Fifty-three years ago this fall, I was in Smithers, BC, playing hockey. Our team was made up of 15- and 16-year-old kids from all over the province. The league was made up of ten teams stretching along Highway 16 from Prince Rupert to Prince George. Five of them were senior (men’s) teams; our team and the other four were Junior B.

We tried hard and had some flashes of brilliance, but we lost quite a few more games than we won. One weekend series in early December was particularly memorable… mostly as a character builder.

On Saturday night, we hosted the Houston Luckies. They were a senior team from just up the highway. Although Houston was a small town, the team had imported players who worked at a local mill. They were big and good. In fact, they went on to win the league championship that year.

That Saturday night, they were firing on all cylinders and we weren’t. The game ended 16-4 in their favour.

In our dressing room after the game, things were solemn, to say the least. Besides being incredibly homesick, we’d just been badly embarrassed. Our captain (one of the nicest guys I know) gave a speech. He started by saying that he called home every Sunday morning and then, breaking into tears, he said, “And every Sunday morning I have to tell them we lost!”

At that point, we all started crying (although there are a few who still won’t admit it). Once the quiet tears were wiped away, the conversation shifted to Sunday’s game. By the time we left the room that night, we were all determined that things would be much different the next day. We were pumped.

I remember getting to the rink extra early for Sunday’s game. Most of the other guys were early too. As we dressed, the banter was positive and our spirits were high. When the puck dropped for the first face-off, we were ready.

At least we thought we were.

The Luckies beat us 16-4 again.

Whenever things have gone badly during any game ever since, I’ve just thought back to that weekend. I’ve shared the story with teams I’ve coached, and I know my kids have heard it more times than they probably needed to.

The following year, I was back in Smithers playing for the same team in the same league. We were a year older, a bit bigger and had some new players who could score goals. We even had a new name. We won way more games than we lost.

We never lost 16-4 even once.

It was a great year.

A few days ago, twelve members of that team met for our fourth reunion in five years. Even though only half of us actually experienced the “Double 16-4” weekend, the story is told every time. Now, instead of tears, there is laughter.

Those of us who went through it agree that it was a character builder. The guys who didn’t live through that series are thankful they never had their “character built” that way and generally still give us a rough time about it.

The guys were happy to pose for a picture in their “I fail often” T-shirts. They all agree that if you aren’t afraid of a little failure now and then, you’ll never put on a uniform and then skate out in front of a building full of paying spectators.