It was after the Yale game. After opening the season with a 15-0 mark, the Harvard men's hockey team had fallen, 4-2, to end the best start in Harvard history.

The locker room was silent. The players hadn't undressed and they were slumped on benches.

I stood inside the front door. Just stood. I had to do a few interviews, then write a story. But no one looked eager to talk. I started toward one player, then stopped. Started toward another, then stopped again.

I looked around the locker room one more time. Still the grim faces and the slumped figures. Still the silence.

I saw Peter Chiarelli, the Harvard captain, in the corner. He would talk. Even after a loss. I took a step toward him and kicked over a hockey stick.

Smack. Everyone looked up.

There's no place as happy as a winning locker room. There's no place as bleak as a losing one.

After a win--especially a big one--players are eager to recall their exploits on the field or on the ice. After a loss--especially a big one--some players prefer to mumble, or not to respond at all.

Others respond reluctantly. Some--the rare ones, the reporters' friends--talk at length despite the outcome. In the event of a loss, they're the ones you go to first.

The Crimson has gone 28-4 over the past five months. But there are times when I've had to venture into the dark place of defeat.

A story is no good without the comments of the coaches and players--on both side of the win/loss column. After I kicked over the stick at Yale, I finally made my way over to Chiarelli.

Disappointed

He was disappointed. But it was only a loss. The team had won many times before, he said, and would win many times after.

That was a good enough answer for me. I slipped out--sure to avoid any hockey sticks along the way.

Things had not always been so easy. After Harvard's 4-2 loss to Clarkson in the ECAC semifinal game last season, I had to do interviews in the Harvard locker room. I wanted to talk to Scott Fusco, the captain.