Friday, May 4, 2001, was the last day before our final reading period as undergraduates. It was also the final practice of the Kirkland House intramural crew season. I was rowing in the bow seat of Kirkland's second B-League men's boat.

That week, you'll recall, was oppressively humid, and I decided it would be good to cool off after practice. Well, the decision was a lot easier to make when Damon Rainie, my old roommate, suggested that I jump over the Currier women who were getting ready to launch their shell into the Charles River. So I stripped off my clothes (except for the bathing suit) and sprinted down the boathouse, safely clearing the bow of the Currier boat on my way into the effluvium we have all come to love after four years in Cambridge.

I made the mistake of opening my eyes under the water, which appeared to be some kind of reddish-yellow, but nothing serious happened. I didn't swallow until I had climbed onto the dock, when I let out a "Two-B" yell that, I like to think, frightened the Currier women just as much as seeing a short skinny guy flying over their boat moments earlier.

Apparently, I didn't suffer from septic shock and intoxicate the entire boat. On May 7 we won the B-League repechage, opening water on Pforzheimer halfway through the race and holding on to finish half a boat-length ahead of PfoHo. It was a smooth, intense race, and I'm positive my jump into the Charles inspired my teammates.

We advanced to the final heat on May 9, but we weren't as successful. Damon was promoted to Kirkland's first B-League boat, which left us in need of a stroke seat. We found a replacement and rowed the race, but we finished dead last. PfoHo avenged our victory in the consolation heat, placing way ahead of us.

Losing was disappointing, and even slightly humiliating. But I'm not ashamed. I rowed this spring because, after four years of going to varsity games as a reporter and public-address announcer, I had to see what it was like to be an athlete. Sure, practice wasn't every day, but there were plenty of memories. Jumping into the Charles River was a little disgusting, but there were a few other moments that aren't suitable for publication. And we may have lost the final heat, but I'll always remember the repechage.

I hope this is how all the graduating athletes feel about their Harvard sports careers. There are so many great things about sports that reporters ignore -- the friendships, the long hours of practice and team meetings, the road trips. I'm glad I finally experienced those things in intramural crew this spring, because I was never able to incorporate them into my stories.

Competitive sports can be amazing entertainment, and it can also be amazingly frustrating. Playing to win brings out the best in athletes, but it also means that all of those athletes, at some point, are going to lose. Roger Angell of The New Yorker believes that baseball is the best sport because, as in life itself, there is more failure than success. After all, even the best hitters in the Major Leagues only reach base three out of 10 at-bats. There is more Met than Yankee in all of us, as Angell says. That statement, so true after last fall's World Series, could be my dying words if Mike Volonnino, my old editor, reads this column.

It's ironic that Zevi Metal is the one writing about losing, since I covered the 1998-99 women's hockey team, the last Harvard team to win a major national championship. That was an unforgettable season, when the top line of A.J. Mleczko, Tammy Shewchuk and Jennifer Botterill combined for more than 300 points and the Crimson defeated New Hampshire in overtime of the title game at Mariucci Arena in Minneapolis.

But I won't forget this past season either. Botterill and Shewcuk have become even better scorers -- they were two of the three finalists for the Patty Kazmaier Award as player of the year, which Botterill won -- and the other players I have watched for four years improved as well. The Crimson reached the first-ever women's NCAA Frozen Four, once again at Mariucci Arena. Harvard gave eventual champion Minnesota-Duluth a run for its money in the semifinal, staying even with the Bulldogs for the first 40 minutes. The third period, which saw a combined seven goals scored, was the most exciting 20 minutes of women's hockey I have seen, but the Bulldogs pulled away for a final score of 6-3.

I was proud of the Harvard team and satisfied that the players I knew had given their best efforts despite the loss. I congratulated Tara Dunn, who had switched from forward to defense early in her senior season, after the game. She politely thanked me, but the hurt of defeat was painfully evident on her face. Dunn, and her teammates, had played so hard because they believed they would win the championship. For me, a reporter and fan, winning is a nice goal but I'm happy if I see a great game, even if my team loses.

There was just as much suffering for the Harvard men's basketball team this season. I was the public-address announcer for three years, and I became increasingly impressed with Dan Clemente, who should have been the Ivy League Player of the Year in his senior season. As a sophomore, Clemente was supposed to miss the entire season with an ankle injury. But he came off the bench at the end of the first game at Boston College, hitting several key jumpers en route to a dramatic upset victory. As a junior, Clemente came back from eye surgery to finish off the season and make the All-Ivy First Team.

Clemente was finally healthy as a senior, and it looked like Harvard actually had a chance to win the Ivy League for the first time ever. In the first meeting against defending champion Penn, Clemente erupted for 29 points as the Crimson became the first Ivy team in two years to beat the Quakers. Clemente did not have his usual shooting touch the following night against Princeton, but that didn't stop him from scoring when it counted. He took the game into his own hands in the final minute, knocking down a turnaround jumper with 7.4 seconds left to give Harvard a one-point lead. But Kyle Wente's one-handed three-pointer at the buzzer saved the game for Princeton, which went on to win the Ivy title.

Dan Clemente and Tara Dunn both developed into hard-nosed players in the last four years, but their college careers ended, just like my intramural crew season, in defeat. They worked their butts off, and turned in some outstanding performances, but in the final analysis they came up a little short. I have no problems with coming up short -- indeed, those of you who have stood next to me know how short I really am.

Losing is not a pleasant subject to address in my final column for The Crimson. But it conveys what athletes take away from participating in competitive sports. Winning is just a big celebration, like the one we have been having for all of Commencement Week. But losing brings out the emotion, desire and commitment that athletes have to their team and to their sport. I'm grateful to Dan Clemente, Tara Dunn and the rest of the Harvard athletes I have watched for the last four years. I have seen how you win, I have seen how you lose and I have learned to appreciate commitment more than victory or defeat.