Game Eighty-One Wrapup: Los Angeles Kings 4, San Jose Sharks 2

There are certain activities one is best advised to avoid: tugging on Superman's cape, spitting into the wind, pulling the mask off the Lone Ranger... or mailing it in against an NHL team. Any NHL team.

Guess what the Sharks did last night.

It's more than a little embarrassing when the only two players in uniform who give any indication at all they want to be there are the goaltender and a kid playing in his first ever regular season NHL contest. Yet this was precisely the case in this game. Shift after shift after dreary shift on both sides of the blueline were content to tiptoe through the tulips, putting out minimum effort and reaping the just rewards for same. Things improved briefly in the third period, but it wasn't even close to being sufficient as far as overcoming the previous forty minutes being spent catching forty winks. Way to blow off any chance Evgeni Nabokov had at tying the record for most wins by a goalie in a season, gang.

Yes, the game was meaningless to Los Tiburones, since Detroit's win earlier in the day guaranteed them the league's best record and home ice throughout the post-season. However, isn't there something known as professional pride? No one except for Nabokov and Tom Cavanagh can take any pride in how they performed in this game. Forget all the talk about how a loss is beneficial going into the playoffs because the team needs to be reminded what it's like to lose. This game wasn't a reminder of that. It was a reminder of what it's like to not care. If you go into the playoffs with that mindset, don't even bother showing up.