Personal thoughts on the Hertl trade

Fandom is a funny thing. You care about people you have never met. You dedicate your entire heart, body and soul to cheering for them. You want them to succeed. To win. And so, when they leave abruptly the way that Tomas Hertl did in the waning minutes of trade deadline day, it can be absolutely soul-crushing.

There were many ways to say goodbye to Tomas Hertl. I’m not sure any of them would do him or his time in San Jose justice. And while I realize there are more important things happening in this world at this very moment — homelessness, war, the massive political divide in the United States — I sat at my desk at noon on March 8 and wondered how in the world I was going to break the news of Hertl’s trade to my 11-year-old son, Thomas.

See, Thomas had initially bonded with Hertl over a shared name, as three-year-old hockey fans are wont to do. As a budding Sharks fan, it seemed as though my son’s growth trajectory paralleled Hertl’s growth in the NHL. My son was born in 2012; Hertl joined the league just a year later. As Thomas experienced the perils of learning to walk, Hertl experienced the perils of scoring goal number four from between his legs. Sometimes, the pen can be mightier than the hockey stick.

As a young elementary student, Thomas received a Hertl jersey for his birthday. It was the perfect sweater for a visit to Washington DC in the winter, where he stood anxiously at the glass at Capital One Arena and watched as Hertl skated during warmups. When Hertl flipped a puck over the glass into my son’s waiting hands, you should have seen the grin on his face. There’s nothing better than a puck from your favorite player when you’re a seven-year-old hockey fan. The overtime hat trick that followed was the icing on the cake.

So, when I picked my son up from school on trade deadline day, I met his eyes with trepidation and, I’ll admit, my eyes might have been a little moist. For nearly 11 years, my son had watched Number 48 skate in a teal jersey. He had watched that infectious grin spread across Hertl’s face. He had jumped for joy and clapped his hands enthusiastically for every Hertl goal. I was not sure how he would take this news.

As we drove home from school, I glanced at him in the review mirror and explained the trade deadline to him, hoping it would soften the blow. Then I told him that Tomas Hertl had been traded.

He took the news in stride.

“What did we get for him?” he asked.

“A couple of first-rounders,” I replied, explaining to him that David Edstrom was very similar to a first-round pick.

“That’s good for the rebuild,” he said.

He’s apparently listened to me a little too much recently.

There was a pause.

I asked him if he was okay.

He was.

“Where did he get traded to?” he asked.

“The Vegas Golden Knights,” I replied.

“Well, that’s a different story,” he said.

I may never be prouder of my son’s hockey acumen than in that moment. Not only for understanding the desperate need for a Sharks rebuild but also for understanding that F*** Vegas must be always.

Thanks, Tomas, for a decade of great hockey. Please don’t be offended if my son decides to choose the Sharks over you in the coming years.