One Heart, One Team

On the 27th floor of a Manhattan skyscraper, a giant reflective carving of the National Hockey League logo greets visitors to the lobby of the league’s U.S. headquarters. Framed photos of important people and moments in hockey history—members of the Philadelphia Flyers celebrating their 1974 Stanley Cup win, Hall of Famers Wayne Gretzky and Gordie Howe, a lavish ceremony marking the league’s centennial in 2017—line the hallway that leads deeper into the office.

Across the room, floor-to-ceiling windows adorned with mini-pennants for the Toronto Maple Leafs, Florida Panthers, Winnipeg Jets, Carolina Hurricanes, Edmonton Oilers, Washington Capitals, and Vegas Golden Knights—at the time, the last remaining teams vying to be 2025 Stanley Cup champions—offer sweeping views of the New York City skyline. A few steps away, a receptionist answers the phone with a cheery, “Afternoon, National Hockey League.”

Just stepping into the lobby and being surrounded by NHL history would be any hockey fan’s dream. For Nora Cothren ’12, it’s a dream come true.

Cothren has worked at the NHL since 2022 and currently serves as its manager of content, audience development, and social impact—a role she not only treasures but embodies. She and her colleagues are charged with continually proving that “Hockey Is for Everyone,” a phrase that’s both a mantra in the NHL’s front office and the name of an initiative the league launched nearly two decades ago.

“Basically, our job is to identify storylines within hockey that will be compelling to our fan base but also help promote the visibility of underrepresented populations within the game,” Cothren explains.

Through interviews, videos, and other forms of content, Cothren tells the stories of people traditionally left out of hockey and audiences not typically seen as core NHL markets, reinforcing that they do belong in the game. One of her favorite examples came a few years ago when Blake Bolden—the first Black player in the National Women’s Hockey League and the first woman of color to scout in the NHL—worked with nonprofits to bring together kids of color from Los Angeles, Detroit, and Ohio for a weekend of skating, friendship, and fun.

“We’re able to bring visibility to the nonprofits, yes, but seeing a lot of kids of color—primarily Black kids—on the ice, having a blast just playing hockey like everybody else, is really powerful for folks who don’t always see themselves in the sport,” Cothren says. “We love telling these stories, showing people that this is hockey.”

Cothren also oversees the Willie O’Ree Community Hero Award. Given annually to two individuals—one in the United States and one in Canada—the award honors those who have made a difference in their communities or had a positive impact on society through hockey. Cothren manages the nominations, narrows the field, and crafts stories around each finalist. The NHL also strives to maintain relationships with the finalists, supporting their organizations through ongoing content production and financial donations.

“It’s always a whirlwind during award season, getting to see and hear about so many people doing incredible work,” she says. “A lot of the finalists are working in adaptive hockey or working to grow hockey among girls and women or the queer population. They’re doing this because they care. They want the game to grow, and they want to have an impact.”

It’s a goal that mirrors Cothren’s own work—something her peers are quick to celebrate. “Nora’s been profoundly impactful for the LGBTQ+ hockey community,” says Joey Gale, executive director and co-founder of the Seattle Pride Hockey Association, one of Cothren’s many partners in the nonprofit hockey world. “She’s found a way to connect so many different types of organizations, people, and causes together under the umbrella of hockey, which isn’t easy to do. She’s so well loved, such a great communicator and positive force. She’s making hockey better every single day through the work she does and the storytelling she produces.”

The more Cothren and her peers share about her passion for hockey and her journey to the NHL, the more it seems as if the hockey gods touched down and created a role just for her.

“It’s really weird to think about,” Cothren says, “but it brings me joy to be able to be who I needed when I was younger, to do the work that was needed when I was younger—to try to make living in this world a little easier.”

For most kids who eat, sleep, and breathe hockey, their introduction to the sport usually comes in the form of youth leagues, hauling equipment bags bigger than themselves through ice rinks, and absurdly early mornings stumbling across fresh ice on wobbly skates.

Cothren’s introduction came in a different form: trading cards.

“I had a few friends in elementary school who were trading hockey cards, so I started doing that with them,” she recalls, “but I didn’t really know anything about hockey; all I cared about was whether the cards were sparkling, shiny, or had lots of colors. But then I started realizing my friends were taking all my best cards.”

That elementary school injustice sparked Cothren’s curiosity about hockey. She grew to love the game, but her parents weren’t thrilled about her playing a sport known for fights, missing teeth, and hits that draw blood.

For years, Cothren played other sports while participating in anything hockey-related she could find, and she and her family regularly attended Philadelphia Flyers games so she could cheer on her hometown team. (“But, of course, we love all our teams equally here at the NHL,” she says with a grin.)

When her parents finally gave her the OK to start playing hockey before high school, Cothren took to the ice as a center, a versatile position that contributes to both offense and defense. The game had an immediate impact on her life. “I was in my element,” she says. “I didn’t have to think about homework; I didn’t have to think about friends or family issues. I just played hockey.”

While Cothren grew more confident on the ice, her identity off it remained uncertain as she came to terms with her sexuality. Though she had come out to her family and a few friends and been met with love and support, she carefully crafted a different version of herself for her teammates. She leaned hard into a “crush” on actor Channing Tatum and played up her perceived straightness—all while navigating typical locker room talk rooted in homophobia.

“[My teammates] would talk about the stereotype of the lesbian female athlete and how they hated that,” Cothren recalls. “I was worried that if they knew I was gay, they’d hate me, take away my captaincy, or wouldn’t want to be my friend. All I could think about was how [coming out] could ruin my life. It got to the point where I wondered if it was even worth it if I couldn’t play hockey.”

After working through her fears in therapy, Cothren decided to start coming out to her club hockey teammates at the end of her final season.

“My two linemates were my closest friends on the team, and I told one of them while I was on a choir trip to Italy—quite literally as far away as I could go,” Cothren says.

Her friend’s response?

“Oh, my dad is gay too. So, how’s Italy?” She got an even bigger surprise telling the second friend in the middle of a hockey game. Her only comment was, “But … Channing Tatum?!”

Being embraced by her teammates left Cothren relieved but also frustrated that the sport she loved had caused so much anxiety and fear. “It made me wonder why we don’t talk about this,” she recalls. “At that point, homophobic slurs were just language in locker room culture. No one ever said anything directly to me, but when something is said in a room that impacts a part of yourself, it feels like it’s being said about you.”

The goal of Cothren and her colleagues at the NHL may look simple on paper, but it’s pivotal in addressing the same locker room culture that once terrified her—minimizing the chance that young, queer hockey players will face what she did.

“We want to help people find their home in hockey,” she says.

When it came time for Cothren to research colleges, she had a few criteria: She wanted to play hockey at the club or Division III level, and she absolutely didn’t want to attend her mother’s alma mater: Smith. After a visit to a nearby college left Cothren disappointed, her mother, Susan Lowry ’73, encouraged her to give Smith a chance.

“It was just the vibe,” Cothren says of what unexpectedly drew her to the college. When a member of the club hockey team mentioned her girlfriend in passing, everything clicked into place. “That’s when I knew I’d have a community that would embrace me for me,” she recalls. “I knew I could be myself here.”

She was right. Cothren flourished at Smith, immersing herself in Morrow House activities, joining the a cappella group The Vibes, and, of course, playing hockey. One of her proudest achievements is the phrase “One Heart, One Team,” which she coined as a member of Smith’s club hockey team. It’s still used today, at the end of practices and during games.

“She made everyone feel included and excited about hockey, even if they were new to the sport,” says former teammate and long-time friend Jess Kaplan ’12. “She elevated everyone to be the best player they could be. To me, Smith hockey is synonymous with Nora and the hockey family she created.”

Seeing Cothren come into her own at Smith is a memory Katie Clark ’10 holds close. As one of Morrow’s heads of new students and Cothren’s big sib, Clark was a part of Cothren’s college experience from Day One. Over the years, they developed a sisterly bond that now spans nearly two decades.

“There was always a beauty to Nora right from the get-go, a goofiness and a passion for the things she really cared about,” Clark recalls. “That just grew and grew so much that by the time she graduated, it was like night and day. I think Smith was a beautiful place for that to happen.”

Cothren carried that drive into post-graduation life. She returned to her home state of Pennsylvania with a degree in education and child study and got involved with two nonprofits: Ed Snider Youth Hockey and Education, which creates opportunities for under-resourced youth through academic support and hockey, and the now-defunct Generation Out Athletes, which provided support and resources for LGBTQ+ student-athletes.

At Snider, Cothren worked with students as an academic assistant and later as an academic support services coordinator—all while also serving as their hockey coach. She spent her free time doing queer sports advocacy and sharing her story in schools through Generation Out. Her career was moving forward, but returning to Pennsylvania had her personal life moving backward.

“Going from the optimal experience at Smith back to suburban Philly, I sort of reverted into that closeted kid again,” she says. “I got worried. Is a parent going to want their kid to participate [at Snider] if they find out that a lesbian is coaching them? I didn’t want to get in the way of kids participating.”

Cothren continued her advocacy work but started concealing details of her personal life during her day job: Her then-partner became her “roommate,” and her engagement ring was just a “nice piece of jewelry.” She retreated into old fears until realizing it wasn’t her students’ parents’ opinions she needed to consider but those of the queer kids at Snider.

That realization led her to post an open letter on Outsports, the leading source for LGBTQ+ sports news, in which she came out again—this time for good. “I was terrified, but I tried to focus on the kids. There was one in particular who reminded me so much of little me, and—while I don’t like referring to myself as a role model—had I not been out and open about myself, I wouldn’t have been able to be a role model for her. Being able to watch her be herself and just flourish as a human was worth every piece of anxiety I felt leading up to posting that article.”

When Cothren eventually accepted a new job, she kept her volunteer coaching position at Snider and was named co-chair of the Northeast regional board of You Can Play. Created in 2012 in memory of Brendan Burke, a college hockey player who came out as gay shortly before dying in a car accident in 2010, You Can Play continues Burke’s dedication to combating homophobia in sports, particularly hockey. Cothren’s involvement with the organization led to a friendship with Burke’s brother, Patrick, who one day sent her a text that suddenly brought her future into focus: There was a job opening in the NHL’s front office, and he thought she would be a perfect fit.

“She had a day job, but the rest of her time was spent either watching sports, volunteering for organizations, or writing articles,” Clark says. “She’d been in that space for so long, and just hearing her talk about the job, I thought, ‘Who’s better for this than Nora?’”

The NHL agreed: After a series of interviews, Cothren got a call offering her the position of manager of social impact. “It was nuts,” she says. “My whole body was shaking; it was a full out-of-body experience. Truly, 12-year-old Nora—or even Smith Nora—would never have imagined this being a possibility.”

Cothren had her work cut out for her. About a year after she started, the NHL’s relationship with the queer community hit a snag: A handful of players chose not to wear their teams’ specialty Pride Month jerseys during warmups for religious or other reasons, prompting the league to ban themed warmup jerseys altogether. (Past warmup jerseys had included designs for Black History Month, Hockey Fights Cancer, and Military Appreciation Night.) The ban also extended to Pride Tape, the rainbow-colored tape some players wrap around their sticks to show support for LGBTQ+ inclusion. Opposition was loud, and the Pride Tape ban was soon rescinded. Specialty jerseys are now available for purchase, and players can model them on social media—but the jerseys still can’t be worn on the ice, and some trepidation around the league remains.

“The NHL was one of the first leagues to partner with queer sports organizations like You Can Play,” Cothren says. “A lot of trust had been built up over the years, and obviously now that needed to be rebuilt, rejuvenated.”

For Cothren and her team, the solution came quickly: They would celebrate the queer community with a Pride Cup ball hockey game. A riff on the Stanley Cup, the NHL’s championship series, the Pride Cup gave queer athletes from the nonprofit Toronto Gay Hockey Association a chance to compete in ball hockey—an off-ice version of hockey played in sneakers instead of skates, with a ball instead of a puck. The game was part of the Fan Fair in Toronto, a four-day festival celebrating all things hockey ahead of the 2024 All-Star Game, which brings the league’s biggest stars together for an annual midseason match.

“The last thing we wanted to do was some-thing that was seen as a hollow gesture,” Cothren says. “We wanted to make this intentional, authentic, and impactful.” The NHL partnered with Pride Tape and multinational Canadian banking company Scotiabank to produce the event, carefully planning every detail—including ensuring that every stick was wrapped in Pride Tape. NHL Commissioner Gary Bettman attended and presented a check to the Toronto Gay Hockey Association at the game’s conclusion.

The Pride Cup proved so successful that participation in the Toronto Gay Hockey Association increased by 20% the following season. The event’s second iteration took place earlier this year, in partnership with New England’s first LGBTQ+ hockey club, Boston Pride Hockey, ahead of the 4 Nations Face-Off, a tournament featuring NHL players from the United States, Canada, Finland, and Sweden.

“It was a community gathering of people who love hockey—some of whom were queer, some who weren’t—in the middle of Fan Fest, on one of the busiest days of the weekend,” Cothren says. “We wanted to show a reinvigoration of this relationship while knowing that just one thing doesn’t fix everything. It’s a slow rebuilding of trust. But if you’re consistently intentional about your decisions, support, and focus on impact, you’ll start to rebuild that trust, and this was a big part of that.”

Cothren’s commitment to intentionality and impact hasn’t gone unnoticed. Last year, she was named to the Outsports Power 100 list, which highlights the most influential LGBTQ+ people in sports, including athletes, coaches, commentators, and managers. “Cothren’s voice in 2024 is, after all these years, that of a powerful, humble champion for her community,” the site wrote.

“She’s a tremendous advocate,” says Kevin Corsino, board member and communications and public relations chair of Boston Pride Hockey. “She’s always the first person to offer support, to help get an idea off the ground because she knows how many people will be positively affected. Her work is so intertwined with her own personal selflessness and desire to help and support. It’s never about checking a box for her, and it never will be.”

Following Cothren through the NHL offices is like watching a kid in a candy store. She’s quick to point out her favorite spots—“The posters from every All-Star Game [since the first one in 1947] are along this hallway” and “This wall’s got replicas of each engraving on the Stanley Cup, typos and all”—and it’s clear that for her, the excitement and novelty of working at the NHL haven’t faded. With each factoid comes an unspoken, awestruck question: How cool is this?

(It’s very, very cool.)

Friends, peers, and mentors unanimously cite Cothren’s humility and heart as her defining traits, and both are on full display as she introduces co-workers, explains their roles, and excitedly describes projects they’re working on. “I know [this article] is about me,” she says, “but it’s also about showing great stuff happening at the NHL. It’s about a queer woman who’s been able to be her authentic self in the hallways of corporate sports and been embraced for it. It’s about how I’ve never done this work alone.”

One of the last stops on the impromptu tour is Cothren’s desk. Like many of her co-workers, she’s decorated it with hockey memorabilia: bobbleheads, accolades, pennants, an All-Star jersey for Danny Brière (whom she idolized growing up as a “fellow traditionally undersized center”), hockey pucks—including one lined with Pride Tape from her friend Justin Rogers, the head athletic trainer for the Seattle Kraken and the first openly gay staffer on an NHL team—and a small childhood photo of herself.

“If I ever need a reminder of why I do what I do, it’s her,” Cothren says. “There are kids like her who need to be able to see themselves in hockey and know that the NHL wants them as part of the game. Those of us who work in this space will never hear from a lot of those kids, but it’s reminding yourself that they’re out there. They’re out there, and we have to keep going.”