But Harvey thrived, in part because things came easy for him. He was a solid infielder for Rice’s baseball team before dedicating himself to basketball, and distinguished himself on the golf course and in pool halls. (“He could have jumped on a horse and figured that out by the end of the day,” Richardson says.) His ability to adapt to situations within games was evident in even the most minute aspects of his play.

“He had a knack for the ball,” Richardson said. “He was one of those players who never had to dive for loose balls because he always knew where he had to be at any point to just pick them up.”

That kind of talent will forgive a lot annoying silences, but once Harvey got to Cambridge and Division I hoops, he knew that he would have to adapt in a broader way than just knowing where the ball was.

“I remember in high school, Coach would always get on me for not speaking up,” Harvey says. “He would get on me in practice, always try to get me going. It wasn’t until college that I realized how important it was—basically, being the young guy it was kind of like, ‘Alright, if coach wants me to talk, I’d better talk. I’ve got to fit in here somewhere.’”

Not all adaptations are that simple. Harvey had a solid freshman season on the court, gradually earning more playing time and scoring seven points in just five minutes to speak the Crimson’s upset of B.C.

But things weren’t as easy away from Lavietes Pavilion. Harvey found out that he had to take a year off from school, missing the entire 1999-2000 season. And so the demands to adapt kept rolling in—first to adapt to life at Harvard, and now to a life without the sport he had given everything to and the teammates who had become close friends.

“It was difficult being home,” Harvey says. “I would call [my teammates] up, but it was tough because it was the first time being away from basketball my whole life.”

So Harvey didn’t stay away from the game at all. He worked a full-time job at a law firm during his hiatus, but after coming home at 6 p.m. he would eat a quick dinner and retreat to his game. Sometimes it would be alone at Brother Rice, shooting around on the floor he used to own. Other times he would participate in leagues around Chicago. The play was competitive, as the teams were stacked with once-famous or never-famous ex-college players who couldn’t abandon the game.

One of them was Harvey’s brother, Ken, who had been a four-year letterman at Xavier (Ohio). Richardson describes Brother Rice players as being from “good, supportive families,” and Harvey’s support often came from the other side of a pass or a check. Ken was one of two older male Harvey boys who had played high school ball in Chicago, and Pat, four years younger and the youngest of six siblings, had grown up playing with him and watching him. Now he was doing it again.

“He definitely beat me up a lot growing up,” Harvey says. “But he was someone who... I went to all of his games, and he was pretty much my main support playing basketball.”

After a year of briefs by day and ball by night, Harvey returned to Cambridge. Damian Long ’00—who had led the league in three-pointers while Harvey was gone—had graduated, setting the stage for what some may have seen as an obvious role to fill for a guard who had shot at a 40 percent clip from beyond the arc as a freshman.

Harvey, for his part, was mainly glad to be back.

“I improved a lot over that year, which helps me now,” Harvey says. “I’m a little older and wiser.” He shrugs and grins. “Hopefully.”

The Reinvention of Pat Harvey

If “older” and “wiser” head the list of adjectives appropriate for Harvey upon his return, “unleashed” would be a third.