I just looked into my crystal 8 ball and here's the bad news:
Things will start off well enough, with JT Brown scoring twice because Jonathan Quick feels bad for him. We'll actually go up 4-0 by the end of the first. But then the back-patting situation in the locker room will get out of hand and wind up with a freak Joffrey Lupul injury (?), which will then lead the Leafs to sue us for compensation and midway through the second we'll be required to send them Steven Stamkos. Our team begins to fight amongst themselves because none of them want to wear the C--they're all convinced that there's a Captain's Curse and it signifies the beginning of the end of your time in TB. They finally decide on Brett Connolly. Meanwhile, LA has tied up the game. No sweat right, because hey, TKO to the rescue. But then, in the third, just when TKO has skated loops around LA in the neutral zone and is now in on a 3-0 on Quick (who doesn't seem to care), the lights go out. The LA crowd makes spooky LA crowd sounds. When the lights come back on all 5 of our players are lying unconscious on the ice. There's only one LA King out there: It's Mike Richards. And Mike Richards has the puck, and he's skating his heart out toward Ben Bishop. It takes him most of the period to get to the blue line. That's where he stops (Chief is sure the play was offside). Time is ticking down. He slugs a shot of Jack Daniels, winks at the cute blond in 3J, and fires a howitzer slapshot toward Bishop. And Bishop is distracted by someone with a Russian accent screaming what sounds an awful lot like "You suck and I want your job!" and he whiffs on the glove save and injures both shoulders and a hamstring. At this very moment Joffrey Lupul suffers a pulled groin, Toronto blames us, and we're required to send them Brett Connolly. We lose 5-4. Mike Richards 1st Star. No one's sure if Darryl Sutter is happy or disgusted by his team's performance.