Verdict: Hockey world one big family

As Patrick Sharp circled the rink after his final game at the United Center, fellow Blackhawks who choreographed this grand farewell stood by their bench, tapping sticks on the ice, joining a season-high crowd of 22,218 in saluting a true professional.
Yet, look here, only a few feet away, there were the St. Louis Blues, who had registered a 4-1 victory, but faced a plane flight to Denver for a crucial season finale the very next night.

The Blues, visceral rivals, don't like the Blackhawks and the feeling is mutual. With their Stanley Cup playoff eligibility hanging on that assignment against the Colorado Avalanche, the Blues surely could have hurried toward the locker room. Instead, they too showed Sharp respect by their mere presence. There is a time and place for mind over madder.
"The hockey world," noted Brent Seabrook, "is a big family."
Connection is an inherent jewel of hockey's pedigree, perhaps because this is the ultimate team sport. That dynamic was evident throughout a few bittersweet hours on a Friday night. Prior to puck drop, Hall of Famer Stan Mikita was honored with a classy "One More Shift" ceremony that featured three of his grandchildren-Charlie, 15; Billy, 13; and Tommy, 11-sons of Scott Gneiser and Jane Mikita Gneiser. The kids
skated out of the west chute as if their pants were on fire
, all wearing No. 21, a number the Blackhawks retired in 1980.
Stan played his entire career with this franchise, he remains its all-time scoring leader, and although few in the building ever saw him do his magic, there was a deafening roar as the youngsters lined up for the National Anthem. Stan's wife Jill watched from above, only wishing that her soulmate could be there. But the real No. 21 is in a long-term care facility and, in the words of Jane, "from the neck up, completely gone."
Stan Mikita was there when his statue went up in 2011, along with Bobby Hull's, beside the United Center. But Stan was absent as the Blackhawks thanked him one more time. If only he were there to see his grandsons and Sharp. If only Stan knew. And if only the evening were not so otherwise terribly grim.
Alas, the family of hockey had been shattered to the core late that afternoon as news of a horrific tragedy came forth: the Humboldt Broncos, a junior team, had been involved in a crash en route to a game in Saskatchewan. There were 16 casualties, including 10 players aged 16 to 21. A tractor-trailer T-boned their bus, utterly demolishing it. The entire nation of Canada went into mourning, but our friends to the north were not alone.
The National Hockey League responded as you knew it would, but the Blackhawks and mighty Winnipeg Jets went an extra lap. Before their season finale at Bell MTS Place, players from both sides formed a circle of silence, all wearing their customary sweaters, but minus their names across the back. Instead, above the numbers, it was "BRONCOS." No. 88 for the Blackhawks was still Patrick Kane. But it was "BRONCOS 88."
"I don't know who came up with that," praised Seabrook, not needing to complete his thought. It was a caring touch, as was a gesture later in the contest. Sharp, "BRONCOS 10", figured he'd seen the ultimate video tribute 24 hours earlier in Chicago. Except now the Jets showed one too, accompanied by another ovation. Sharp was born in Winnipeg, but he doesn't live there anymore and hasn't for years. No matter. That's hockey. Always has been, always will be.
When Sharp joined the Blackhawks in 2005, who knew that it would evolve into one of the greatest trades in the history of Chicago sports? The Tribune dutifully chronicled the transaction. The sports section also had a department for Cheers and Jeers. Sharp appeared in the latter: "10 goals in 66 career games with the Philadelphia Flyers. Currently, there are no plans to retire his number." Indeed, who knew?
Back then, when the newspaper assigned a reporter to watch the Blackhawks so you didn't have to, Sharp and Duncan Keith would wear their jerseys to a train station while handing out free tickets to games. Sharp recalled that people looked at them in puzzlement: "Leave us alone…go away."
But on that Friday night at United Center, Sharp left fans with so many memories. He was a staple on three Stanley Cup champions, a leader and mentor in the locker room, a serial prankster who kept things loose, and among the most popular Blackhawks ever. Forget the pretty face. He was tough to play against and committed to the cause. He adopted Chicago as a second home, logging myriad shifts in street shoes. He and his family became part of the community. That's hockey. Always has been, always will be.
Mikita, a superstar, took rookies aside and informed them politely, yet firmly. Your job's obligation takes you beyond the boards. Visit hospitals. Go to nursing homes. Strongly consider random acts of kindness. Mikita was a prime mover in the American Hearing Impaired Hockey Association and a tireless supporter of Special Olympics. He was always there, not for a photo op or an appearance fee. It was as though Mikita passed the baton to men like Sharp. The hockey baton.
Mikita won a Stanley Cup with the Blackhawks in 1961. Their goalie was Glenn Hall, a Hall of Famer born in Humboldt, Saskatchewan. There's a main street there, Glenn Hall Drive, and it is now covered in flowers of bereavement and Broncos jerseys honoring the team, or what's left of it. All these boys of winter had dyed their hair blonde for the playoff push, and shock over the calamitous crash was compounded when two of the Broncos were misidentified. They all looked somewhat alike, and the local coroner mistook the body of Parker Tobin for that of Xavier Labelle, who in fact survived.
One of the Broncos who didn't make it was Adam Herold, 16, the team's newest and youngest member. He briefly played defense with the Prince Albert Raiders of the Western Hockey League before heading off to Humboldt, population about 6,000, all invested in the Broncos. Dave Manson, a spirited defenseman, the Blackhawks' No. 1 draft choice in 1985, was Herold's associate coach with the Raiders.
"He had his whole life in front of him," said Manson on the phone from home. Dave is the father of four, one of whom, Josh, patrols the blue line for the Anaheim Ducks. "What a great kid, Adam was. He looked you in the eye and shook your hand. Character. Poise. I feel like I lost one of my own."
Just a child, gone too soon. But the world of hockey is a big family and in this time of absolute grief, at least everybody within the sport will never get over this together.