NHL

Rangers coach won’t open up after team gets shut down

John Tortorella (NHLI via Getty Images)

The clock in the press room read 11:04 and here came John Tortorella through a side door, followed by public relations chief John Rosasco.

The Last Angry Man was angry, and had every right to be.

This time it wasn’t the annoying, probing New York media that had his eyes resembling black coals, that had the veins in his neck eager to burst through his collared shirt, that had smoke coming out of his ears.

It was his team.

A team that had no right losing 3-2 to the Devils in a Garden that was turned into Hell’s Kitchen by the end.

A team that failed to seize the moment, failed to grab this series by the throat, failed to reduce its magic number for the Stanley Cup to six.

A team haunted not so much by The Curse of 1994 as The Curse of Game 2.

A team that betrayed him for the simple fact that … well, let Henrik Lundqvist tell you:

“They wanted it a little more.”

In Tortorella World, that is simply inexcusable.

This close to the Stanley Cup, and the other team wanted it a little more?

No team of his is allowed to let the other team want the game more.

And so now Tortorella stomped up the steps to sit in his chair, for no one knew for how long, and face the music. With a face frozen in scowl mode.

A longtime hockey man named Stan Fischler opened with: “Coach, it looked you had them, and then it slipped away … what went wrong?”

Now, we all know by now that these press sessions with Torts are compelling theater.

A good first question. Not a question that would send Tortorella sprinting for the exits. Much better than asking him to talk about the line changes he might have in store for Game 3 Saturday in Newark. Much better than asking him what he thought of “All the President’s Men,” what with all the Woodwards and Bernsteins he sees badgering him for privileged information.

“A number of things, Stan,” Tortorella said. “I’ll keep it in the room.”

Question No. 2 from one of the beat reporters: “John, can you just talk about the decision to sit [Marian] Gaborik.” See, John had sat Gaborik for a long stretch in the third period, when David Clarkson’s redirect tip-in of Adam Henrique’s wrist shot won it.

A question that needed to be asked, of course, but a hopeless cause.

“No,” Tortorella said. “No.”

By now, he would probably have preferred grabbing a beer with the Post’s Larry Brooks than sticking around for the next question.

And speaking of Brooks, he was next up.

“Did you feel this was the kind of effort you would have needed to win this game?”

A home run question from Brooksie that cut straight to the heart of Tortorella’s ire.

“No,” Tortorella barked.

Not good enough for Brooks. If his Rangers would have skated with the doggedness Brooks showed now, Tortorella might have been in a much better mood.

The follow-up: “Are you disappointed in this showing, after you had an effort in Washington … ?

“I answered your first question no,” Tortorella said.

A voice in the back was next.

“Do you need to see more from certain guys who didn’t play as much as they normally do? … just not enough effort, results, everything?”

Harmless enough. Not a question that would end a Tortorella press conference.

“You need to improve as a hockey team every game,” Tortorella said.

Of course you do. And you bet it irked him that the Rangers essentially went through the motions. Didn’t play with the kind of intensity and desperation required to beat back a team with as much pride and fight as the Devils. The Devils tore down that Great Wall of Broadway the Rangers had built around Lundqvist. They all but forechecked the Rangers all the way to the Hudson. “They were really good around the boards and that’s where they set the tone for the whole game,” Lundqvist said.

Question No. 6, from Fischler: “What areas would you like to see better?”

Fischler would have as good a chance of getting Tortorella to let him sit on the bench during Game 3 and offer advice on playing time than he did of getting a soliloquy here.

“I’m gonna keep it in the room, Stan,” Tortorella said.

Silence. And all it takes, mind you, is a second or two without a question. Tortorella’s golden opportunity to end his personal hostage crisis had arrived. The Last Angry Man sprung out of his chair, bolted through the side door, on his way back to the room. A room that will be quite uncomfortable for those who dress there. The clock read 11:05.

steve.serby@nypost.com