I’m just going to leave this right here. I know hockey is a business, but it still stings. I will miss the end of game hugs after a win😭

I’m just going to leave this right here. I know hockey is a business, but it still stings. I’ll miss the end-of-game hugs after a win. 😭

Some things in life don’t hit you until the silence sets in. Until the locker room is empty. Until the gear is packed. Until the last hug is shared and the doors close behind someone who was more than just a teammate.

I get it — hockey is a business. Trades happen. Contracts expire. Management makes decisions they believe are best for the organization. But no matter how many times it happens, it never stops hurting. That feeling — the one deep in your chest, equal parts pride and heartbreak — it lingers.

This isn’t about stats or salary cap space. This is about people. About the moments between the moments. It’s about the look exchanged at the end of a hard-fought win. The tap on the pads. The headlock at center ice. The way the guys would come together for that hug — not because they had to, but because it meant something.

That hug was more than just a ritual. It was a celebration of brotherhood. It was joy, relief, pride, and solidarity wrapped up in a fleeting moment. It was everything good about the sport, frozen in time — like the ice beneath their skates.

And now, it’s gone. Or at least, it won’t be the same.

Maybe that’s the hardest part. The quiet absence of something that used to be so loud, so alive, so constant.

You watch a team grow together. You watch the rookies find their footing. You see the vets pull the group together when things get tough. You watch personalities emerge, bonds form, friendships deepen. You watch the hugs evolve — from polite pats to full-blown, grinning embraces.

And then it changes. Just like that.

Maybe it was a trade. Maybe a contract wasn’t renewed. Maybe it’s retirement. Whatever the reason, it still feels like a gut punch. You’re not just saying goodbye to a player. You’re saying goodbye to a piece of the soul of the team.

And that soul matters.

Yes, there will be new players. New chemistry. New celebrations. But the people we lose along the way — we carry them with us. We remember the effort they gave, the sacrifices they made, the passion they brought. And those end-of-game hugs? They’ll always live in our minds as more than just gestures. They were snapshots of trust, teamwork, and triumph.

I’ll miss those moments. The way the whole team would skate toward the goalie, arms outstretched, eyes shining. The way they leaned into each other, fully present in that singular moment of joy. No distractions. No business. Just hockey — raw and real.

Sometimes I wonder if fans outside the sport understand it. How deeply we feel these changes. How personal it is. How you can feel like you’ve lost someone even though they’ll keep playing, just not in your jersey.

Because being part of a hockey family — whether as a fan, a teammate, a trainer, or a coach — means feeling everything. The wins, the losses, the milestones, the heartbreaks. And yes, even the end-of-game hugs.

Those hugs were never guaranteed. They were earned. Every blocked shot, every backcheck, every big save — they built up to that moment. It was a group saying, “We did this. Together.” And it never mattered who scored the winner. What mattered was that they stood shoulder to shoulder, acknowledging the fight they’d just been through — as one.

It’s easy to get lost in the business side. The analytics. The rumors. The constant churn of rosters. But the human side — that’s what stays with you. That’s what makes it all worth watching, worth investing in, worth loving even when it hurts.

I don’t know what next season will look like. I don’t know who will step up, or how the dynamic will shift. But I do know this: hockey hearts are resilient. We bend, but we don’t break. We adjust. We grieve. And eventually, we heal.

But it’s okay to admit that it hurts in the meantime.

It’s okay to miss the laughs, the routines, the rituals. It’s okay to feel the sting of goodbye. And it’s okay to look back at those moments — those victorious, sweaty, joy-filled hugs — and wish we had just one more.

Because those hugs weren’t just about the game. They were about the people. And the people — they are what make the game matter.

So I’m just going to leave this right here — for the teammates who’ve moved on, for the friendships that were forged, for the hugs that made it all a little more special.

Thank you for the memories.

I’ll miss you more than I can say.

---

Would you like a version tailored for a specific player, team, or platform like Instagram (with hashtags, line breaks, etc.)?