Should the occasion arise in the near future whereby the Harvard Athletic department finds itself in the position of having to hire a new varsity coach of one sort or another, the department would be well advised to check up not only on the applicant's background, past coaching record and SAT scores, but on that person's ability to give witty quotes to the press as well.

I mean really, one can only discourse on total offensive stats, goals against averages and passed balls for so long. Which is where the coach comes in.

At Harvard, however, this is unfortunately where the coach usually goes out. As a matter of fact, a review of the quotability of Harvard's varsity coaches would reveal that they can be divided into four distinct categories. Without mentioning names, these categories are as follows: Category #1-- This category consists of those coaches who refuse to talk to The Crimson. Never, ever, ever. Period. Current enrollment: one. Category #2-- In this category we have those coaches who do not like The Crimson, who would prefer to say nothing, but who usually, out of politeness, end up mumbling something. Had they stuck to their original convictions and said nothing nobody would have known the difference. Category #3--The majority party rests here. These coaches have no qualms about talking to The Crimson; it's just that what they say can also be learned by a) using some common sense or b) checking their past response to a similar situation and then reprinting it verbatim. Category #4--Again, a one-man grouping. Although others have tried to advance up the ladder into this prestigious class, the sole individual who can claim membership is track mentor Bill McCurdy, the Henny Youngman of Dillon Field House and a retired lieutenant colonel of the United States Army Reserve.

In the 24 years that McCurdy has served as colonel of Harvard's cross-country team, the Crimson has captured 11 Big Three titles, four Heptagonal crowns and six consecutive Ivy championships. McCurdy also served on the victors' side in World War II.

The purpose of this column, however, is not to list McCurdy's track accomplishments (as, what the heck, his winter and spring track squads have captured an additional 39 titles of one variety or another as well), but to present the verbal best of Bill McCurdy before Parade magazine picks up on the idea.

So now, here is, within the given limitations of time and space (in other words, Bill McCurdy vintage 1974-'76), the best of Bill McCurdy: On his own ability-- I feel that I'm probably the greatest coach in any legal sport. On losses to the Providence Friars-- They had the Holy Father out there as well as the team. We felt like we were right in the middle of an Irish rebellion. Providence brings in all those Irish imports so I think that our best chance would be an IRA rebellion. It appeals to my devious nature to unite with the IRA. I'd call Kennedy but I don't know whether he'd be sympathetic. I'm told there used to be a law on the books in this state that said that no one from Rhode Island could enter Massachusetts. Well, they repealed it at the wrong time as far as I'm concerned. On returning from sabbatical two years ago--I'm well rested now, and when the going gets tough I can think back on all those fish I caught. On God and politics-- Distance running is the same as religion. Justice will triumph. On last year's captain Bill Okerman-- Okerman is staging a deadly war with rigor mortis. On two top Northeastern runners, the Flora twins--You know, I'm a gardener during the summer, and two twins named Flora put the finishing touches on us. Something is just not right. I just swear when I see them. Damn their souls. If we had some of that weed spray, I would have sprayed it on them. On a loss to Northeastern--We ran, we swam, we splashed and we struggled. We were purified by the rains from heaven and defiled by Northeastern. On last year's injury jinx-- At present writing we're not a team that started thick to begin with. With all these injuries you'd have thought we'd been fighting the Vietnam war. On unfamiliarity--It might help running an unfamiliar course. When you don't know the course, you don't know when you're supposed to get tired.