The tanking is over. Mostly.

San Jose is a city built on the promise of the next big thing, usually delivered via a buggy beta and a predatory subscription model. But at the SAP Center—a building currently surrounded by more empty office space than a mid-level Metaverse startup—the "next big thing" isn't a piece of software. It’s a 18-year-old kid named Macklin Celebrini. And for the first time in a decade, people with options are actually choosing to live in San Jose.

It’s about time. For the last three seasons, watching the Sharks was an exercise in nihilism. It was a hockey team designed to fail, a planned obsolescence campaign meant to strip the roster down to its studs. The reward for that misery was Celebrini, a center with the kind of gravity that warps the market around him.

The tech industry calls it the "founder effect." You get one guy with enough hype, and suddenly the C-suite fills itself.

Look at the receipts. Mike Grier, the Sharks’ GM who’s spent most of his tenure cleaning up the expensive debris of the previous era, just dropped $24 million on Tyler Toffoli. That’s a four-year commitment to a 32-year-old winger who has actually won things. In the old San Jose—the one from twenty-four months ago—Toffoli doesn’t even pick up the phone. Why would he? You don't spend the twilight of a gold-plated career skating into a buzzsaw every Tuesday night just for the tax breaks.

But Toffoli signed. So did Alexander Wennberg. They aren't coming for the weather or the proximity to the Google Plex. They’re coming because Celebrini represents a pivot. He’s the platform. They’re the legacy apps trying to stay relevant by integrating with the new OS.

There’s a specific kind of friction here, though. You don't just sprinkle a superstar teenager onto a roster of league-minimum grinders and expect a Stanley Cup. The "Celebrini Tax" is real. To get these veterans to buy into a rebuild, Grier had to overpay in years and dollars. He’s betting that by the time those contracts become an albatross, the kid will be good enough to carry the dead weight. It’s a high-interest loan against a future that hasn’t happened yet.

The cynicism usually kicks in right about now. We’ve seen this script in Edmonton. We’ve seen it in Buffalo. You get the generational talent, you surround him with "culture guys" on expensive deals, and then you spend five years wondering why you’re still picking fifth overall. But San Jose feels different, mostly because the city is so desperate for a win that isn’t tied to a quarterly earnings report.

Hockey in Northern California has always been an anomaly. It’s a niche product in a market obsessed with scale. When the Sharks are bad, they’re invisible. They’re a Groupon offer you ignore on your way to a Giants game. But when a player like Celebrini shows up, the math changes. Suddenly, the Sharks aren't just a sports team; they’re a luxury brand.

Toffoli’s arrival is the first real signal that the "Silicon Valley of Hockey" isn't just a marketing slogan anymore. It’s an acknowledgment that the basement is fully excavated. The foundation is poured. Now comes the expensive part: building the walls.

The reality of the NHL is that "potential" is a currency that devalues the second the puck drops in October. Celebrini hasn't taken a professional shift yet. He hasn't felt the weight of a 40-goal expectation or the grinding reality of a 10-game losing streak in the middle of a rainy February. He’s still in the pre-launch phase. Everything is polished. The pitch deck looks perfect.

But the veterans are already on board. They’ve seen the internal benchmarks. They’re betting that the kid isn't just a hyped-up prospect, but a genuine market-mover. It’s a gamble that requires ignoring the fact that the Sharks’ defense is still held together by hope and duct tape.

Grier is playing a dangerous game. He’s accelerated the timeline. By bringing in guys like Toffoli and Wennberg, he’s signaled that the era of "graceful losing" is over. If Celebrini stumbles, or if the veterans show their age before the kid finds his legs, that $24 million starts looking like a lot of burned VC cash.

For now, the SAP Center has a pulse again. The ghost offices are still there, and the 101 is still a parking lot, but there’s a new reason to pay the $20 for a stadium beer.

It’s funny how quickly a "long-term vision" turns into a "win-now" panic the moment you find someone actually worth watching. Everyone loves a disruptor until they realize how much it costs to keep them happy.

Will the kid actually turn the lights back on in San Jose, or is he just the most expensive hood ornament on a car that won't start?