Tim Murphy is a tall man, 6'4" or thereabouts. He looks like he packs about 195 pounds on a slender frame, topped by a hairline in full retreat.

Yesterday afternoon, he wore a modest charcoalgrey suit and a red knit tie. He sported a three o'clock electric-razor shadow.

He used the word "hell" from time to time, talked about the high cost of living in Boston, admitted he took a 40 percent pay cut to come here and showcased a wicked good Boston accent.

In short, he's normal.

Hallelujah.

How best to describe the new football coach? Sitting in Dillon Lounge, with the years of tradition bearing down on the assembled crowd, the only thought that came to mind was--and go with me here--not "Harvard."

While Murphy took his first questions as coach, he looked distinctly out of place next to the titans of the Harvard athletic establishment. Sitting behind the decorated press table were Dean of the College L. Fred Jewett '57, Athletic Director Bill Cleary '56, Executive Director of the Alumni Association Jack Reardon '60...and Tim Murphy.

Fat cats and a lean tiger--it's very clear Murphy is not "Harvard." Sure, the former Cincinnati coach grew up around here, but settling in at Dillon Field House is just a good job to him and not a lifetime ambition fulfilled.

"This was never a career goal," Murphy said. "I don't think I can adequately express why I am comfortable here. But I had a gut feeling that this was the place for me."

There were other shocking non-reverential statements. When a reporter asked if he was aware that he was a part of history, Murphy replied, "No, I hadn't thought about that." He had the gall to compare Harvard-Yale to that fiercest of college football rivalries, Cincinnati-Miami (Ohio).

"It's an interesting feeling [to walk through the Yard] and see all those buildings with 1600-something, 1700-something written on them," Murphy said. "I'm in awe of that."

He reads "awe" and says "awr," but that just adds to the charm. Murphy is not buying into this Harvard mystique, not just yet. And that's a very good thing.

Harvard is a terrible place to breed football coaches. Sure, there's that whole idea about "being the best" that Harvard likes to foist on its students and faculty, but when it comes to sports the university likes to stress the personal growth of the individual over winning. Wins and losses aren't as important as building the complete student-athlete. That's "the Harvard experience."

Fine, but there's one thing that gets lost in that shuffle: Athletes like to win. Given the choice between building character and a 1-0 record, the athlete will take the 'W' and run.

Murphy, bless his soul, understands this.

"I want football to be fun," Murphy said. "It's a hell of a lot more fun when you win. The bonds that you form with your teammates, the lessons you learn--they're a whole lot stronger when you win."

Yes! And then the kicker:

"I just want to add to the Harvard experience."

Bronze the guy. He understands Harvard without succumbing to it. That's the key to football success here and in the Ivy League.

This is not to say that this situation will last forever. Maybe the Harvard aura will wear on him, too. After all, as a hotshot young coach, Restic nearly accepted an offer to coach the NFL's Philadelphia Eagles before deciding to spend his twilight years in Dillon Field House.

But Murphy made it clear what he was looking for yesterday. He mentioned that Harvard was "a good atmosphere to raise a family" yesterday three times, and he mentioned that he was "not ready to retire" twice.

And he's not looking for a tuition dodge: Murphy (who is only 37) and his wife, Martha, have a two-year-old daughter (Molly) and a newborn son (Conor--this family is Irish to the core). That's an awful lot of years before those two come of age.

What Murphy wants is a place to settle down for a while, without the pressure of heading a big-time program. Cincinnati flirted with the Top 25 this season, playing Memphis State, Syracuse and Houston. Harvard tied for last in the Ivy League, playing Cornell, Brown and Columbia. Bearcat football is front page stuff on the sports sections of the Cincinnati Post and Enquirer. At Harvard, one beat writer at The Globe and a passell of student newspaper tykes don't stir up a lot of headaches.

At Harvard, he can put away the Tylenol and break out the Dr. Spock. And unless Murphy succumbs to the mystique, he'll move on in five or 10 years, his job done.

In the meantime, he plans to win a lot of football games. I hear the timetable for an Ivy League title is three years.

I'm in awe.

John B. Trainer is a Crimson staff writer.