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By Ava Heaton | July 24 2026 Boston Fleet’s Haley Winn (8) celebrates a goal on Ottawa Charge goaltender Gwyneth Philips (33), not pictured, during shootout PWHL hockey action in Ottawa, on Saturday, Dec. 27, 2025. THE CANADIAN PRESS/Spencer Colby When the Professional Women’s Hockey League (PWHL) began, it did more than just establish a professional platform for women’s ice hockey. It emphasized collegiate programs that would have otherwise gone unnoticed. At the top of this list is ECAC Hockey. Formed by a blend of prestigious Ivy League schools and other powerhouse programs, the ECAC has cemented itself as arguably the most dominant development ground for professional women’s hockey. A transition from collegiate hockey to the PWHL is a demanding one, but year after year, ECAC programs prove that they are uniquely equipped to produce athletes who don’t just make professional rosters, but immediately make their impact felt. To understand how deeply the ECAC is woven into the fabric of the PWHL already, you don’t have to look far. The league’s opening night rosters for the 2025-26 season featured 75 former ECAC Hockey student-athletes, with representation from 11 of the league’s 12 schools. The sheer number of ECAC alumni scattered across the league speaks to the conference’s dominance. ECAC programs have built sustained cultures of success and professional readiness. The seamless transition from the ECAC to the professional level is not just a coincidence. It’s rooted in the specific brand of hockey played in the conference. Historically, ECAC Hockey has been defined by its defensive structure, disciplined systems, and physical style. While other collegiate conferences may be known for high-flying, transition offenses, the ECAC is a league of inches. Games are won along the boards, in the netfront closeness, and through neutral-zone pressure. Victoire wins 2026 PWHL Walter Cup © Troy Parla/Getty Images Because the PWHL has quickly established a reputation as an incredibly physical and fast league, ECAC alumni find themselves in familiar territory. The heavy forechecking, shot-blocking, and defensive accountability drilled into them by their collegiate coaches help them transition seamlessly into the pro game. Players who spent four years matching up against the disciplined systems of Cornell, Yale, or Clarkson don’t experience the same culture shock when facing the stifling defense of a professional team. They are already accustomed to playing under pressure, making quick decisions in tight spaces, and sacrificing their bodies to protect a lead. This preparation has allowed numerous ECAC alumni to fast-track their way to stardom in the PWHL. Take Boston Fleet forward Jessie Eldridge, a former Colgate University standout. Known in college for her relentless work ethic and offensive instincts, Eldridge smoothly translated her game to the professional level, becoming a highly dependable offensive presence. Her ability to play a heavy, physical game while maintaining soft hands around the crease is a direct byproduct of the style she perfected in the ECAC. Another Fleet standout and former Clarkson University star Haley Winn has even said that playing in the conference with its physicality and pace of play really prepared her for the PWHL and she was even drafted second overall in the 2025 draft. The Quinnipiac Bobcats Are Your 2026 ECAC Hockey Women's Champions The impact of ECAC Hockey doesn’t show signs of stopping any time soon. In the 2026 PWHL Draft out of 72 players selected, 27 of them came from the ECAC. That ranked the most out of any NCAA Conference. So, as the PWHL continues to grow, securing its place in the mainstream sports landscape, the strong, mutually beneficial relationship between the league and ECAC Hockey will only continue. Young recruits will continue to choose ECAC schools because they see alumni successfully leaping to the pros. For collegiate players dreaming of going professional, the ECAC has proven to be a great path. The conference has shown it can build the foundation required to succeed at the absolute highest level of the sport. When fans tune in to watch the fastest, most physical women's ice hockey on the planet, they are watching a product heavily shaped, driven, and elevated by the alumni of ECAC Hockey. Disclaimer: The views, analysis, and opinions expressed in this op-ed are of the writer. All information is for commentary and informational purposes only and is not intended as legal, professional, or investment advice. References to third-party sources and public figures are made for illustrative purposes and do not imply endorsement or verification by HAZZE MEDIA.

Interview by Holly Arend | July 23 2026 On a bus ride home after a bad day at school, a kid sat alone at the front, with no one beside him. Hayden Thorsen noticed. He put a hand on his shoulder, asked if he was okay and invited him to come sit with him. It was a small gesture, quiet and instinctive, the kind of thing that might have passed in a moment and still stayed with someone for years. In many ways, it became the kind of moment Shoulder Check was built to honor. Reach out, check in, make contact. Those words eventually became the heartbeat of Shoulder Check, but they started somewhere more personal. They started in the way Hayden moved through the world, in the way he noticed people, in the way he made them feel less alone. After Hayden passed by suicide at 16, what remained for his family was not only grief, but the memory of how naturally he cared for others. What began in loss slowly became something lasting, not a slogan, but a way of carrying his impact forward. For Rob Thorsen, Hayden’s father, that work was never only about remembering what was lost. It was about building something people could actually live with, something simple enough to carry into everyday life and meaningful enough to matter when it did. That is why the language at the center of Shoulder Check matters so much. Reach out, check in, make contact is not just a message attached to the organization. It reflects the way Hayden lived. “He was the kind of person who walked into a room and made people feel like they mattered,” Thorsen said. That line says almost everything. Hayden had a presence people noticed right away. He was big, funny, sharp, athletic and full of personality. But the quality people return to most often is not just that he stood out. It is that he made other people feel seen. “He’s the warmest, kindest person on the planet,” Thorsen said. “Maybe they weren’t the best player on the team, but Hayden always made them feel like they were.” That memory lives at the center of Shoulder Check. Not just the sadness of what happened, but the truth of who Hayden was. From the beginning, the goal was never to create a traditional mental health campaign. Thorsen wanted something people could use, not just admire. Something direct. Something human. Something that could meet people where they already were. “We wanted it to be simple, universal and something people could take with them,” he said. That thinking shaped the organization’s language and its identity. Reach out, check in and make contact was designed to feel approachable, while the larger idea of making kindness a contact sport gave the message a natural connection to hockey without trapping it there. “It has to be a doing thing,” Thorsen said. “It’s not enough to talk about it. You have to do it.” That idea, action instead of just awareness, became the foundation. Shoulder Check did not come to life in isolation. It grew through family, friends and the larger hockey community, all of them trying to turn grief into something that could help other people. Gary Zegras was one of the people who immediately reached out and made it clear he wanted to be involved. Ben and Ashley Prentiss at Prentiss Hockey Performance, where Hayden had trained, also became important early partners. Their facility, lined with jerseys from the athletes who trained there, became its own kind of tribute. The first jersey hanging in that space carried Hayden’s name. From there, the vision started to sharpen. Prentiss and his team wanted to do something tangible and suggested a game. That idea helped crystallize what Shoulder Check could be. The game became the launch point for the Shoulder Check Initiative. The inaugural event carried the emotion of people who were still very close to the loss. Much of the crowd was, as Thorsen described it, only about one degree away from everything. It was public, emotional and deeply communal. Hayden’s teammates helped run the event and skated in the amateur game, grounding it in the people and relationships that had shaped his life. Even in its earliest form, Shoulder Check felt less like a campaign rollout and more like a shared act of care. From there, the idea kept growing. What began as a local expression of grief and remembrance started to evolve into something larger and more portable. The core message stayed the same, but more people began to see themselves in it and bring their own energy to it. By October 2025, Shoulder Check had already grown into a yearlong effort. Activations stretched across the NHL, the AHL, youth hockey, schools and community spaces. The initiative was no longer confined to a single event or a single room. It had become something people were carrying into their own teams, campuses and communities. That growth also showed up creatively. One of the clearest examples was Lean on Me, a project that brought athletes together in a way that emphasized vulnerability, trust and connection. It worked because it felt real. It did not just tell people what Shoulder Check stood for. It showed them. The same was true as the organization moved into the next phase of its work in 2026. The calendar expanded. The activations spread. The message reached different corners of the hockey world and beyond. There were events tied to Shattered Ice, including screenings at McGill University and with support connected to the Capitals. Other programs reached out wanting to screen the film for their students and team members. What mattered was not just that the message was growing, but that it was finding different forms. That expansion was never really about scale for its own sake. It was about finding more ways to make the message usable. Even as new campaigns developed and partnerships expanded, the heart of the work stayed the same. The goal was to keep Hayden’s spirit alive through action, to build a culture where kindness is practiced, not just praised. That is part of what makes Shoulder Check feel different. It does not ask people only to agree with the message. It asks them to do something with it. The annual showcase became the clearest expression of that idea, but it also became part of a larger rhythm. The event was no longer just a single summer gathering. It was the center of a bigger cycle, one that continued through schools, teams, community events and creative projects throughout the year. The move to Sacred Heart marked the next chapter in that growth. The larger venue offered more space, more resources and more ways for people to engage, while still trying to preserve what had made the earlier years special. The hope was not to outgrow the intimacy of the event, but to give it a setting that could hold everything it had become. “It should still be everything that made it special,” Thorsen said, “just with a better setting to host it in, with more resources.” As planning continued, that next phase came further into focus. Ticket sales launched earlier than in previous years. Partners from earlier events returned. New ones began joining the effort. One of those partners was Be The People, whose values aligned closely with the spirit of Shoulder Check and the people behind it. That mattered because the partnership was not just sponsorship. It was recognition. Be The People saw in Shoulder Check the same call to action they believe in: that communities change when people choose to step up, show up and be part of something bigger than themselves. There was also hope for the Hockey Hall of Fame to bring trophies to the event, and the possibility of broader broadcast visibility changed what the day could become. But what seemed to excite Thorsen most was not the scale of the production. It was the opportunity to create more touch points for the message itself. He described an experience where the event would not just contain Shoulder Check, but express it constantly. Stories on the jumbotron. Reflections from students who had helped bring the idea to life. Messages from families explaining why they check in. Moments woven into the rhythm of the day rather than forced into it. That distinction matters. The most moving parts of Shoulder Check have rarely felt manufactured. They work because they feel lived in. They come from real people, real stories and real acts of connection. “There’ll be a band, there’ll be more and different food, there’ll be additional partners in our midway, there’ll be new things to see, like the Hall of Fame trophies, and of course, the players’ arrivals,” Thorsen said. There is joy in that description, and that joy matters too. Shoulder Check has always carried grief inside it, but it has never been built only around grief. It is also built around warmth, humor, togetherness and the belief that kindness can still be active, visible and shared. That may be one of the clearest ways Hayden’s presence remains inside it. The whole story matters, of course. The family knows that. The people close to the organization know that. But one of the most powerful things about Shoulder Check is that carrying the idea forward does not always require knowing every detail of where it began. Sometimes it starts much smaller than that. A hand on a shoulder. A question. An invitation to sit down beside someone. That is the kind of memory this work keeps returning to. Not because it is sentimental, but because it is instructive. It reminds people that connection does not always have to be grand to be meaningful. Sometimes the smallest gestures leave the deepest mark. That is what Shoulder Check was built to hold onto. Not only the pain of losing Hayden, but the example of how he lived. Not just awareness. Not just remembrance. Action. Care. Presence. The choice to notice someone else and move toward them. That is why the phrase still holds. Reach out, check in, make contact. It is a mission statement, but it is also more than that. It is a reflection of Hayden’s life. It is the shape his impact took after loss. It is the way his family, friends and community chose not to let kindness stop with memory. And in that way, Shoulder Check is not only about honoring Hayden. It is about making more room in the world for what he gave people when he was here. A sense of being seen. A sense of being valued. A reminder that someone noticed. Not just to remember Hayden. But to keep making room for people to reach out, check in and make contact.

Gallery by So Kim | July 18 2026 Vancouver Rise vs AFC Toronto by So Kim Vancouver Rise scored three goals in the opening 11 minutes to earn a 3-0 victory over AFC Toronto on July 18, 2026, at York Lions Stadium. The fast start proved to be all the offense Vancouver needed as it secured a clean sheet on the road. Vancouver Rise vs AFC Toronto by So Kim

Concert Review: Molly Grace at Sonia, Cambridge, MA, June 11 By Nina Kremer | July 19, 2026 Molly Grace said she doesn’t only want to be a pop star — although one might argue she already is — she told fans on the Boston stop of her six-night tour that she wants to be a “mega-church pastor.” And that night at her Pride month party, “Lovergirls: A Sapphic Soirée,” the diva proved to the audience that she has what it takes. Her particular blend of pop, funk and disco is reminiscent of lesbian pop icons Reneé Rapp and Chappell Roan, but Grace stands out from the others in her dynamic, highly choreographed performance style along with playfully cheeky lyrics. Grace fittingly opened the show with “Lemme,” the first song off of her debut album, “Blush” using her introductory song to introduce herself to that night’s crowd. Though it seemed Grace truly needed no introduction as she said during the show that she recognized many familiar faces in the audience. When asked how many people had been to a show of hers previously, an uproar ensued, reflecting a majority of the crowd were dedicated fans, though that wasn’t the only reason why Grace may have known some of them. She grew up only a few miles away from the venue, Sonia’s, in Lexington Massachusetts and shared a sweet moment with her family calling out her mother and sister in the audience. “It’s good to be home,” Grace said before encouraging the crowd to dance. Grace and her "Lovergirls," McKenna Hall and Bella Azadouhie Melius, led the charge with perfectly synchronized choreography. The Lovergirls matched Grace’s fabulosity, though never upstaging the pop diva, with their harmonies and energetic back up dancing. Before the girls came out, the stage looked noticeably devoid of any set or color, a surprise for a show marketed as a pride party, but it became immediately clear why as soon as Molly and the Lovergirls graced the stage — they needed every inch of the surface area to dance the night away. The three commanded not only the stage but the entire room, making it clear they needed no set to set the mood; they are the show. In their sequined outfits under hot pink lighting, the disco ball in the middle of the room had major competition. Grace did lots of crowd work throughout the show, engaging with the audience and spinning around a few fans in the front row, displaying a clear connection with her listeners. Grace then transitioned into “Mad at Her Forever” singing the lyrics “What’s a lady to do, can’t think straight” in an impressively high yet sustained manner. The crowd obeyed her earlier command, dancing along with the Lovergirls. She kept the energy up with “Do Me (Feels So Good)” singing “Ladies please report for duty” while the Lovergirls obediently saluted, ready for the task at hand. “Pride month is my favorite month,” Grace said between songs, explaining that she wanted to embark on the mini tour despite not having new music out since March in order to create a space where she could both celebrate and try out new songs. She partnered with The Boston Alliance of LGBTQ+ Youth at the show, a nonprofit organization that supports LGBTQ+ youth in Massachusetts through their programs and services. She also said she did some “Instagram stalking” in order to find a local DJ to open for her and landed on Christina The Saint, who played a set before the show. Grace spread the love, encouraging fans to support Christina by going to her future shows. Graciously letting the Lovergirls take center stage for a cover of “Telephone” by Lady Gaga, the song was a highlight of the night. The performance seemed just as practiced as the originals without feeling too rehearsed, as the three of them took turns singing as if they were just a couple of friends at karaoke. The chemistry between them was evident; they encouraged each other to take a moment in the spotlight. Once again Grace showcased her vocal talent in her performance of “Soprano,” evidenced by her impressive breath control allowing her to sustain a powerful belt while grooving to the beat. She then slowed the set down with “Say when,” telling the audience to grab their girls and sway along to the tender ballad. Another highlight of the night came towards the end of the set with “Heaven sent.” There’s a depth and resounding quality to her voice, as well as an active energy present in the live performance that’s sadly lost when streaming her songs. Ending with the Lovergirls girls doing prayer hands, Grace proved her mega pastor prowess in the upbeat, cheeky song. As promised, Grace debuted a new song towards the end of the show called “Line Dancing in L.A.” Grace explained that the concept was inspired by her recent move from Nashville to Los Angeles. Though she lived in Tennessee for five years, she said she only discovered the joys of the dance style many miles away on the West coast. The song was reminiscent of Chappell Roan’s most recent foray into country, “The Giver,” but Grace’s version of a pop, country mash up was a fresh take on the genre-bending trend as she sang, “Everyone’s hot and everyone’s gay,” and “What kind of trouble are you?” Grace closed out the show with “F.E.M.M.E,” one of her most popular songs with over 3 million streams on Spotify. There was no song more fitting to end the prideful night, as Grace played the audience out to the tune of her spelled-out version of the acronym, “Fabulous, enticing, magnetic, magical, everything.” Grace brought the sparkling ferocity that defines her music to the stage and left it all there.

By Sydney Cristall | July 15 2026 Photo Credit: Gotham FC (NEW YORK, N.Y.) — It was a historic night at Citi Field. A record crowd of 42,175 fans filled one of New York's most iconic sports venues for the first women's sporting event in the ballpark's history, setting a New York City record for a women's sporting event. Fans came to watch Gotham FC and the Washington Spirit renew one of the National Women's Soccer League's fiercest rivalries in a rematch of the 2025 NWSL Championship game. By the end of the night, the Queen's Classic had become more than a showcase event. Gotham's 1-0 win served as a visible marker of the NWSL's commercial growth, the rising demand for women's sports in premier venues, and the league's expanding place in New York's sports landscape. From the ceremonial torch lighting to the final whistle, the evening carried a sense of arrival. Women's soccer was not asking to be seen; it was taking its place on one of the city's biggest stages and filling it. That significance was not lost on the players. Rose Lavelle understood the moment before kickoff. "Any time you hear you're going to get to play in front of 42,000 fans, I think it's always really exciting," Lavelle said. "We feed off the fans' energy, so knowing this was going to be a really exciting home game, but also a big moment in history for this club and for the league, just added another special element going out there. We feel so much pride getting to represent this club." For Lavelle, the Queen's Classic was never meant to stand alone. "For us to be able to have this moment was really special," she said. "Hopefully, we can just keep building off of this." The energy inside Citi Field reflected that ambition. Gotham supporters filled the stadium with chants, every save from Ann-Katrin Berger drew a roar, and Sam Kerr's entrance for her Gotham debut and first NWSL appearance since 2019 produced one of the loudest reactions of the night. Photo Credit: Gotham FC For years, women's soccer in the United States reached its highest visibility during the FIFA Women's World Cup and the Olympic Games. The NWSL is working to turn that periodic attention into something sustained, scalable, and locally rooted. Commissioner Jessica Berman framed the Queen's Classic as the product of long-term investment rather than a one-night success. "We know that with investment, if you build it, they will come, and this is a proof point for that," Berman said. "My favourite thing about tonight is that it isn't transactional. It's not a one-and-done. It's the beginning of a new relationship for this team in Queens." That growth extends beyond a single attendance figure. Beginning in 2028, Gotham FC will move to Etihad Park in Queens, a 25,000-seat, $780 million venue that will become New York City's first soccer-specific stadium and give Gotham dedicated club spaces within a purpose-built home. Just a week after that announcement, more than 42,000 fans turned out for the club at Citi Field. The timing made the night feel less like a celebration of what Gotham FC already is and more like a preview of what it could become. The match itself delivered. Lavelle scored the lone goal in the first half, and Berger preserved the clean sheet as Trinity Rodman and the Spirit created dangerous moments throughout the night. Rodman said the league's progress is visible on the field as much as in the stands. "I think it's amazing, and it's showing that the league's getting better and it's growing, and there's just more attention," Rodman said. "As the years go on, you're realizing that the league's not transitional anymore. We're playing soccer in different ways. All the teams are bringing so many different versions of the game." Kerr's return added another layer to the occasion. When she stepped onto the field in the 64th minute, the ovation underscored both her star power and the league's increasing ability to attract elite global talent. Photo Credit: Gotham FC Berman connected Kerr's arrival to a broader shift in league ambition. "Having players like that who could have chosen to go anywhere make the decision to come here is a really important proof point for all the investment, the hundreds of millions of dollars that are being invested across this league to make sure that we're the best league in the world," Berman said. Kerr's move also reflects Gotham's competitive vision. Alongside players such as Ann-Katrin Berger and Jess Carter, her arrival reinforces the club's status as a destination for world-class talent and highlights the NWSL's growing international pull. Photo Credit: Gotham FC For Gotham head coach Juan Carlos Amorós, the occasion reached beyond the standings. "I think tonight was definitely a page in the history of the club, of New York City, women's sports and this country," Amorós said. "The team really stepped up to the occasion ... to make sure the people who came to the stadium had a day to remember." He also placed the night within the club's larger trajectory. "Gotham is growing at a level that when I came here, I was dreaming of, and today I think it was truly special." Few players have seen that growth more closely than Mandy Freeman, who has spent her entire professional career with the organization through its Sky Blue FC era and its transformation into Gotham FC. "It was an amazing feeling," Freeman said. "It's hard to really describe it. Being able to play in front of all those fans and having them really be the 12th player for us ... It was a crazy environment." Her perspective made clear that this was not an isolated milestone but the latest step in a longer transformation. What happened at Citi Field extended beyond a single rivalry or a single result. The NWSL has built not only a competitive league but also a broader commercial ecosystem shaped by media attention, corporate sponsorship, star talent, and growing fan investment. Photo Credit: Gotham FC Citi Field has hosted major baseball moments, international soccer, and some of New York's largest sporting events. On this night, it became a stage for demonstrating not whether women's soccer belongs there, but how large its future can be in the city. That future is already taking form. Gotham will eventually make Queens its permanent home at Etihad Park, and the response to the Queen's Classic offered an early indication of what that next chapter could look like. As Berman put it: "To have a team competing in New York City proper, I think, puts us on the map in a very different way." The Queen's Classic did not create the momentum around Gotham FC or the NWSL. It revealed how far that momentum has already carried them. Under the lights at Citi Field, the message was unmistakable: women's soccer in New York is no longer building toward relevance. It has arrived

Interview by Brylea Smith | July 15 2026 Long before she ever stepped onto a professional sideline, Kendall Smith was already preparing for the spotlight. As a child, she would spend countless hours at home using her family's video camera to record her own personal SportsCenter recaps, clutching the toy ESPN microphone she had desperately wanted. While her peers were simply watching sports for fun, Smith was busy envisioning her future career in front of the lens. Today, that childhood dream has become her daily reality. Smith has built a career as a team reporter and host for the Charlotte Knights and Charlotte Checkers, covering everything from player interviews and pregame shows to major-league call-ups and championship hockey. But her path to professional sports broadcasting began years before she ever stepped in front of a television camera. Growing up, sports were always a part of her life. Instead of her family gathering around the TV to watch the newest TV show, they watched that night’s sporting event. But that wasn’t enough for Smith. She wanted to dive deep into the games and break down top plays. “My brother would finish his Little League games, and I would be asking him so many questions,” she said. Her most prized possession came to her at 10-years-old: her toy ESPN mic. Back then, she would interview anyone she could get her hands on, making her own talk show. It’s one of the only toys she still has today. At 15-years-old, she got her first taste of working in sports. Her brother played baseball for their high school team, which found itself needing a public address announcer. Smith had never done anything like this yet, and although she was typically confident, she didn’t know if she could do it. With the support of her family and her father guiding her through the first game, it became the start of building a serious career. Through this, she would meet Jim Morrison of Carolina Sports Network. She completed an internship with Morrison, where she gained hands-on experience covering sporting events throughout the Charlotte area. This included the Charlotte Hornets, Charlotte Knights, college football and college basketball. “That internship was life-changing in so many ways,” Smith said. “I was covering NBA games at 17 years old, and just being around high-profile athletes like that at such a young age, it made me realize the etiquette, the way you have to act, how you have to carry yourself.” The experience also taught her one of the most important lessons in sports journalism. “At that point, you're not cheering for teams anymore; you are unbiased,” Smith said. “You have to be completely focused on the job that you're doing, so that internship helped me to just realize how things worked.” After graduating from high school, she attended the University of South Carolina, where she majored in broadcast journalism with a concentration in sports media. Wanting to keep the momentum from her high school experiences, she joined the student TV station, Student Gamecock Television. By her sophomore year, she became station manager, making her the youngest in the organization’s history. During her time, she managed more than 125 students, many of whom were older than her. Learning how to balance different personalities and perspectives while also elevating the station became one of her biggest challenges. “I had to learn how to cater to as many people as I possibly could, while still trying to elevate the station," Smith said. "The goal is for everyone to get better while also putting out a great product." The experience pushed her to grow as both a leader and a communicator, skills she still uses every day. COVID struck during the second half of her freshman year, eliminating the chance for a normal semester of college. In order to keep herself connected with the world of sports, she started a podcast. Smith interviewed other people who worked in the sports broadcasting industry. Those conversations not only helped her continue developing her skills but also helped her build relationships she still maintains today. One of her interviewees was Wes Mitchell, who worked for Gamecock Central. He ended up offering her a job covering South Carolina sports, with a primary focus on football and recruiting. She ended up spending her junior and senior years in college traveling across the Southeastern Conference to cover South Carolina football. Around the same time, Smith set a goal for herself: to work for the Charlotte Knights. The summer before her senior year, that became a reality. She was given the opportunity to intern with the communications department, where she was able to dip her toes into player interviews. While working with the team, another unexpected opportunity emerged. That summer, she was approached by Charlotte Checkers' Director of Creative Services, Zac Harvey, who asked if she would be interested in auditioning to be their host. Her answer was yes. Soon, Smith was juggling many roles. In her senior year of college, she accepted a full-time position as the Knights’ team reporter and host, along with stepping in as the host for the Checkers. The route from Charlotte to Columbia quickly became second nature to her. However, putting that much effort into work came with a cost. Smith’s senior year of college looked different than most others. So much time was spent driving or working in another city that she missed out on some of the memories that make a senior year special. “It was different, because not any of my friends were in the same position, so I did feel at times I was missing things, but they were also supportive of me,” Smith said. “It was not a traditional final semester of college, but it was worth it, and I look back on it, and I'm glad that I did exactly what I did.” After graduation, Smith remained with both organizations and continued expanding her broadcasting portfolio. In addition to her responsibilities with the Knights and Checkers, she began working as a sideline reporter for college athletics and conference broadcasts, including coverage for the American Conference. As she settled into her role with the Checkers, she wanted to bring a part of her childhood into her reporting to make it more distinctive. For years, she was also a competitive figure skater, spending countless mornings at ice rinks perfecting her skills. "We've all been up at 5 a.m. at a cold ice rink in the middle of winter to chase our dreams," Smith said. Smith made a difficult choice to not pursue skating further because she wanted to attend college. Still, the sport was such an important part of her life that she knew she could never leave it behind. To intertwine her past with her present, Smith asked if she could skate with the players during interviews to make the interviews more personal. Her background in figure skating also allows her to analyze the game from a technical standpoint. "I'm watching things that people might not pick up on," Smith said. "How are they generating speed? What edges are they using? There are a lot more similarities between hockey and figure skating than people realize." That shared experience has become another way for her to connect with athletes and better explain the game to viewers. One of the biggest moments of her career came in 2025 when she made her national television debut on the NHL Network during the Calder Cup Finals. "In the moment, I tried not to think about it as myself on national TV, because I didn't want to be nervous," Smith said. "I just wanted to think about it as another game, even though it wasn't." Only after the broadcast ended did the significance of the moment truly sink in. "I saw the texts, I saw the videos, I saw that people were tuning in from across the country," Smith said. "It was just this huge wave of gratitude, of joy, of happiness. I was just so proud at that moment, and I thought back to all those young versions of myself that wanted so badly to do this as a job.” While she hopes for more national television opportunities in her future, she remains focused on appreciating the ones she already has. “At the end of the day, comparison is the thief of joy,” Smith stated. “Nobody's path is the same as yours, so I'm just going to continue to be grateful for what I have, and know that hopefully my time will come. But right now I am in a great spot, an awesome situation, and whatever opportunities come my way next, I know it's all part of God's plan.” As she continues on in the chaos that sports bring, two things keep her grounded: her family and her faith. Even when it's sometimes hard to believe in herself, her family does. They are always there to keep her grounded through the highs and lows. Those supporters, combined with knowing that God has a plan for her, allow her to brave the storm. While she’s been working in sports in some capacity for almost a decade, she doesn’t take for granted the opportunity to do what she loves. “There are so many times where I sit there, and I'm like, “Wow, I can't believe this is my job. This is so awesome. This is so cool.’” Smith said. “I encourage anyone out there who's doing this job, when you have that pinch-me moment, to really embrace it, because those pinch-me moments are what make this all worthwhile.” Although professional broadcast gear has long since replaced the toy ESPN microphone from her childhood home, the feeling remains exactly the same for Smith. Every interview, broadcast, and pinch-me moment serves as a vivid reminder of the dream she first imagined as a 10-year-old girl delivering SportsCenter recaps from her family's living room. Today, Smith no longer needs to pretend to be on television. Through years of hard work and a deep passion for storytelling, the dream that began in her living room has fully transitioned into reality. Disclaimer: The thoughts, experiences, and opinions shared in this article are solely those of Kendall Smith and are based on her personal journey. They do not necessarily reflect the views of any organizations, sponsors, or institutions with which Kendall may be associated. To ensure accuracy and maintain context, Kendall Smith 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

by Victoria Befumo | July 14 2o26 Credit: New York Sirens & PWHL (NEW YORK, N.Y., JULY 14, 2026) The New York Sirens held an in-person media availability Tuesday, July 14, 2026 highlighting both Pascal Daoust, New York Sirens General Manager and Emma Peschel, New York Sirens seventh overall pick at the 2026 PWHL Draft. “Of course, you know, being drafted in the PWHL is a tremendous accomplishment. We're not here just to talk about the first round pick from New York. We're here to talk about more than the player. We're here to introduce you to the person that Emma Peschel is,” Daoust said. “We had, through the draft process, the opportunity to know her. Watching her play, you know, we knew about her skills or about her talent, about her competitiveness,” he continued. Daoust praised not only Peschel's athletic ability, but also her strong character. “We can tell you that it's fully aligning with New York Sirens values.” Daoust continued on to say, “She is an amazing leader, mature. She can compete, as I said, but she also takes care of people around herself. You know, Emma, from the first day at the draft, it was your first step as a PWHL player, a New York sirens member, family member.” “Today, it's another step that we're more than excited to take with you. We look forward to seeing you wear that jersey, your very own one,” Daoust said to Peschel. Peschel described her feelings about being drafted to the Sirens. “Hearing your name, being announced and drafted is a dream come true, and especially for it to be from New York, such a prestigious city, just somewhere that's really building a really strong legacy. I'm really excited to be a part of it, and I can't wait to get started in New York. It's been a while since I've been here, so I'm excited to be back and looking forward to this week,” she said. When asked about if she had a chance to meet any of her teammates or look over the roster and how she feels she’s going to fit into the squad this coming season, she answered, “... I know a few of the girls, especially Casey O'Brien, Elle Hartje, they were at the draft. It was nice to be able to talk to them afterwards and kind of hear how their experiences have been so far. There's also some former Buckeyes that are there as well with Paetyn Levis, Lauren Bernard and then Clair DeGeorge as well. I just saw Paetyn Levis the other week at a camp in Minnesota, so I was able to have a chat with her about where to live and that whole kind of situation and kind of get her experience as well. But, I mean, I'm really excited to join the D-Core, I think, playing with Micah Zandee-Hart, Jaime Bourbonnais, Maja Nylén Persson, it'll be an amazing squad to be a part of and something to jump into and really just hopefully make an impact right away, and I'm excited to be able to play with all of them.” The Sirens are set to begin their preseason later this fall, with Peschel bringing her skills and vibrant energy to the team.

Gallery by Grace Kelley | July 12 2026 NASCAR at ECHOPARK by Grace Kelley Ryan Blaney dominated 171 out of the 263 laps at EchoPark, crossing the finish line just before 2:00 AM. The win marked the 750th for Ford Racing, the last six earned by Blaney. These photos are owned by Hazze Media and NASCAR. They may not be redistributed, sold, or used for commercial purposes without explicit permission.

By Ava Heaton | July 13 2026 Ducks forward Leo Carlsson celebrates after scoring during a playoff game against the Edmonton Oilers on April 30. (Sean M. Haffey / Getty Images) The opening of NHL free agency on July 1 is always circled in red on every hockey player, team, and fan’s calendar. The frantic pace of the 2026 free-agent cycle has caught some front offices off guard and left fans’ heads swirling as they try to figure out who is signing where. This offseason, general managers immediately went to work, using nearly all the team’s salary cap space, orchestrating jaw-dropping trades, and solidifying contract extensions. From massive goaltending shakeups to blockbuster offer-sheet drama, the league's landscape and the foundations of several teams have shifted completely. The Sharks are signing… everyone? Mike Grier, San Jose Sharks GM When free agency opened, General Manager Mike Grier and the San Jose Sharks were quick to weaponize their extensive salary cap space to reconstruct their roster. The team, clearly aiming to infuse the lineup with size, physicality, and leadership to support rising stars like Macklin Celebrini and Will Smith, completely remade its blue line with ease. The Sharks landed a key physical defenseman in Jacob Trouba, signed to a huge four-year, $33 million contract after his two seasons with another Californian team: the Anaheim Ducks. Grier also pulled off a major trade with the Edmonton Oilers to acquire blue-liner Darnell Nurse. It wasn’t just improvements on the defensive end for the Sharks though. Perhaps the team’s biggest addition was high-end winger Mason Marchment, signed to a five-year, $33.75 million contract. Plus, in net the team welcomed goaltender Eric Comrie on a two-year deal to help in the crease. By committing to established veterans, the Sharks sent a clear message that they are ready to start competing and move past the first stage in their rebuild. The Flyers steal the headlines, but the Ducks stand their ground. One of the biggest storylines of the offseason erupted on July 3, when Philadelphia Flyers General Manager Danny Briere shocked everyone by tendering a jaw-dropping five-year, $90 million offer sheet to Anaheim Ducks franchise center Leo Carlsson. The deal carried an average annual value (AAV) of $18 million, instantly making the 21-year-old the highest-paid player in NHL history by AAV and threatening to cost the Flyers four consecutive first-round draft picks. Facing a tight one-week deadline to match the offer or let Carlsson walk away, Ducks GM Pat Verbeek chose not to lose out on his rising star, officially matching the offer sheet on July 9. While the move keeps the young star in Anaheim through the 2030-31 season, the dramatic saga forced the Ducks to accept a much higher price tag than initial negotiations signaled, completely altering the team’s future contracts and the landscape for other young stars around the league. Toronto finds its anchor Sergei Bobrovsky, Mike Carlson / Getty Images Sport / Getty The Toronto Maple Leafs made the biggest splash of the goaltending market right away on July 1 by signing Sergei Bobrovsky to a three-year, $21 million contract. After capturing back-to-back Stanley Cups with the Florida Panthers in 2024 and 2025, the 37-year-old veteran hit the market following a down season where his regular-season numbers dipped to an .877 save percentage. Recognizing the need for a steady, proven anchor to solve the playoff woes, newly appointed General Manager John Chayka cleared the crease by moving Joseph Woll to accommodate the two-time Vezina Trophy winner. While committing $7 million annually to a 37-year-old aging goaltender has been fairly criticized and carries some financial risk, the Leafs are banking heavily on Bobrovsky’s championship mindset to solidify the team’s window. Montreal locks down the future Montreal Canadiens right wing Ivan Demidov (93) during his historic NHL debut against the Chicago Blackhawks.David Kirouac-Imagn Images The Montreal Canadiens solidified the foundation of their future core right away by locking up elite forward Ivan Demidov to a massive eight-year, $73.2 million contract extension. Coming off a spectacular rookie season where he led all NHL rookies with 62 points (19 goals, 43 assists) and finished second in Calder Trophy voting, the 20-year-old winger proved instrumental in guiding Montreal to the Eastern Conference Final. The extension, which kicks in for the 2027-28 season and carries a $9.15 million AAV, features a heavily front-loaded structure with $57.6 million in signing bonuses. Demidov’s commitment to the franchise highlights the strong, winning culture that is being built in Montreal, securing the Habs a true top-six game-changer for nearly a decade. The Rangers defensive facelift Once free agency opened, New York Rangers General Manager Chris Drury was quick to reconstruct his team’s blue line and overall roster depth, completely reshaping the identity of the team in a matter of hours. The reshaping became really clear when the Rangers traded veteran center and fan-favorite Vincent Trocheck to the Utah Mammoth. While losing Trocheck left a temporary hole down the middle, the return was worth it to Drury, gaining the team a dynamic, puck-moving defenseman in Sean Durzi. Then the team pivoted to balance the defensive pairs, flipping defenseman Will Borgen to the Boston Bruins and quickly replacing him by acquiring steady Swedish defender Marcus Pettersson to provide reliable, shutdown minutes. New York also managed to solidify their net by acquiring veteran goaltender Joonas Korpisalo from Boston to back up Igor Shesterkin, ensuring the Blueshirts emerged from the free agency frenzy with a more financially flexible and significantly upgraded defensive group. Chris Drury, photo: NHLPA The sheer volume of high-profile player movement proves that the modern NHL cap era rewards boldness. Teams like San Jose and Chicago are aggressively pulling themselves out of rebuilding phases, while traditional heavyweights like Toronto and the New York Rangers are shuffling their lineups to get over the postseason hump. With offer sheets being signed, franchise icons changing jerseys, and goaltending carousels spinning faster than ever, the first few days of July have guaranteed that the upcoming NHL season will be one of the most unpredictable in recent memory. Disclaimer: The views, analysis, and opinions expressed in this op-ed are of the writer. All information is for commentary and informational purposes only and is not intended as legal, professional, or investment advice. References to third-party sources and public figures are made for illustrative purposes and do not imply endorsement or verification by HAZZE MEDIA.

Gallery by So Kim | July 11 2026 AFC TORONTO VS OTTAWA RAPID CITY BY SO KIM Toronto's unbeaten run came to an end on Saturday afternoon after a 2-1 defeat to Ottawa Rapid FC at York Lions Stadium. AFC TORONTO VS OTTAWA RAPID CITY BY SO KIM

Interview by Christina Winnegar | June 29 2026 The first time Luke Prokop tried to say the words he had been carrying for years out loud, they stalled at the edge of his lips. Those words had followed him for years. Through bus rides between rinks. Through the move to Kelowna, British Columbia, at 14-years-old. Through practices, road trips and every version of himself that hockey demanded he become. They remained quiet. Constant yet unspoken. But when it came to finally allowing those feelings of identity to exist outside of his own head, they stopped short. It was late, the house had already gone to sleep, and his family's home was quiet. The kind of quiet that does not leave much room for those reserved thoughts to hide, but leads him to leave nothing behind. Lying in bed, he sent his sister a simple text. He had something to say to her, went up to her, but when he reached her, the words disappeared. “I started crying; she started crying. She had no clue what was going on,” he remembered. Ultimately, he spoke the words that freed what he had been holding on to for so long; he came out to her. Within seconds, he was wrapped in her arms, which he described as the best coming-out experience he could have asked for. Years later, the world would remember the statement Luke Prokop shared publicly. Few would ever know this was where his story truly began. Long before Luke Prokop ever struggled to say those words, another language had already shaped his life. Hockey. In a place like Edmonton, Alberta, the game is not introduced; it is inherited. It is ingrained in the city's culture: the expectation that if you can walk, you will lace up skates. For Prokop, it started early: he grew up with skates on his feet since age 3. His brother played. His father played. His grandfather played. Hockey was not just a decision in the Prokop family; it was a generational direction. And almost immediately, it became a structured lifestyle designed to give the best, to become the best. Not just the expected practices, but additional practices. Not just development, but steps to acceleration past the masses. The kind of upbringing where time is measured less by age and more by progression, what comes next, what needs improvement, what separates potential from reality. The kind of dedication that comes coupled with sacrifice. “It was almost like it was a job to me from 10 years old, when I was just still a little kid in school and getting taken out of school and going to all these tournaments and extra sessions I didn’t want to go to,” he reflected. “But I also wouldn’t be where I am today with him [Prokop’s father] and how hard he pushed me.” At an age when most kids were still figuring out the hobbies or interests that they enjoy, Prokop was already committing to something that required everything. By 14-years-old, that commitment meant leaving home and moving to Kelowna. Nearly 600 miles away from everything he knew, family, familiarity, in an environment designed to sharpen players to accelerate them to the next level. It was necessary for his development, but it was also isolating. And in that period of separation, something else began to surface. At first, it did not arrive as clarity; it arrived as a disconnect to the spaces he grew up in. Locker room conversations did not land the way they were supposed to. The rhythms of adolescence, the shared language, the expected interests, all felt slightly off, just enough to internally take note of, not enough to understand why fully. “The first time those conversations kind of came up, it was like, okay, well, what’s wrong with me? And why am I not feeling the same way as my teammates and my friends at that age?” he remembered. At 14 years old, that period of realization did not come with a resolution; it came packaged with questions born of uncertainty. A couple of years later, the internalization of said feelings became something harder to ignore. “So after kind of understanding what it was and then learning to ignore it when I was probably 16,” Prokop said. “ I think it was like, okay, there’s definitely something different about you, and it’s going to kind of come to a point where you can’t ignore it anymore.” But understanding did not mean acceptance in the world built around the pillars of strength and internalization, not in a space where there was no visible version of what the truth could look like. So it stayed contained and controlled in small, private ways, within the constraints of his phone. There were moments when he tried to explore it, downloading apps, creating profiles, allowing himself brief windows of honesty as he explored away from the world of pressure—then deleted them—repeating the cycle again and again. “Looking back on it, the major thing was I wanted to be able to express myself, and hopefully try to find a partner or something, but at the same time, looking back on it, it’s like, well, if you were you wouldn’t be able to hang out with them unless it was kind of in secret,” Prokop shared. “But the fear of being outed was the main reason why I would delete them after a week or two.” Because in the world of being known, visibility comes at a cost. And for a long time, that cost felt too high. When the calendar year hit 2020, the world was in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic, where everything, everywhere, completely shut down, and the one similarity everyone shared was that quarantine was the new normal. With the season shut down and the structure of hockey temporarily paused, Prokop found himself back home, surrounded by his family in a way he had not been in years. There were no daily practices to rush to, no travel schedules to follow, no built-in distractions to keep him focused on anything other than what had continued to reveal itself quietly in the background. A time he noted as a big blessing in his life. Not because of the circumstances themselves, but because of what they allowed to foster. For the first time in a long time, there was space. Space to think, to reflect and to reconnect with the people he had spent years only in passing between seasons. That shift was most noticeable in the relationship with his sister. Before that period, they were not particularly close. Their lives had moved in different directions, interactions limited by schedules that rarely aligned. But during those months at home, that distance completely dissipated. They spent time together as a family in ways they had not before: playing games, staying up late, talking without any urgency to move on to the next topic. “I just felt this connection with my sister that was super strong,” he recalled. With that level of closeness came something he had not had before, the sense that he had someone he could trust with something he had not trusted anyone in his life to hold. One night, his confidence was palpable. Following a text sent while lying in bed, he walked into her room, knowing it was time, even if he did not yet know how to say it. At first, she did not understand what was happening. There were no words to explain it, no context to guide that moment. But then, as the meaning became clear through their bond, her reaction came without hesitation. “She told me she loved me – it was truly the best experience for coming out for the first time that I could have asked for with my sister,” Prokop reflected. After that, the process became more comfortable, but not easy by any means. He began telling members of the family, then close friends, each conversation building on the last. With every person who responded with acceptance, something shifted, not just in how he saw himself, but in how he allowed himself to exist in the spaces where he felt safe. The comfort reflected in the openness in conversations, the willingness to engage and be less guarded in moments with those close to him. But that comfort did not extend everywhere. Because the other part of Prokop’s identity did not know, hockey did not know. By that point, it was not just about managing one identity, but two parts of himself that made him whole. Everything remained the same on the surface, but internally, the gap between those two versions of his life continued to widen. He was stepping into rinks every day, rinks that once felt like home, carrying a weight no one else in that space knew, and that lack of alignment made a lifestyle that had once felt routine feel foreign. It was not about hiding anymore. It was about sustaining something that no longer felt sustainable. By the time Prokop entered the 2020 National Hockey League (NHL) Draft, the path, at least on paper, looked clear for a player of his caliber with strong development and high-level competition—a player who had gone above and beyond on the stat lines. From the outside, it made sense. However, inside, it was more complicated. Some teams showed interest, asked questions, evaluated his game, projected what his career could become, all of the typical. And then there were the ones that passed. At the time, that assessment existed without context. The adversity they were looking for was one they expected to see in performance history, in visible challenges that could be measured and understood. However, what they could not see was the hardest battle that he had been internalizing beneath the surface. “I wanted to be a professional hockey player for as long as I can remember,” Prokop reflected. “And then that thought of trying to tackle that beast of what that was going to be like, and maybe not being able to play hockey. That’s what I had to come to terms with.” The reality he faced did not fit the way players are typically evaluated. It did not show up with statistics or scouting reports, but it shaped everything about how he moved through the sport during that time. When the Nashville Predators announced his name was selected as 73rd overall in the 2020 NHL Draft, the moment carried great significance, even if it did not unfold the way he had imagined growing up. There was no stage, no arena, no formal setting that marked the occasion. Instead, the memory took place in a location very significant to his upbringing. A family-owned restaurant in Edmonton, where meaningful connections gathered to watch the moment Prokop’s dream came to fruition. “I’d ask my agents who they thought would be really interested in me. It was Edmonton and Nashville,” he said. “Sure enough, it ended up being Nashville, which was really cool, because growing up, they’d been my favorite team. My favorite players were on that team.” Once Prokop had gotten the call from Nashville, a celebratory aura took over the room, filled with friends, family, and a couple of coaches who had guided him along the way, as tears, laughs, and nerves were shared on the most perfect draft day amid the COVID-19 pandemic. A moment that reflected all of the sacrifices and dedication put into the dream, all of which had finally paid off. Representing the next step in his career. But even as he progressed professionally, the separation between the two versions of his life remained. If the draft revealed what others could see, the season that followed exposed what they could not. The 2020-21 season was unlike anything players had experienced before. The structure of the bubble ironically eliminated distance while projecting it onto the outside world – between teams, between players, between the personal and the professional. There was no separation for Prokop. The days became repetitive, spaces became limited, and conversations carried on longer than they normally would. And in that fostered environment, things that had and might have stayed contained for much longer did not. A dreaded reality surfaced: rumors. Not directly, not all at once, but enough to be felt. At first, they came through someone else, a teammate on another team, a conversation that reached his ears secondhand. But that distance did not make it easier. If anything, it made it worse because it provided fear from not knowing where it had reached. Or how far it had gone. That uncertainty became a constant. Every day, he walked into the rink without clarity about what had been said, who had heard it, or how it might change the way he was perceived by his teammates or those within the organization around him. “I felt like I was walking on eggshells everywhere I went,” Prokop recalled. The ice, which had always been a place where all other thoughts, feelings and insecurities were left, became another space where the dark cloud of rumors followed him. The feeling no longer existed outside of hockey; it existed within. What was once a sacred space became one surrounded by stress, and performance was no longer the only variable that mattered. After that season, the sense of manageability ended. The silence that had once felt like protection began to feel like something else entirely – something heavier, something that did not stay the way it used to. By the end of the season, the answer was already there. Not fully spoken, but understood. “I ended up leaving that season with the full idea of coming out publicly,” he expressed. “That was a major process in terms of getting myself confident that it was the right decision to do… not knowing how it was going to affect my hockey career was super stressful.” When his agents asked which path he wanted to take – whether he wanted to continue to keep this part of his life private or make it public - Prokop knew the answer. Not because the decision was easy, but because he had reached a point where the alternative felt impossible to continue. “I had around eight months to really think about it,” Prokop said. “My agents wanted me to be 100 percent because once you do it, you can’t really take it back.” There would be no rushing the process. Every conversation, detail and piece to the overall picture mattered. Before anyone else could read his words, the people who had shaped his hockey career would hear them first. So then, one by one, the phone calls began. The NHL, the NHL Players’ Association, Hockey Canada, the Nashville Predators and the Calgary Hitmen. Each conversation carried the weight of the same question that had quietly followed Prokop like a shadow for years: Would hockey still want me if it knew all of me? Instead of uncertainty, he found reassurance. Instead of hesitation, he found support. “Each time I had one of those conversations, everyone was saying, ' This is the right thing to do,” he reflected. Every conversation, every confirmation, chipped away at a fear that had lived with him since he was 16-years-old, downloading dating apps, finding connection, then deleting them out of fear of losing everything he spent his life working towards. Then came the call from Nashville. For Prokop, this one resonated more deeply. Just a year earlier, the Predators had called to tell him they believed in him enough to make him the 73rd overall pick in the 2020 NHL Draft. Now, many of those same figures - the executives, coaches, scouts and staff who had welcomed him into the organization - were welcoming him again. One after another, they shared the same sentiments: they were proud of him, they supported him, they were behind him. When the call ended, the emotion had finally caught up to him. “I remember crying on the way home,” he said. “Just knowing that this was going to be okay… that this decision to come out isn’t going to affect my hockey career. I’m still going to be able to play the game I love.” For years, his greatest fear had never been telling people the truth; it was believing the truth might cost him the one thing he had spent his entire life working toward. That drive home was the first time he truly believed he would not have to choose between the two. Still, aside from the conversations that happened and the statement being written, with the support system in place, everything had been prepared for that moment. All that remained of being free was pressing one button. By the morning of July 19 2021, there was nothing left to rewrite. For months, Prokop had carefully worked through every conversation that would make this moment possible. Every phone call answered a question that had lived in the back of his mind for years. Every show of support had chipped away at his greatest fear. Still, knowing he was ready did not make that Monday morning any easier. “The night before, I did not get a wink of sleep at all,” he remembered. The reality of what was about to happen had settled in long before the sun came up. By the time he arrived at his agent’s office, everything had already been prepared. His media manager had logged into his Instagram on her phone. The statement had been finalized. Every word had been reviewed. Every conversation concluded. “I just had to press ‘Post’ on the phone,” Prokop said. “Sit in a chair and kind of watch the chaos ensue from what was about to happen.” He pressed it, then waited. Within minutes, the statement had traveled far beyond the room he was sitting in. Messages poured in from teammates, coaches, executives, friends, reporters and strangers. “I had no clue it was going to be as big as it was,” he said. The response stretched far beyond the hockey community. News organizations around the world had picked up the story—national broadcasts led with it. Athletes from across professional sports voiced their support. Fans shared his words with people they loved. Parents sent the statement to children who were still searching for the courage to tell their own stories. At just 19-years-old, Luke Prokop became the first openly gay player under an NHL contract. Almost overnight, his name became synonymous with trailblazing in history. In the midst of it, he faced a reality that had changed in a matter of minutes. One that had silenced all of the ruminating thoughts, questions and fears that held weight since he discovered his true self. The response of overwhelming support was not perfect because the world had suddenly become perfect. It was powerful because it challenged every possible negative outcome he had quietly carried since he was a teenager. The headlines focused on history, but the headlines could not capture what mattered most to Prokop. When he thought back on that day, he did not remember the articles or television interviews. He remembered something much simpler: He was still a hockey player. And that was forever waiting for him on the other side of the truth. Looking back now, Prokop does not describe July 19 as the day everything changed: he describes it as the day he finally stopped dividing himself into pieces. For the first time in years, the version of his true self and the version on the ice were no longer separated by silence: they had become the same person. And for the first time, he was a child stepping onto the outdoor rinks in Edmonton; he could chase the NHL, carrying only one version of himself. The days following July 19, 2021, unfolded faster than Prokop could process. His phone buzzed relentlessly with calls, text messages and interview requests as news organizations across North America rushed to tell the story of the 19-year-old who was rewriting century-old history in a prestigious organization like the NHL. For a brief moment, it felt as though the hockey world had paused to acknowledge a milestone much larger than the game itself. Eventually, though, it was time to go back to work. “I’ve had some of the best hockey years of my life and career since I’ve come out,” he stated. For years, stepping onto the ice had meant more than a stick and a pair of skates. Every practice, every game and every locker room conversation existed alongside an unspoken edge of himself he felt he had to protect. The emotional energy required to maintain that separation had quietly become part of his daily routine, even if no one around him realized it. Once that weight disappeared, so did the fear that accompanied it. “My trainer definitely noticed it right away,” Prokop said. “He was like, ‘You just look so much more confident in yourself.’” The change was not something Prokop had consciously noticed in himself. It was reflected to him by the people who saw him day in and day out. His confidence showed up in places beyond conversations or interviews. It carried into his training sessions, where he was surpassing personal records almost immediately after coming out, something he credits less to physical changes than to the mental freedom he had finally found. The real test came only a few months later: walking into an entirely new locker room. As he prepared for the following season, Prokop was not returning to teammates he already knew. He was joining a new group of players, many of whom learned his story through headlines rather than introductions. After spending years wondering how hockey would respond, he suddenly found himself facing the very situation, coupled with the rest: earning the trust of people who knew his story before they knew him. “I think coming out is one thing,” Prokop said. “But then switching teams, going into a different locker room with a bunch of players you don't know-that can definitely be nerve-racking.” The uncertainty, however, never materialized. That acceptance he received changed far more than his comfort inside the locker room. It changed the way he approached the game itself. “My life was a lot easier in hockey,” he reflected. “Being able to go out there and not care about what other people think… no rumors are going on about me, just being able to go out there and play really good hockey, that’s all I had to focus on.” The simplicity became the greatest freedom of all. For the first time in years, hockey was only hockey again: the sport he devoted his life to, made sacrifices for and intertwined itself into who he is at his core. The statistics reflected it. More importantly, so did the experience. “If you look at it from a statistical point of view, it was my best season I’ve ever had,” Prokop said. “And easily the most enjoyable season I’ve ever had as well.” Coming out had not changed the player Luke Prokop could become. It finally allowed him to become that player. In truth, coming out was never meant to be the defining accomplishment of his career. It was simply a moment that allowed the rest of it to continue. The goal had never changed. Every off-season workout, every practice, and every game still revolved around the same dream he had carried. Yet as the months passed, Prokop began to realize his story no longer belonged solely to him. Messages arrived from parents, trying to support their children. Young hockey players reached out with questions. They had never felt comfortable asking anyone else. The family shared stories about conversations. They had finally been able to have after reading his statement. As years passed, the significance of the date slowly became less central to his own life. Not because it mattered any less, but because it had become part of who he was. “I think sometimes I forget about my story and how much it actually helps and affects people,” he admitted. Then, about a month ago, his father received a phone call. The caller was someone neither of them knew. A 70-year-old man had somehow found the work number and left a voicemail. For 67 years, he had hidden who he was from nearly everyone around him. His family. His friends. The people who had known him for decades had never known him completely. Then he had seen Luke Prokop’s story. “He said the main reason he came out was that he saw my story,” Prokop said. His father listened to the voicemail. Then called Luke. As he retold the story, his voice began to break. For a moment, hockey disappeared. None of it mattered as much as one stranger. Finally decided he no longer wanted to spend the rest of his life pretending to be somebody he was not. The voicemail was not the only reminder. One afternoon, curious, Prokop scrolled back through messages he had received in the days immediately following his announcement. Buried beneath thousands of notifications were conversations he had not looked at in years. One person thought about him before coming out to their parents the following day. Another returned later with an update. “I came out yesterday because I saw what you did,” they wrote. “It went great.” Reading them years later carried a different weight than they did in the moment. Back then, everything happened too quickly to process fully. Now, with distance, he could finally understand what those messages had really meant. Confirmation that the uncertainty, the fear and every difficult conversation leading up to that day, how to reach people he would likely never meet, but somehow had the biggest impact on their lives. For someone who had spent years wondering whether telling the truth would cost him in the game he loved, the realization was almost difficult to comprehend. His story had not taken anything away from hockey. It had quietly become part of someone else's life. And somewhere, in a voicemail left on a work phone, that reality became impossible ever to forget. For someone who spent years protecting his privacy, agreeing to spend three years in front of a camera felt almost contradictory. Long before audiences would see ‘The Hockey Player’, Prokop had quietly wrestled with whether he wanted the documentary to exist at all. For years, privacy had been a form of protection. Before July 19, it was how he navigated a world where only pieces of his life felt safe to share. Even after coming out publicly, that instinct never completely disappeared. He still viewed himself as a fairly private person, someone whose life away from the rink belonged to the people closest to him rather than the public who had come to know his name. Saying yes to a documentary meant opening a door he had spent years trying to keep closed. This commitment was not for the weekend, not for a single interview; it was for three years. Cameras followed him through practices, road trips, training sessions, and the quieter moments in between, documenting a chapter of his life that extends far beyond the Instagram post that introduced him to much of the world. Rather than revisiting a single moment in history, 'The Hockey Player' follows everything that came after – the uncertainty of chasing an NHL career, the pressure of becoming an unexpected cultural figure and the everyday reality of balancing both. “It took a lot for me to say yes to this documentary,” Prokop admitted. Yet every hesitation eventually led him back to the same place. The same reason he decided to press “Post” years earlier. Helping those who have not yet found their voice. When he had come out publicly, it was for him. At first, that was enough. He wanted the freedom to play the game. He loved without carrying the weight of secrecy. Everything that followed, the headlines, the interviews and the attention, was never something he set out to chase. But over time, he realized his story was not something he could simply leave behind. Some organizations leaned into it more than others. In Milwaukee, the Admirals created a prime night around his visit, invited him to lead the city's Pride Parade as the Grand Marshal (a high honor for Pride) and embraced the opportunity to celebrate what his journey represented. Other stops allowed him to focus almost entirely on hockey. Both experiences taught him something valuable: There was not one right way to carry the responsibility that had found him. Instead, he learned how to balance both parts of his life. That balance became increasingly important because, even years later, He continued to see the impact of visibility in places he never expected. “I think it’s important for me to be a little bit more public about it,” Prokop said. “When fans come to a game, they can actually see the representation on the ice. They can feel more accepted.” For years, he searched for someone who understood what he was experiencing. He never found that person. That memory of feeling alone in many moments is why helping others has never felt like an obligation to him. It feels personal. Growing up, friends and parents jokingly named him “The BFG” – the Big Friendly Giant. Long before hockey became his profession, kindness had become part of who he was. Looking back now, he sees a direct line between that child and the person he hopes to be remembered as. The documentary became another extension of that philosophy. Not because he wanted to revisit the day that changed his life. Because he wanted someone else to see their own life in it. “If I could help just one kid, one adult – no matter who it is, their age, their gender, whatever profession they’re doing –if they see my story and gather some confidence from it, that’s a win for me.” Throughout his career, Prokop has celebrated championships, personal milestones and victories that come with chasing a professional dream. Yet when he reflects on what he hopes remains long after his skates are hung up, his perspective reaches far beyond the rink—an everlasting legacy. Rather than being remembered solely for goals, statistics or championships, Prokop hopes his career's lasting impact is measured differently. “I love winning championships and accolades,” he said. “But I believe what your legacy is going to be outweighs championships and accolades. I’d rather be known as someone who helped a lot of people.” In many ways, ‘The Hockey Player’ (now available to rent on Amazon Prime and Apple TV) exists because of that belief. Not to relive history, but to leave behind something far more lasting – a reason for someone else to believe their story is worth telling, too. Nearly 5 years after sharing a few hundred words that changed the course of his life, Prokop found himself sitting in the dark in theaters, watching those years unfold all over again. Only this time, he was not experiencing them alone. ‘The Hockey Player’ made its world premiere at the historic Frameline International LGBTQ+ Film Festival in San Francisco before returning home to Edmonton, where friends, family, and the community that watched him fall in love with hockey gathered to see his story from the beginning to the end. Days later, the documentary concluded its premiere run in Toronto, bringing the journey back to one of hockey's most recognizable cities. Each screening represented something different. San Francisco celebrated the film's introduction to the world. Edmonton brought it home. Toronto reminded audiences that while Prokop’s story has resonated far beyond hockey, it has always remained rooted within it. For Prokop, however, the Premieres were never about watching a documentary. They were about revisiting the moments that shaped him. "San Francisco, I knew nobody there. That was the one I was really nervous for... I didn't know what their reaction was going to be, but it was extremely positive," He said. "Edmonton was super cool because all of my family and friends, people who have been on this journey with me for so long, were able to experience it in full detail... For them to be there, share it with them, see it on the screen, it was just awesome to have my loved ones and everyone that I care about there." By the time the credits rolled for the final time before the film was released to the rest of the world, ‘The Hockey Player' had become more than a documentary, chronicling one announcement. It would be kind of a record of everything that came before, everything that followed, and the people who helped carry him through both, as he carries on the next generation of the brave, courageous to share their story alongside his. Some journeys only make sense when viewed from the other side. At the time, they feel uncertain. Heavy. Unfinished. Each step seems disconnected from the last, making it nearly impossible to believe they are guiding anywhere at all. Only with distance do they begin to reveal their shape. The little boy racing home after school to spend every possible minute on an outdoor rink could never have imagined the silence he would one day carry. The teenager who questioned whether honesty might cost him the only dream he had ever known could not yet see the family waiting to embrace him, the teammates who would welcome him without hesitation or the strangers whose lives would quietly intersect with his own. None of those moments erased what came before them. They gave it meaning. The fear. The loneliness. Each became another step toward something he simply could not yet see. Today, Luke Prokop continues to chase the same dream that first carried him onto the ice as a child. His days are still marked by training before sunrise, competing for opportunities and measuring success by strides in growth and sacrifice, in the hope of one day getting the call to be called up to the National Hockey League. The difference is that the journey no longer belongs only to him. Somewhere, another young athlete is wondering if they have to choose between authenticity and ambition. Somewhere, a parent is searching for the right words. Somewhere, someone is standing in the same uncertainty Luke once believed would never end. If his story has proven anything, it is that life is rarely transformed in a single moment. More often than not, it changes the conversation from conversation to choice to choice, until one day you look back and realize the moments that once felt disconnected were quietly becoming something whole. For years, Luke Prokop believed he had to protect the person to preserve the player. He never imagined that embracing both would ultimately reveal his purpose. Looking back now, it becomes impossible to separate where one ended and another began. The player gave him the dream. The person gave him the courage to keep chasing it. The purpose gave that dream meaning. Perhaps that was belonging all along. Because in the end, Luke Prokop may never be remembered solely for the player he became, the person he fought to be or the purpose he chose to pursue. It will be remembered because he proved they were never three separate stories. There was always only one. Luke's documentary 'The Hockey Player' is now available to rent worldwide on Amazon Prime and Apple TV as of publication date June 29, 2026. Disclaimer: The thoughts, experiences, and opinions shared in this article are solely those of Luke Prokop and are based on his personal journey. They do not necessarily reflect the views of any organizations, sponsors, or institutions with which Luke may be associated. To ensure accuracy and maintain context, Luke Prokop 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

Gallery by Lauren Henwood | July 10 2026 Utah Royals FC vs Gotham FC July 10th by Lauren Henwood The Utah Royals FC returned home for the first time since May 17 but fell 3-1 to Gotham FC on Princess Night at America First Field on Friday, July 10. Cece Delzer scored the Royals' lone goal to give Utah an early lead before Gotham responded with two first-half goals and added another after the break to secure the victory. Utah Royals FC vs Gotham FC July 10th by Lauren Henwood These photos are owned by Hazze Media and the National Women’s Soccer League (NWSL). They may not be redistributed, sold, or used for commercial purposes without explicit permission.

Gallery by Brock Burgan | July 6th 2026 Texas Live- FIFA Watch Parties for Round of 16 by Brock Burgan Thousands of soccer fans from around the world packed Texas Live on Monday, July 6, 2026, to watch a pair of FIFA World Cup knockout matches. Spain advanced with a 1-0 victory over Portugal on Mikel Merino's stoppage-time goal, while Belgium eliminated the United States men's national team with a 4-1 win, ending the tournament for the final host nation. Beyond the results, the atmosphere inside Texas Live stole the show. Supporters of Spain, Portugal, Belgium and the United States filled the venue, creating a lively scene throughout the day. Spain fans erupted after Merino's late winner, celebrating with chants and photos as the match ended. Before the second game, U.S. supporters generated an electric atmosphere with loud cheers, patriotic chants and themed outfits, turning one of Texas' largest sports bars into a World Cup celebration despite the eventual defeat.

Gallery by Isatuu Lamarana | July 5 2026 Toronto Maple Leafs vs London Majors by Isatuu Lamarana The Toronto Maple Leafs defeated the London Majors, 11-8, on Sunday afternoon at Dominico Field, using a late offensive surge to take a back-and-forth Canadian Baseball League matchup. Toronto Maple Leafs vs London Majors by Isatuu Lamarana

Interview by Holly Arend | July 6 2026 Photo by Martina Tamesis Clarabelle Knyzhov left Silicon Valley expecting one kind of future and found a much wider one. Raised first-generation in a home shaped by memory, sacrifice and survival, she grew up learning that the world outside could reward ambition, but the world inside her family gave that ambition meaning. “Home gave everything context,” she said. That became especially clear at the dinner table, where she heard stories about her great-aunt escaping war-torn Vietnam by boat with little more than the clothes on her back. It was the kind of story that did not just explain where she came from. It changed how she understood what it meant to have opportunities at all. Outside the home, the language was progressing. People built, pitched, optimized and moved quickly toward whatever came next. Inside the home, the future felt less abstract. It was something people had crossed oceans for. Clarabelle and her brother and grandparents newly immigrated from Vietnam That contrast shaped how she saw identity early on. “I see it as being given two forms of sight,” she said, describing what it meant to grow up between cultures. One side of that vision looked forward, toward what could be built. The other looked back, toward the cost of getting there. Even as a child, that perspective made her pay attention to the quiet ways people sorted themselves. She noticed who gravitated toward whom, who felt familiar and who seemed to explain themselves more than others. But she also noticed something else: how often belonging could be created through something as simple as space. A pickup soccer game at recess became one of her first leadership lessons. It was not about status or background. It was about who passed, who made room and who noticed the kid standing at the edge waiting to be chosen. “I think I understood, even then, that someone had to step up and create the opening,” she said. That instinct to observe people and close distance followed her into every environment she entered later. Some were easier to read than others. Some asked her to adapt quickly, to listen before speaking and to understand the culture of a place before trying to change it. When life shifted, she learned that the future she had imagined most clearly was not always the one life would ask her to live. That realization was not dramatic. It came slowly, through experience, through change and through the recognition that effort and control are not the same thing. “The goal was still to lead,” she said, “but the method was the part that had to change.” That idea became a turning point. Instead of holding on to one fixed version of success, she began to understand purpose as something that could remain steady even when the route changed. Leadership, for her, became less about a title and more about how she moved through uncertainty. That perspective made public affairs feel natural. It was not just about messaging or outreach. It was about people, and about helping others understand one another better. “What surprised me most about public affairs was how naturally it aligned with the things I had always cared about,” she said. “The challenge is often not a lack of information. It is a lack of understanding.” Clara Cott and Clarabelle at Vancouver Fashion Week captured by Diego Malig That lesson stayed with her in communications. Storytelling, she learned, is powerful because the details people carry quietly are often the details that explain them best. Ask the right questions, and roles and labels start to fall away. What remains is the person underneath. Modeling brought out another part of that same growth. It entered her life almost by accident, after a friend encouraged her to try it. Her first reaction was excitement. She likes stepping into environments she does not fully understand and learning them from the inside. It also gave her something deeply personal. For much of her life, she had been trained to value strength in practical ways, through discipline, endurance, toughness and usefulness. Those qualities mattered to her, but they did not always leave room for femininity as something worth exploring. Modeling changed that. It gave her a space to develop confidence in a different register, one tied to expression, softness and presence. It reminded her that she was not limited to the version of herself that had been built for achievement. There were other parts of her, quieter and more expressive, that deserved room too. Photo of her and Nikolai Couple photo by Martina Tamesis That same openness shaped her personal life. She met her husband, Nikolai, on Hinge while he was playing in San Jose. Within two days, she took him to meet her family. Nine months later, they were married. Their relationship became another test of adaptability, this time in daily life. He embraced who she was, and she learned to embrace the version of partnership that came with his world as well. For one summer, he even moved to Florida while she was still active in the Navy, cooking dinner and living alongside her in her world. That experience gave him a closer look at what her life had been like and gave her a deeper sense of how support can look when it is lived, not just discussed. Later, that instinct to adapt carried into hockey. In Abbotsford, she began to see the sport not just through the players, but through the ecosystem around them. Staff, families, partners, media, trainers and volunteers all helped make the season feel whole. She made a point of connecting with people outside the obvious circles, too. Ushers, parking staff and other behind-the-scenes workers were not background noise to her. They were part of the rhythm of game day. They knew the fans, the families and the details that made the arena feel like home. That attention taught her something important about community. An organization’s culture is often revealed in how it treats the people who hold it together quietly. In a sport like hockey, where families can easily stay within the circle that feels most familiar, she saw the value of widening that circle. Abbotsford partners and Clarabelle That instinct also led her to Cyrus Centre, where she wanted to put her energy into something meaningful. Service has always mattered to her, and the organization’s work supporting young people in need of stability resonated deeply. The relationship started simply. She reached out. Over time, it grew into something more. Others joined in. They helped with meal trains, hosted a fundraiser and had a booth at one of the games. She said it was an honor to support the work and that she was humbled to be trusted as part of it. Across all of these chapters, the most consistent part of Knyzhov’s story is her curiosity about the invisible architecture of a room. She pays attention to what sits beneath the surface, who feels at ease, who is still translating, what people value, what they protect and what no one is saying out loud. That curiosity is where her leadership instinct comes from. She rarely enters a room, asking only where she fits. She pays attention to what the room needs, who has not been fully understood and where a bridge could be built. The setting changes, but the question underneath stays the same. How do I understand this space deeply enough to contribute to it with care? For Knyzhov, leadership does not belong to a single title, an industry or a single version of success. It belongs anywhere people need steadiness, care, courage or connection. Her life has moved through very different worlds, but the instinct underneath has stayed the same. Notice what matters, make room for others and leave each space better than you found it.