Most of the players in the room had been there, and everyone started joking and congratulating themselves.
After a moment, Gasser raised his hand. “All right. I’m on a tight schedule, so I’ll be blunt.” He paused as the air in the room thickened. “You are here because the Hockey Federation of North America is close to collapse. Total shutdown.”
His words made the room go silent. Chairs creaked, and someone swore under their breath. Beside me, Packy sat up straight, his smug look gone.
“Attendance and revenue have been trending downward for years,” Gasser said. “But last month, Continental Sports Network triggered the early-termination clause in our broadcast agreement.”
“Jesus,” Fox Painter from Montreal said. “The whole thing?”
“They’re threatening to walk away mid-season. On March first, less than four weeks from now.”
Gasps and incredulous curses filled the room. CSN was the national TV deal in the US, the thing that kept half the league’s teams afloat. Without it, we’d be fucked.
“Their board claims we’re underperforming across every key metric.” Gasser’s jaw worked before he went on. “Ratings, social engagement, and brand recognition among younger viewers. They used the phrase ‘cultural irrelevance.’”
“Well, that’s not insulting at all,” someone said.
“If CSN pulls out,” Gasser said, “six teams go bankrupt within thirty days. Several more within sixty, and even more by the time the playoffs are over. With too few teams to schedule a season, the league folds. That’s the reality.”
My stomach twisted. The Condors were based in New York City, so we’d probably survive financially. Still, without many teams to compete against, we’d be done. No league meant no contract, no paycheck, and no career.
Hockey was everything to me. It was the only thing I was ever good at, the only place I belonged. After my parents died, theCondors became my family. My teammates were like brothers, and I couldn’t handle losing them.
Eddie Spivak from Seattle leaned forward. “So we’re already fucked?”
“Not yet.” Gasser’s smile was thin. “We’ve negotiated an eight-week extension on the condition that we execute an aggressive engagement initiative. CSN wants what they call ‘high-profile human faces of the league’ in front of cameras and fans. Immediately.”
“They want us to have personalities,” Fox said. “I thought that was against the rules.”
A few people laughed because Fox had a point. Most of us had been taught since junior hockey to give boring interviews so we didn’t say anything controversial.
“They wantauthentic connection,” Gasser corrected. “Stories, personalities, viral moments, fan outreach, community events… You name it. Proof that this league still matters to people outside the arenas.”
“In other words, they want sensitive, modern-day athletes,” Fox said. “No more acting like we don’t live in the real world.”
Gasser nodded. “Exactly. Less old-school, tough-guy posturing, and more openness. Less toxic masculinity, more of the men you are off the ice. CSN says that’s what fans respond to, and it’s what sponsors want. I see their point.”
As an openly gay man playing in a league that had spent decades pretending people like me didn’t exist, I couldn’t argue with the principle. Although gay and bi players were pretty common now, I’d seen enough toxic bullshit to last a hundred lifetimes. And hell, if being visibly queer could save the league, I’d have to help.
Packy glanced at me, then looked away.
“We’ve had outreach initiatives before,” Gasser went on, “but they’ve been small compared to what we have to do now.”
“Can’t we wait until after the season?” someone called out.
Gasser shook his head. “We can’t even wait another week.”
“What does that mean for us?” Eddie asked. “We’ve already got jobs.”
“It means you’re about to start moonlighting.”
Great. Thinking about being in front of cameras and fans made me tired. As the Condors’ captain, I could handle people when I needed to, but it always wore me out. The idea of forced PR made my skin crawl.
“You are now HFNA Outreach Ambassadors,” Gasser said. “We’ve paired you into five duos, and together you’ll make appearances, do live webcasts, and take part in community events. Whatever it takes. The goal is much more important than any you’ll be scoring on the ice. Saving the league requires expanding the fan base, increasing engagement, and repairing our public image.”
Players groaned, but the suits on the other side of the table sat up straighter. Their fake smiles looked forced.
“This is going to be a nightmare,” Blake whispered. “I can’t stand cameras.”
