In the modern age of media, it is easy for representation to be taken as a blessing, regardless of the quality of the media or the quality of the representation. Particularly in the case of queer representation, certain aspects of the story are often overlooked or understated to improve the consumability of the media. Oftentimes, it feels that queer media lacks a level of “realness,” focusing on a single aspect of a character’s identity rather than fleshing out a real depiction of their relationship. 

While Canadian streaming service Crave’s most popular original release may not be designed with only members of the LGBTQ+ community in mind, “Heated Rivalry” manages to capture a wide array of the queer experience through a lens not often considered: male professional athletes. 

Adapted from Rachel Reid’s “Game Changers” series — primarily the 2019 novel of the same name — the show begins right away with our primary “couple.”  Ilya Rozanov (Connor Storrie) and Shane Hollander (Hudson Williams) are professional hockey players whose “romance” is like nothing I’ve seen in mainstream queer media; opponents in nearly every hockey game they engage in, they’re viewed by the general public as sworn enemies. 

All while they’ve been hooking up since their first encounter at the 2008 “International Prospect Cup.”

In theory it seems like a simple concept, but the nuances of both characters as pressure builds make their journey to accepting their queer identity unique in mainstream media. 

For a story centered around internalized homophobia and the discovery and acceptance of identity, Rozanov and Hollander carve out a unique storyline that not only differs from one another, but also from the traditional “coming-out” storyline. 

Rozanov’s struggles begin beyond his sexuality. Although we are shown that the Boston Raiders’ superstar is comfortable with his bisexuality in a private setting, he aims to put his career and family first by keeping this side of him a secret. 

The Russian athlete is content to be what everyone expects from him, putting on a persona that matches the cocky attitude that — albeit is derived in some truth — isn’t the true Rozanov. Behind that mask, there is a man beaten down by the expectations of his father, the constant pleas for financial support from his brother and the unending grief for his late mother. 

For me, this character was refreshing because he was more than his sexuality. Very easily, Rozanov could’ve fallen into various stereotypes. Too heavy-handed on his experience in comparison with Hollander’s, and it would’ve fallen into “baby’s first brush with homosexuality” uncomfortably fast. Too much about his family or his cultural background, and the story would become much more about Rozanov than the collective “Hollanov.” 

Each of those stories may have been good, even great on their own. But director Jacob Tierney, as well as the show’s writers, did an expert job at portraying each of these aspects of Rozanov’s character as just that — a single feature that drives his motivation. 

Now, instead of being spoon-fed what exactly Rozanov is giving up as their relationship progresses, the audience is able to piece together in real time what “coming out” truly means. It isn’t just about what Major League Hockey (MLH) fans would say, or what his father would do or what being gay as a Russian man would allow. 

With Hollander, the pressure is different, but still present. He is still grappling with his sexuality, and the strait-laced Canadian has an entirely different set of insecurities that match his sky-high expectations of himself. Having lost to Rozanov, the captain of the “Montreal Metros” grapples with how his and Rozanov’s seemingly forbidden relationship fits into his squeaky-clean image. 

The relationship’s progression over nearly a decade — December 2008 to summer 2017 — highlights each character’s personal struggles and successes in a way that is oftentimes raw and raunchy. 

Although not necessarily my style, the ability of the filmmakers to portray two characters exploring sexuality in a way that was entirely unfiltered was refreshing. “Heated Rivalry’s” TV-MA rating meant much of the first half of the six-episode season was focused on Rozanov and Hollander’s largely physical chemistry. 

The inherent intimacy in the scenes also helped build their relationship in a way not many queer couples get in mainstream media. The fact that these characters were openly expressing their sexuality in a way that went beyond kissing, or even a scene of implication that faded to black, was something atypical in my personal experience. 

Sex doesn’t legitimize relationships, a mantra that remains true no matter one’s sexuality — but the allowance of that intimacy to be shown for two queer men was something I hadn’t expected. 

Then, as the season progressed, I remained more impressed with how a variety of queer identity was depicted in the show. 

In Episode Three, we meet Kip Grady (Robbie Graham-Kuntz), our first openly-gay character. We see how his life differs from his eventual partner, New York Admirals hockey player Scott Hunter (Francois Arnaud), and how that does cause doubts on both ends regarding if this relationship is for them. After the first two episodes of the established dynamic between Rozanov and Hollander, the increased conversation and differing dynamic is refreshing. 

From there, the show demonstrates that these pairings are not static either, with each man growing into their relationship. Whether that’s finally starting to have difficult conversations about boundaries for Hunter and Grady, or admitting that a multi-year plan to simply hook-up might have some feelings attached for Rozanov and Hollander, the ability of this show to demonstrate immense, realistic character growth because of how much time has passed is so refreshing. 

Then of course, each character gets a wondrous payoff that makes sense within their own journey. For Hunter and Grady, it’s a grandiose moment on national television, kissing after Hunter has won the Cup. The ripples of that spread to Hollander and Rozanov, who decide at that moment to go to Hollander’s cottage and spend their first real, unadulterated time together beyond their single-night stands. 

It would be so easy for these characters to fall into easy patterns of familiarity, but the quick pace of the show negates that issue entirely. Although part of the fast-moving storytelling came from lingering uncertainties about renewing for a second season, “Heated Rivalry” uses time skips in a way that demonstrates relationship growth over time.  Tierney captures the wholeness of relationships and how that doesn’t just go away because both participants are men. We see the struggles, of course, both related to sexuality and related to outward struggles. But with that, we also see the good — funny moments, or moments of easy endearment that demonstrate chemistry off the ice and out of the sheets. You also see vulnerability and softness, in complete juxtaposition to the sensual, explicit imagery that is also present in both relationships. 

Frustratingly, finding healthy queer relationships that manage to demonstrate each of those facets — without involving fan works to fill out the canon — is quite a task. 

That was my favorite part of the entire show. Tierney, with much fewer resources than many large-budget productions, was able to depict so many different aspects of love that transcend sexuality. 

The show isn’t just an ogle-fest. It depicts queer men as real people, whose relationships are multifaceted. Real people that act on their desires, and real people that talk through complicated emotions — sometimes even at the same time. Depicting how both are possible, just as they are in straight relationships that are constantly given this treatment without a second-thought, is truly quality representation.

However, I’d be remiss to say that some of the discourse surrounding the show scares me, especially with how the “Heated Rivalry” hype has bled into professional hockey. Especially for women within hockey spaces, there has been a notable shift in how the game is viewed and perceived. Terms like “boy aquarium” and the prevalence of “booktok” hockey romance novels have created a thin line between what is considered acceptable fandom behavior, and what can be considered borderline harassment to professional athletes. The popularity of the show is seeping into other professional hockey leagues, and that is a very slippery slope as far as respect for players is concerned. 

I just hope that the depiction of realness, regardless of sexuality, inspires viewers to put the lessons of these characters into use. Queer individuals are real people, and regardless of their sexuality, they should be treated with the same respect that “Heated Rivalry” provides in the media in real life