The Smiling Face of Defeat

Championship games are usually followed by scenes of celebration and dejection. Members of the winning team pile on each other. Members of the losing team crumple into balls of misery or lay on the turf like they have just had a close encounter with a Mack truck.

The scene following Sunday's NCAA women's lacrosse championship game defied typical sports endings.

Members of the Penn State squad, the victor, hugged each other and smiled.

Members of the Harvard squad, the loser, hugged each other and smiled.

A poor soul lost en route to Philadelphia who happened to stumble into Farrell Stadium in West Chester, Pa. would have wondered what was going on. Had the year's most important lacrosse game just ended, or had a party just begun?

Harvard had every reason to feel crushed. Down 6-1 late in the first half, the Crimson rallied to pull within 7-6 with three minutes left in the game. Harvard did this in uncomfortable heat and against the nation's top-ranked team.

The Crimson had every reason to feel frustrated. In the game's final minutes, Penn State employed a stall offense, keeping the ball away from Crimson sticks. Needing a goal to tie, Harvard could not even get a shot.

Crimson players chased Penn State players in a maddening game of catch-me-if-you-can. Harvard couldn't. Not in such a short time.

Who would have blamed Harvard for taking out its frustration on a few Nittany Lions? Who would have condemned the Crimson for smashing its sticks into Penn State shoulders?

We see this in professional sports. With his team about to be eliminated from the Stanley Cup semifinals last week, Philadelphia Flyers goalie Ron Hextall buried his stick in Montreal Canadien Chris Chelios' back.

Dear Chris, here's a little token of my affection...

Who would have blamed the Crimson, at game's end, for falling flat onto the turf, for crying? The biggest game of the year had just ended in cruel disappointment. Let it all hang out.

Perhaps Harvard was just not professional enough.

Harvard was disappointed. The Crimson lost its first game of the year. The Crimson lost the biggest game in its history.

But Harvard was not devastated. The season had ended, but the world was still spinning.

Perspective usually comes in time. Someday Boston Red Sox fans will forgive Bill Buckner for letting a ground ball slip through his legs in the sixth game of the 1986 World Series.

Someday Bill Buckner will forgive himself.

Yes, someday. Maybe in the next century.

For the Crimson, perspective came quickly Sunday. Harvard had fallen, fallen hard.

But a championship game is still a game.

The Crimson smiled at just the right time.