You Miss 100% of the Shots You Don’t Take: How Jonny Lazarus Reinvented Himself Through Resilience and Rediscovery

Christina Winnegar
13 hours ago
13 min read

By Christina Winnegar

There's an indescribable energy, one so unique when walking into Madison Square Garden as a young kid full of dreams. This aura weaves itself into your identity in a way that never really leaves. For Jonny Lazarus, this was never just a feeling; it was an epiphany, one that had embedded itself into his very existence. The sharp cracks of the blades edging into the ice, the motions of bodies crashing into the boards, the roar of the "hey…hey…hey, hey, hey!" chant after endless time passing by, the puck buries itself into the net, the passionate roar of the fans, it wasn't just noise, for him, it was all possibility. The theatrics of hockey were unmatched; no other sport could match what hockey did for him. Not knowing his path wouldn't follow the way he imagined, that the NHL wouldn't come with a locker with laced skates hanging up, but rather a seat at the table, with a microphone and connection underneath the surface begging to be had.

From that first game in the Garden to the press rows he now occupies, his story was defined by the reigns of resilience and reinvention. Jonny, once a kid who lived for the chaos of the game in the stands, has now made a career out of capturing it, and in many ways, that journey began when he fell in love with the theatrics beyond the twine.

Sports were always a common find in Jonny's childhood, but the passion for hockey wasn't inherited. Baseball was short-lived, and basketball filled that space instead. "I remember my dad always said I would go home, put on my Stefan Marbury jersey and my Knicks shorts, and go downstairs, and shoot hoops. I was just obsessed with Marbury specifically."

While basketball gave him vision, the ability to see the game three steps ahead, to anticipate movement, hockey was different. The love wasn't written in the Lazarus family script; it was a love that was discovered. The Garden was a stage, with the deafening sounds of the crowd, the chaos of chasing a goal, and the moments of elation where everyone came together, feeling cathartic. Growing up on Rangers and Islanders games as a kid, he was drawn in by not only the goals but the beauty of the theatrics beyond the blue line. At a youth camp, standing in front of no other than Adam Graves, he bravely asked about the experience of returning to Madison Square Garden following a trade. An unusually insightful question for a fifth grader, but the beginning of taking a shot early on, unknowingly tapping into identity later on.

What left a lasting impression was the pull of the game itself. Hockey wasn't just something to pass the time; it wasn't just entertainment. It was a purpose. A simple promise, all he wanted was to be in the NHL, and it was going to make it happen.

Chasing that dream meant leaving the comfort of the city behind. Moving to Wichita Falls, Texas, became the first real encounter with doubt in the dream. Jonny wasn't racking up ice time, often scratched, or buried on the third or fourth line. The nights of questioning stretched long in Texas, while watching friends from home celebrating in crowded fraternity houses.

The contrast of his path stung. Friends were living the typical college dream, meanwhile, he felt stuck, thinking, "F— my life. Like, why did I not do this?" The path he had taken felt isolating, and in that very moment, he questioned if hockey was worth the price he had to pay.

But beneath the frustration, the game still had its claws in him. Even when his role on the ice was smaller than expected, even when doubts crept in, he kept pushing. The chapter in Wichita Falls became less about glory when the jersey was on and more about learning the demands of the game. Facing the ultimate question, how much was he willing to sacrifice to keep the dream alive?

Photos Provided By Jonny Lazarus

Earning a spot at UMASS felt like a turning point, proof that the sacrifices were worth it. Jonny felt pride as he laced up his skates and stepped onto the ice, knowing he had achieved what many said he couldn't. And in his freshman year, he delivered. "I had nine points freshman year, it's not anything crazy, but it's not nothing, just felt like a drug, I just wanted that success so bad,” he explained.

But as quickly as the journey started to progress, it unraveled. Sophomore year came after a summer of relentless training, and expectations to perform felt heavier. Instead of building on the momentum, Jonny found himself benched almost every game.

The shift cut a little deeper this time; it changed his entire perspective on and off the ice. Confidence faded, social world shrank, and the game that once brought a sense of home became a source of constant headaches. It became no longer just something he did; it became who he was. "All I wanted to do was play hockey, like I did not care about anything else," he recalled.

Jonny had to face the possibility that the hunger behind wanting it might not be enough.

Photos Provided By Jonny Lazarus

Taking another shot at the game, he made the tough decision to transfer midseason. The transfer came packaged with its own struggles; it meant sitting out the rest of the year, facing another kind of isolation. As an athlete already questioning where he was meant to fit in the game, the weight of being scratched again, this time by NCAA rules, could have been derailing.

But instead of letting time pass him by, Jonny built something new. "So when I got to Mercyhurst, they didn't have anything like that. There was no talk show at the time, and content wasn't even a word then. So I pitched the idea to them, and started doing this talk show called The Laker Effect," he remembered.

What began as a project to fill the gap between time not spent on the ice sparked a new passion. Hosting interviews, challenging teammates in their own sports, and putting a spot on athletes around his campus, he discovered that his love for the game could take a different form. The same energy once poured into chasing ice time and burying the puck into twine was redirected into a different world: the theatrics of storytelling and connection.

Photos Provided By Jonny Lazarus

It wasn't the NHL dream he had imagined, watching legends on the ice at the Garden, but it marked the start of something he hadn't realized he was quietly building: the foundation of a hockey career that wasn't defined by playing.

By the time Jonny reached his senior year, wrapping up that chapter, he was no longer a player clinging onto minutes that earlier shaped his identity; he was switching lanes, searching for a new chance to score. That's when he received the piece of advice that reshaped his approach: "Find the company you want to work for and tomorrow pretend that you do," he expressed. It wasn't just about waiting for permission; it was about acting like you already belonged in the space, allowing yourself to create the kind of work that would make others believe it, too.

When COVID shut the world down, that advice had space to take root in his story. A friend, Justin “Kappy” Kapelmaster, pitched him an idea: a podcast for Jewish athletes. At first, it seemed preposterous, Jonny laughed. How many could there be? But he leaned in anyway, and it became his first real project. His crack to get his foot in the door in the world of connections. The podcast quickly grew, branching out to include not only athletes but also media personalities and entertainers. Over a hundred episodes followed, but what resonated the most was the ability to connect with those he spoke to, leaving a lasting impact.

Reflecting on it, the show became more than just content; it gave him a way to lean into his identity, using it as a bridge. Almost everyone he reached out to had some shared background or one-degree connection, which made conversations feel natural, like catching up with an old friend. That early level of learned comfort unknowingly shaped the way Jonny would continue to approach interviewing throughout his career—all with the underlying goal of building not just content, but connection.

The confidence of having a place in the game carried over into the next chapter, one that was more personal, as he created content for the New York Rangers on his own. Following Large's advice from Barstool, Jonny started appearing online as if he were already part of the Rangers' media world.

Every day, he recorded clips breaking down games, reacting to storylines, and doing something new, putting his face coupled with the analysis. It wasn't anything polished at first, but it was consistent. The traction that began to grow allowed the audience to attach the content to the name, to the face, with time, building the community Jonny has today.

It was always more than content; it was a shift in his identity. It was the first time his playing career ended that he felt like it was his time in the NHL, blending the knowledge of the player he once was with the lifetime of learning that had grown his love for the game, all within the very home where the Rangers began. It formed the storyteller he was becoming.

That willingness to put himself out there, to be seen regardless of the size of his audience, became a strength. It taught him that progress wasn't always a straight line. So when the next opportunity was presented, one far outside his comfort zone, he embraced it with an open mind.

When Jonny made the move to Los Angeles, it wasn't with a clear path or much stability, but rather more as a chance to be in a new environment and to see what could come from a simple yes.

He had eight weeks to live in a world far different from college hockey rinks or local rinks, Bob Menery's. LA forced him to adapt to the demanding lifestyle. However, similar to his New York roots, it allowed him to navigate new personalities and learn to carry himself in unfamiliar spaces.

Most importantly, came the connection with the NHL's Chief Content Officer, Steve Mayer. At the time, it was just an introduction, but Jonny nonetheless capitalized on the connection. Not realizing how pivotal that connection would become. Months later, when an opportunity within the NHL surfaced, it was Steve's name that reappeared. Proof that the shot you take isn't always the value, but the door it quietly opens.

That lesson stayed with Jonny when he returned home—trusting that the connections he was making and the content he was creating were quietly building his foundation more and more each time. Then, everything changed.

In 2022, disaster struck. A fire that ruined his family's home, leaving him with nothing. For two weeks, he was completely shut down, unsure how to move forward from such a tragedy when even the basics were gone. But even in the middle of such a loss, the root of what Jonny loved at his core kept him grounded: hockey.

The Rangers' show continued to build momentum, and every episode became an escape, a glimpse of normalcy during the unknown. It was a way for him to pour energy into his own cup when life was unsure around him. "The only thing I really had going was the Ranger show. It was the only thing where my brain could go to just not think about what I didn't have," he expressed.

The show wasn't just another form of content for Jonny; it became a community he had been slowly building throughout his other chapters. Listeners began to interact, friends amplified his work, and slowly his voice began to project further. They saw the person behind the work, the consistency, passion, and the different and fresh perspective he brought to covering the Rangers. Behind the scenes, it was an escape. In the public eye, it was the foundation of his credibility.

A show that had started as a passion project, a way to remain connected to the game that weaved its way into Jonny's existence, turned into the most incredible gig in the sky.

Photos Provided By Jonny Lazarus

Out of the blue in 2022, he received the message that changed everything: an email from Paul Vinciguerra, traced directly back to the time he spent in LA. "Hey Jonny, Steve Mayer gave me your name and suggested I reach out. I'm producing a live show during the conference finals, and I wanted to see if you have an interest in being a part of it," he read.

A single message that validated all of the risks, all of the pivots, all of the reinventions. Jonny immediately said yes.

The timing of the opportunity couldn't have been more surreal. The Eastern Conference Final featured the New York Rangers, the team that Jonny felt tied to his entire life, and that brought him his community during each chapter. He spent months building his credibility through breakdowns and fan-driven coverage of the Rangers' season. Then, he was on The Third Period Live panel, analyzing the same playoff matchups he had once covered online, now being live underneath the NHL banner.

Each night, he sat alongside Julie Stewart-Binks and Jillian Sakovitz, going live as the games unfolded. For Jonny, it wasn't just another show he was featured on. It was the first time the team he had built his voice around was intertwined with the league he had always dreamed of being part of.

Momentum coming off The Third Period Live, Jonny took the next step in his journey, covering the Rangers through The Hockey News at Madison Square Garden during that same playoff run. The same seats, fan culture, and ice he looked upon as a kid in the stands, he now viewed from above, in the press box. The theatrics that once had him wide-eyed as a fan now became what he reported on in his workplace. He was now the voice telling the story.

However, the reality was that there were still bills to pay, and the role wasn't full-time. He balanced his work at The Hockey News with a daytime job. Mornings were spent on uninspiring assignments, while nights and weekends were dedicated to hockey coverage, the one thing that ignited his passion. It was exhausting, but it became proof of how badly he wanted to make the dream his.

Photos Provided By Jonny Lazarus

When the NHL called again in 2023, Jonny was still splitting his time. He returned for Stanley Cup Live Central, traveling with the show deep into the playoffs. To continue covering, he had to go all in, sacrificing his PTO to fulfill every hockey lover's dream. The time spent in Vegas was the final pivotal turning point in his career. After standing with Jack Eichel and the Vegas Golden Knights as they lifted the Stanley Cup, he knew there was no going back. "I realized, I can't do this halfway. I can't sit at a desk and then pretend this isn't who I am," he expressed.

He made the decision that changed it all. He quit his daytime career and went all in. "I was like, I'm not doing this anymore. I'm gonna just bet on myself. I don't care if I'm broke – I'm going all in on hockey," Jonny recalled. Leading him into the next chapter.

Photos Provided By Jonny Lazarus

In January 2024, Jonny joined Daily Faceoff, one of the fastest-growing digital outlets in hockey media. For the first time, he wasn't experimenting with content or stepping in for a temporary role; he had a platform with reach, structure, and a following audience that expected him to continue delivering the same level of expertise and insight he had always provided independently.

Daily Faceoff quickly became another opportunity to prove himself. It allowed him to grow his voice, to cover the league on a broader scale, and work alongside respected analysts. Each story, each step, each connection continued to propel his personality forward into the media, making him stand apart on the national stage. It became one of the pillars of his career, alongside new opportunities with BR Open Ice, which led to the creation of the Open Skate opportunity. For the first time, everything was going in the same direction, and that direction was up.

Jonny had stepped into a new lane with BR Open Ice, Bleacher Report's digital-first hockey brand, aimed at younger audiences within the sport. That platform gave him access to some of the most surreal moments yet, including skating with legendary players like Sidney Crosby, which he called one of the craziest experiences of his life, and building friendships with legends in the making, such as Jack and Quinn Hughes.

Even filming an on-ice episode with Anthony Duclair during the Stanley Cup Final in Florida, accidentally cutting across a drill in practice. "I was terrified…like, holy s—, I just screwed this whole thing up. But it ended up being hilarious and such a cool moment," he remembered.

Photos Provided By Jonny Lazarus

With Open Skate, Jonny leaned even further into personality-driven coverage, utilizing the knowledge he had gained from forging these connections to make conversations more natural, as he had done in his days with The Latke Room. These experiences drove him further to the parts of hockey people often don't see, the kind of coverage that bridges the gaps between athletes, interviewers, and the audience.

Together, these three platforms formed the backbone of his career after he broke into the NHL. They shaped the feeling that everything was aligned, and he was meant to have a seat at the table.

When asked what he'd tell someone who wanted to follow in his path, those who look at all of his accomplishments as motivations, Jonny kept it simple: "Put yourself out there. That's all I did. If you want to start a podcast, just do it – it gives you a reason to reach out to people, and you'll be surprised how many say yes."

And if there's one lesson he's carried with him through all of the chapters, it's not to take himself too seriously. "You've got to laugh at yourself in this business," he shared, thinking of the moments where things didn't go according to plan, but he still pushed forward.

Jonny's path is proof that resilience and reinvention aren't just words to describe a redemption arc in a story; they're skills, traits that define his character. From the pressures of being scratched from games on the bench to champagne showers in Vegas, his story is less about the doors that closed but more so a testimony to the ones he forced open.

The future he envisioned as a kid, sitting in Madison Square Garden, wanting more than anything to play in the NHL, may not have been mapped out. However, the spirit, the heart, and the connection to one another that Jonny brings into every new opportunity allowed that dream to prosper anyway. Regardless of the struggle, one thing remained true: he was never scared to bet on himself, because at the end of the day, "You miss 100% of the shots you don't take" - Wayne Gretzky.

Disclaimer: The thoughts, experiences, and opinions shared in this article are solely those of Jonny Lazarus and are based on his personal journey. They do not necessarily reflect the views of any organizations, sponsors, or institutions with which Jonny may be associated with.

To ensure accuracy and maintain context, Jonny Lazarus reviewed this article before publication. Unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this material is strictly prohibited. For any inquiries or concerns regarding this article, please contact info@hazzemedia.com