Over the past five years or so, it has been easy for Harvard rowing enthusiasts to dislike Ted Nash. Ever since he put together Pennsylvania's legendary "monster" freshman crew in the spring of 1966, his training methods, recruiting procedures and general philosophy towards collegiate rowing have stood in direct opposition to what they have come to espouse as proper.

Nash practices were lengthy and spartan. He was accused of having recruited prospects whose academic abilities fell far below Ivy standards. Several times critics claimed that he attempted to use verbal psyche tactics on rival oarsmen before important races. His supposedly manic pursuit of victory created enemies for him.

Some of the criticism was justified. Some was resentment, since Nash produced undeniably successful results-three I.R.A. championships and two Adams Cup victories over Harvard. In any case, the man has been made out to be one of the more prominent villains of his profession-a coach who had, in the opinion of a number of his critics, made Penn a four-letter word in the world of Ivy athletics.

Yet, in the past year, Nash appears to have undergone a striking metamorphosis. He has begun-and this may shock followers of Harvard rowing-to sound remarkably like Crimson coach Harry Parker, who has come to symbolize all that is modest and successful in the practice of his profession.

Granted, the Nash training regimen is much the same. In fact, veteran oarsman Luther Jones quit the squad last fall because of it. But on at least three occasions, he has given interviews which have been every bit as cautious, as understated, and as modest, as those for which Parker has become widely respected.

The first, after Penn's decisive victory in the Adams Cup last May, was produced in the face of subtle urging from Sports Illustrated staffer Hugh Whall to claim final domination over the Harvard empire. Nash would have none of it, predicted that Harvard could just as easily reverse the result a week later. And when the Crimson fulfilled his suggestion, he pointed out that Parker and Harvard were as powerful and as lordly as ever.

And Thursday night, Nash was courteous, open and affable. He admitted Harvard had a slight edge and said Penn would try their best to do well, generally assuming a Parker-like philosophy about everything. How can one dislike a man who has assumed the image of a man one reveres? Parker may have a twin on the Schuylkill after all.