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.

At first, he wouldn't talk to me. Then, after some prodding by the sports information director, he consented. He sat in a corner of the locker room with a bag of ice on his shoulder. I could barely hear him when he answered my questions. And I didn't feel like asking him to speak up.

I tried to interview Allen Bourbeau after the same game. "Got a minute, Allen?" I said. "I don't think so," he responded.

The Harvard locker room is usually a pleasant place. Not so the opposing locker room. After Harvard knocked off RPI, 4-1, in Troy, N.Y., I went to interview Engineer Coach Mike Addesa. I walked down a corridor toward the locker room. I was soon stopped by a heavy-set kid about 16 years old.

"Are you from Harvard?" he asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Well, you better not go down there--unless you want your face kicked in. I'm not trying to be mean. That's just the way it is."

"Oh."

He pointed to the lobby at the other end of the corridor. "Coach Addesa will meet you down there," he said. Needless to say, I waited in the lobby.

Quotable

My favorite response came from Colgate Coach Terry Slater. His team had just fallen, 8-3, to the Crimson. I ran down to the locker room. He spotted me with my notebook.

"Harvard's the best team I've ever seen," he said and walked straight down the hallway and out of the arena.