Tonight, everything is on the line.

After tonight, the next time you walk into Staples Center, the line will be crossed.

The San Jose Sharks are here and with them they bring our clinching of a playoff spot. Tonight defines writing your own ticket. With a single point we can ensure that our slate is as clean as any, that our path to the Cup is no longer, no shorter than any other. With two points, we can swap out Sharks’ eyes for Deers, headlights blaring from the front of our roaring engine. The Sharks have spent many years lording over the Pacific, gaze cast down snouts of hella snobbery. How will they react with their backs against the wall? Their fins strung up above a deck below where there is no water, no air, only the plates of those who wish to devour them. If the Sharks most consistent trait has been an inability to turn up the heat when frost threatens to encase them for an offseason, I have little doubt that their regular season reaction to looming asphyxiation will be any different.

Is this their year? Is their time now? No, it is ours. The fucking billboards told me so.

Of course, our collective fates could be half written by the the failure of another. Should the Dallas Stars lose their game tonight in any way, dropping but a single point, there is no scenario by which the Kings miss the playoffs and if they drop two, there is only one scenario by which the Sharks miss the playoffs, and that has to do with Colorado and I don’t really give a shit about Colorado. All passing details, not to be considered by any King nor fan. Our game is the one that matters. The only one. The last thing I want to see is a team who thinks life is just a little bit easier because another team achieved their goal for them. I want to see a team that is ready for the brutal grind to come. A team that looks neither left nor right, but straight ahead into the eyes of the opponent and burns a fucking hole through the back of their skulls.

I’m pumped.

Are you pumped?

I’m bringing a Sharks fan to the game. He’s a good friend. I might punch him.

How Good will tomorrow’s Friday be? I’m going with damn good, because I’m a believer and it has nothing to do with Christ.

A side note, if you are wondering why these open forums have been relative ghost towns the last few games, it’s partially because I’ve joined the tweet twat twitter force. I’ll be canary calling my particular brand of psychopathy throughout the game, which you can follow @surlierthanthou. Join the insanity.

If you are the type that cares to think about all the mathematical scenarios that will decide the make-up of the Western Conference’s final three playoff spots, then check out this article by Shark’s blog Fear the Fin, which does a good job breaking it all down.

You won’t get those breakdowns here.

You’ll just get broken bones.

The time is now.

Time for the ruckus.