And it all started with a conversation. 

The idea for Best Dam Tape did not arise from a long-term business plan. It came from years spent in and out of locker rooms. 

Throughout Cuvo’s hockey career, tape had always been a constant frustration, the kind of small detail players complain about in passing but rarely make the effort to fix themselves. 

“I never liked any of the tape that was being put out to me,” he said. “I was always complaining about how it never stuck. There were always holes in it, and it was always falling off all these different things.”

The idea resurfaced during the phone call with his father, following the conclusion of his playing career. Best Dam Tape. The name stuck immediately. “I ended up doing a little bit of creation of the name, the logo, and then ended up sourcing it at 18 years old and just throwing myself into the deep end.”

Cuvo did not wait until everything felt perfectly planned. He started moving and producing. 

Looking back down, the process feels almost surreal, “I have no idea, it seems like such a blur now of how I even did it,” he reflected. 

But one lesson in particular stood out early. 

“You’re never going to be ready. You’re never going to be ready to take that jump off the cliff and do it. You just have to do it.”

 

Though the transition from hockey player to founder did not feel as strange as he had expected, in many ways, he was still operating in the same world he had always known.

Conversations shared between old connections, all of which quickly proved to be one of the most important pillars in building the company. 

“Tape is going to get you so far,” Cuvo said. “But the relationships that you make with people who are your customers or your manufacturer or your team members are going to be the things that really move the needle forward.”

Within three years, Best Dam Tape had begun working with NHL organizations, college programs, and retail partners. The brand that started as an idea in a family conversation was suddenly gaining traction in the sport he dedicated his life to. 

“If you would have told me when I was 15 that I’d be doing this right now, I’d have called you crazy,” he said. 

However, building the company was not the only way Cuvo reconnected with hockey. Around the same time, another opportunity appeared. 

The Locker Room Life podcast began the way many things in his life had, through a simple conversation with a connection. He had reached out to Frank Beringer, founder of the hockey apparel brand Buddy Hockey Club, about a potential collaboration between their companies. 

They jumped on a phone call, reminisced on their playing days and discussed the logistics of their businesses. Nothing about the initial conversation suggested it would lead to anything bigger than a collaboration. 

Then a week later, Cuvo’s phone rang again, with a question that would further lead him to unimaginable places. “Would you want to be a co-host on a podcast?” he recalled. 

The idea sounded spontaneous, but the reasoning behind it was deeply personal for both of them. It came from a feeling they shared about how their hockey career had ended, two guys who felt like there was unfinished business in their hockey careers. 

The podcast quickly evolved into a platform for conversations with athletes, entrepreneurs, and people across the hockey community. In just a year, it has grown to more than 80,000 followers. 

But for Cuvo, the goal was simply never to drive analytics; it was about telling unheard stories within the space. Stories that have ingrained themselves in some of the most meaningful moments of the podcast. 

One conversation in particular has stayed with him, Dylan Ghaemi. 

A goaltender at Stonehill College shared a story that went far beyond the rink, one that forced Cuvo to step back and reflect on the fragility of everyday life. In 2025, Ghaemi was violently assaulted, a victim of a stabbing.

As Ghaemi described the experience, the conversation shifted from sport to something far deeper: a lesson in perspective, gratitude, and the reality that not everything is guaranteed. 

“Just talking about fearing for his life and how important every single day is. To thank your friends, thank your family, tell them you love them, because not all of this is guaranteed.” 

That moment left a lasting impact on Cuvo and the Locker Room Life, forever. 

“That’ll stick with me forever. I’ll never forget hearing that story,” he reflected.

For him, it reinforced something that extends beyond hockey, business or the platform itself. That the stories behind the game, and the people living them, often carry far more weight than the results on the ice. 

Today, Cuvo’s life looks very different from the one he once imagined as a teenager chasing the professional hockey dream. But in many ways, the work ethic remains true. 

As Best Dam Tape continues to expand, the next phase is already taking shape.

What started as an idea between a father and son is now moving into a much larger space, retail. 

For a company that began with a conversation and a problem begging to be solved, the moment represents more than just growth. It is a shift from building something everlasting within the space that shaped Cuvo and placing it in front of a much wider audience. 

However, getting into shelves is not the finish line. It is the start of a new opportunity, a new challenge with the changes coming in 2026. 

The vision for the company extends far beyond the world it is in right now. For Cuvo, the next stage is not only about growth but also about building something that lasts. 

For most of his life, Logan Cuvo believed that it would be his work on the ice that would define his future. Now, as he moves into the next chapter of his life, preparing for graduation, it is the work off the ice that has defined his future. 

The structure, the identity, the routine, hockey provided him with a path in one direction. And when that direction changed, the adjustment was not just about hanging up his skates. It was about figuring out who he was without. 

But the game never fully left. It has become a puzzle piece in the bigger picture of providing for those who once provided for him. 

It showed up in different ways, late-night conversations, relationships built in locker rooms, in a product born in an era of rebirth and frustration that turned into something bigger.

It showed up in the stories he now helps tell for those chasing the same dream he once did. 

For Cuvo, hockey did not end. It evolved. 

From his experiences on the benches to now the boardrooms, the game he once thought he lost serendipitously revealed he always belonged.