Dramatic win breaks up a rough 1-9 season

TULSA, Okla. — The worst team in National Hockey League history is the 1974-75 Washington Capitals. The expansion Capitals finished 8-67-5 and still hold the records for fewest wins in a season, most consecutive losses (17), most goals allowed (446) and lowest winning percentage (.131).

This summer, my best friend Tyler and I played for a local league team in Tulsa, Okla., that could have given those old Caps a run for their money.

The adult ice hockey league run by Oilers Ice Center must be one of the most poorly run leagues in North America. The schedules are made on a weekly basis in the most inconvenient way possible, players — especially goalies — frequently don't show up to games, the rink itself is hot as the dickens inside and skating is occasionally impeded by a big lake at center ice.

Still, operating out of the only ice rink in the city, it was the only summer hockey opportunity we had.

We signed up a little late and got placed together on a team called the Renegades. The captain, a balding college professor named Jeff, apologetically explained to us before our first game that the team was "rebuilding" and that most of the guys were in over their heads in terms of skill level.

This became apparent before pregame warm-ups were even halfway through, as Tyler and I sized up our new teammates.

Jeff, perhaps because he had a good hockey beard, had looked like a solid defenseman in the locker room, but on the ice, he was more of a pudgy old guy whose best years were behind him.

The goalie, who vaguely resembled a turtle, sometimes made brilliant saves but far too often let in easy shots.

Jason, the most outgoing and vocal Renegade, played with a gritty, energetic style and always hustled but wasn't much use on offense.

There was a long-haired guy with a bunch of tattoos who wasn't half as tough as he looked and spent a lot of time on the bench complaining about the refs.

Tyler and I called two older, rounder and slower fellows whose main concern was staying on their feet The Bash Brothers, as they were anything but.

A tall, quiet center who wore a mouthguard and looked a lot like the Philadelphia Flyers' Sami Kapanen was the most skilled of the bunch. A few other bits and pieces rounded out the roster.

Get the best of the ‘Prince’ delivered straight to your inbox. Subscribe now »

I've played for a lot of bad sports teams in my life and lost a lot of games, but I had never lost by a score of 15-3 until we did just that in our first game.

Tyler and I, who had been looking forward to playing together for the first time, were disappointed to be stuck on such a bad team. Granted, we were no superstars ourselves, but we were at least on an even level with our opponents, whereas the majority of our teammates were not.

The season wore on. We kept losing, initially very badly, but with each game the margin of defeat got smaller and smaller as we learned each other's strengths and weaknesses and experimented with who played well with whom.

Tyler moved up to forward from his traditional spot on defense, and soon the line of Tyler, Kapanen and I was scoring in bunches, though defensive breakdowns and soft goals kept dooming us to defeat in high-scoring games.

One night, on the way to one of our final few games, Tyler and I had a feeling that we were going to win.

No, it was more than a feeling — we knew we were going to win.

Our last loss had been a close one, and this time, we were borrowing two of Tyler's talented former teammates to help us out on defense since a couple of our players couldn't make it.

We were fired up, and though we had been having a lot of fun simply playing, we wanted to win one — just one — and we wanted it bad.

Things were looking good from the very beginning.

Tyler scored in the first minute of the game, and Eric and Paul, our secret weapons on D, were an obvious steadying influence on the rest of the team.

Later in the first Tyler scored again, and we led heading into the second period for the first time all summer.

The goals came for both teams in the second, and heading into the final period, we were tied at four.

I scored early to put us up, and for a few minutes it looked like we could put the game away, but our opponents tied it up midway through the period, and the pressure was on again.

With five minutes left and the score still tied, Tyler and I went out for a shift that we both knew would decide the outcome of the game.

We had never come so close to winning, and there was no way we were going to let this chance slip away, as we probably wouldn't have another.

"This is it," I told Tyler as we lined up for the face-off.

"Balls to the wall," he said, smiling and panting.

Kapanen won the draw over to Tyler, who sent the puck to me, streaking up the right side.

Closing in on the other team's goalie, I already knew. There was no doubt about it in my mind. It was destiny.

I put it in, and a few tense minutes later, the long-haired guy scored an empty-netter to seal the win.

We had done it, and it felt good. Really good.

After our glorious victory, we went on to lose the rest of our games and miss the playoffs by a country mile.

The Renegades' record at season's end was 1-9 for a winning percentage of .100, the worst out of all of the league's four divisions, about 30 teams.

That was all right with Tyler and me.

We may have been worse than those 1970s Capitals, but we sure had a whole lot more fun losing than they ever did. Our one climactic made-for-TV victory had made it all worth it, and at the very least, it saved us the embarrassment of a winless season.