Fifteen Years After Pride House: From Slapshotolus to Heated Rivalry, Why Safe Spaces in Sport Matter More Than Ever

DEAN NELSON (he/him) CTC, LLD
3 days ago
5 min read

By Dean Nelson, Founder of Pride House

Fifteen years ago, in the winter of 2010, I watched something extraordinary happen.

In a small room at the Pan Pacific Whistler Village Centre—transformed with art, laughter, rainbow flags, and the hum of connection—the world’s first Pride House came to life. It became a sanctuary for LGBTQ+ athletes, coaches, fans, volunteers, families, and allies during the Vancouver–Whistler Olympic and Paralympic Winter Games.

We didn’t know it at the time, but Pride House would become a global movement. We didn’t know it would become the third most talked-about story of the entire 2010 Olympics, outshining even medal counts. And we certainly didn’t know that a bronze sculpture of a naked hockey player would become a prophetic mascot for everything we hoped sport could one day be.

But we’ll get to him in a minute.

Because today, as the world buzzes about the new series Heated Rivalry, I find myself unexpectedly transported—back to the months leading up to Vancouver 2010, back to the urgency, fear, hope, and audacity it took to build the first Pride House, and back to the athletes who still—far too often—live their lives in hiding.

And with the 2026 Olympic Winter Games in Milano–Cortina fast approaching, the timing could not be more poignant.

The Show That Hit a Nerve: Why Heated Rivalry Matters in 2025

Heated Rivalry - Crave HBO Max original TV series. Two hockey players facing off.

If you told me in 2010 that by 2025 the hottest show on television would be a gay hockey romance—one with explicit intimacy, emotional honesty, and two athletes terrified of being outed in the NHL—I probably would have laughed…and then cried.

Because the story of Shane and Ilya in Heated Rivalry is not fantasy. It’s a mirror.

Their stolen hotel-room moments. Their fear of being seen touching off the ice. Their anxiety around careers, sponsorships, locker rooms, and families. Their deep, unspoken longing to live openly—without jeopardizing everything they’ve worked for.

This is what countless athletes have shared with me privately over the past 20 years.

It’s why we created Pride House in the first place.

And watching the show now, I can’t help but think: What if Shane and Ilya had known Pride House existed? What if they’d known there was a place at the Olympics specifically designed so athletes like them would never again have to hide?

I would have welcomed them with open arms—in 2010 or today.

Before HBO / Crave Told a Gay Hockey Love Story, Pride House Told One in Bronze

In the center of the 2010 Pride House stood a sculpture that people still message me about: Slapshotolus, created by Canadian artist Edmund Haakonson.

A nude hockey player—helmet, gloves, skates… and absolutely nothing else—captured mid-slapshot.

It was bold.

It was hilarious.

It was classical Greek athleticism meets unapologetic queer joy.

And it was exactly what we needed.

Edmund told me the sculpture represented “living without armor”—the radical idea that an athlete should not need to hide their truth to be safe.

When I watch Heated Rivalry, I see Slapshotolus in every frame.

Shane and Ilya play fully armored: jerseys, padding, public personas, years of conditioning to stay emotionally closeted.

But in private, they’re Slapshotolus: stripped down to their essence, vulnerable, real, and desperate for a world that will let them skate without fear.

In many ways, the sculpture wasn’t just an artwork—it was a foreshadowing.

A whisper from 2010 to 2025 that someday the world would finally be ready to see queer athletes on ice not just as a secret but as a story worthy of the spotlight.

From Whistler to the World: The Movement Pride House Sparked

When we opened the doors of the first Pride House, we had no roadmap. It was a grassroots dream built by volunteers, artists, activists, and believers.

But from its very first day, it created something sport had never seen before:

A place where athletes could walk in and immediately feel…safe.
A space where coaches could ask questions they didn’t feel comfortable asking anywhere else.
A refuge for queer volunteers, staff, and spectators afraid to be themselves in the Olympic environment.
A media epicenter where the world finally talked openly about homophobia in sport.

And it worked.

The global conversation around LGBTQ+ athletes changed.

The International Olympic Committee added explicit protections to Principle 6 of the Olympic Charter.

Pride Houses appeared at subsequent Games—London, Sochi (despite Russia’s ban Virtual Pride Houses popped up all over the world and painted rainbow crosswalks in front of Russian embassies), Rio, PyeongChang, Tokyo, Beijing, and now… Milano–Cortina 2026.

What we started in Vancouver became a legacy.

But legacies are not immune to backlash.

A Step Backwards: The NHL, Rainbow Tape, and the Politics of Fear

Over the past two years, we have watched the National Hockey League—long overdue for progress—slide backward.

Teams cancelling Pride Nights.

Players refusing to wear commemorative Pride jerseys.

A temporary ban on Rainbow Tape—one of the simplest, smallest gestures of inclusion imaginable.

And this isn’t happening in a vacuum.

In the wake of the 47th U.S. administration’s open hostility toward DEI and LGBTQ+ rights, organizations fearful of political and financial repercussions are retreating from even symbolic support.

The message to queer athletes is clear:

“Be proud… but only where we can’t see you.”

It breaks my heart—but it also steels my resolve.

Because this is exactly why Pride House exists.

Exactly why Milano 2026 matters.

Exactly why stories like Heated Rivalry are connecting so powerfully with audiences around the world.

People are hungry for representation.Athletes are hungry for safety.

Fans are hungry for honesty.

And the culture is telling us: It’s time.

What Milano–Cortina 2026 Means: A New Generation of Athletes, A New Kind of Courage

As we march toward the 15th anniversary of Pride House and prepare for the 2026 Winter Games, I feel the same electricity I felt in 2010.

We’re not just setting up a venue.We’re preparing a home—for athletes, staff, media, families, and fans who still long for a space where they don’t need to wear emotional armor.

Somewhere out there, right now, is an athlete living Shane and Ilya’s reality:

hiding a partner
avoiding teammates’ questions
monitoring how they stand in a photo
terrified a text message could end their career
playing brilliantly but living half a life

To them I say:

Pride House is waiting for you.

We see you.

We have been building this for you since 2010.

And if the world is ready to binge-watch gay hockey players falling in love, then the world is certainly ready for queer athletes to compete openly, joyfully, and authentically at the Olympic Games.

Fifteen Years Later: Slapshotolus Still Has Something to Teach Us

Standing in front of Slapshotolus in 2010, I saw courage.

Not the courage to score a goal—but the courage to exist without shame.

Fifteen years later, as Heated Rivalry rockets across screens and Milano 2026 approaches, I feel that same courage rising again in sport.

We’ve come so far.We’ve lost ground.We’ve gained momentum.We’ve survived politics, pushback, fear, and silence.

But the truth remains:

Athletes thrive when they can be fully authentic—on the ice, on the field, on the track, and in their lives.

And Pride House will always be there to help make that possible.

So here’s to 15 years of progress—and to the next 15 years of pushing, building, advocating, and refusing to let queer visibility retreat back into the shadows.

Because someday—maybe soon—Shane and Ilya won’t just be characters in a hit TV show.

They’ll be Olympic athletes, walking into Pride House hand-in-hand.

And we’ll be there waiting for them.