So Daniel Sedin and Henrik Sedin are playing golf for, oh, maybe the 200th time in their serenely symmetrical lives. It’s the UBC golf course, 18th hole, if you hit it right it goes into the trees. They’re tied. Henrik is up first. They don’t play as much anymore since they became fathers, but Henrik almost always wins.

“Ask him,” says Henrik. “Ask him how many times he’s beaten me. And he’ll be fair. He’ll tell you.”

“Two,” says Daniel.

“If we play match play he could be up six holes with seven to go, and I would still beat him,” says Henrik.

“I’d had the lead a few times, but I always find a way to lose it,” says Daniel.

“We have the same handicap,” says Henrik.

“No, he’s always had a better handicap,” says Daniel. (In 2009, Sports Illustrated said their handicaps were within two strokes.)

“Mental,” says Henrik, grinning wolfishly, pointing to his temple.

The Sedin twins are about to turn 36 together at the World Cup, 15 years into their magnificent mirrored careers. All those years of clever passes that nobody could anticipate, the tricks of space and timing, the strength on the puck, the interlocking patterns that nobody else could see. Nobody has ever played like them. Former Canucks teammate Roberto Luongo says they were two of the best people he ever met, but his favourite part was just watching them pass.

“Sometimes I felt bad for their other linemate, because he would just stand there and watch,” says Luongo. “(In practice), they’d make a crazy pass for an open netter just to try to give it back across again. I’d end up in the first row trying to dive.”

“They’re one of a kind,” says Swedish defenceman Victor Hedman. “But, obviously, two guys.”

Hedman is also a native of Ornskoldsvik, and has practised with the Sedins throughout his own NHL career. He lives a few houses away from Daniel in the summer. He is grateful.

“They’re the nicest guys, ever,” says Hedman, who plays for the Tampa Bay Lightning.

Wait: you’re Swedish. Swedes are all nice guys.

“Yeah, most of the Swedes are, honestly, but those two guys . . . both of them have been open arms to me,” says Hedman. “Hardest working guys I’ve ever seen. Just tremendous people.”

The Sedins have been appreciated, but maybe not properly appreciated. They have been called names by hockey’s lazy lizard brains; they have been tested for a decade and a half, and yet have endured as elite players. It’s been extraordinary, really. Henrik passes and Daniel scores, but Henrik has played 1,166 regular-season NHL games; Daniel, 1,143. Henrik has played 105 playoff games; Daniel, 102. Have they ever looked at their numbers?

“No,” says Daniel.

“Yeah, I’m a little bit better, right?” says Henrik, grinning again.

Yes. Add regular season and playoff games, and Henrik has scored 0.8245 points per game to Daniel’s 0.8136. That’s a difference of 0.91 points per 82 games: a bounce, a teammate who hits the post or scores, whatever. Twins.

“That’s a lot,” says Henrik. “If you look at all the games we play, that’s a lot.” He’s joking now, and is asked if it matters to him. He smiles. “No.”

Ask them to sum up their careers, though, and separately, they finish each other’s sentences.

“We haven’t won,” says Daniel. “That’s how I look at it. For us, at least, if you want to look back and say we had a great career, you’ve got to win the Stanley Cup. I always thought that. I still feel that way.”

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“We were close to winning, and that’s the only thing we’re missing,” says Henrik. “Played with great teams, still haven’t been able to win. But still trying.”

They do that a lot. Can you win in Vancouver? Henrik says, “Yes, absolutely.” Daniel says, “I still believe we have a chance.” Henrik says, “We have a young team, but we all know that if you can get on the right path, and you bring in a few players that can help you, you’re not that far away.” Daniel says, “In today’s NHL, one or two young players come in and surprise you, play really well, it can change everything.”

Whether they actually believe this, rather than being good company men, is debatable. They are still Vancouver’s best forwards, and were appropriately dangerous in a 2-1 win over Russia Sunday. Henrik got a second assist on Hedman’s winning goal.

“If guys want to take our ice time, they’re going to have to be really good,” says Daniel. “That’s our mindset.”

They both say that they want to stay Canucks, but won’t retire if the organization decides otherwise when their contracts expire in two years, providing they still feel healthy and productive. They both say they want to stay in Vancouver when they retire. They both say that if they had been asked five or 10 years ago they would have gone back to Sweden, but now they would stay. They have kids: Daniel’s are 11, 8 and 5, and Henrik’s are 9 and 6. They love hanging out.

And they both would prefer not to chase rings elsewhere. Henrik says, “For me, if we’re going to win, we’re going to win in Vancouver. But who knows?” Daniel says, “I want to win a Cup in Vancouver. That’s all I think about.”

Maybe if Ryan Kesler had stayed healthy in 2011, or the Vancouver defence wasn’t ravaged by injury, the whole narrative changes. But it didn’t. For the record, their puck possession numbers in the 2011 playoffs: 60.8 per cent for Daniel, 59.1 per cent for Henrik, which led the Canucks. But that’s hockey, just like physical mangling that smashes pure skill in the playoffs is hockey.

Bah. They are growing old together, with dignity and grace. They are husbands, fathers, men with busy lives. Daniel is asked: Do they ever surprise each other?

“Never happened, I think,” says Daniel. “We always had the same friends. We’ve always been best friends, I think. We were never really — I don’t know if people think we hang out all the time, which we rarely do outside the rink, but we kind of know. We’ve come to know what to expect from each other.”

So have we. So, back to the golf. They’re on 18, and Henrik’s up first. Henrik doesn’t trash-talk Daniel when they play; he just knows what to expect. And then Henrik hooks his drive into the trees, and Daniel relaxes. He plays 18 clean, and beats his brother at golf for the second time ever.

“OK, that surprised him,” Daniel says, mirroring his brother’s wolfish grin. “Surprised me, too.”

He doesn’t celebrate too much, though. Why? He just did it! He won!

“Then he knows he’s under my skin,” says Daniel. “Scoring a goal, too. You celebrate a little bit, not too much.”

We should miss them, when they’re gone.