With 21 seconds remaining and a victory in Saturday’s game versus Brown out of reach, Harvard coach Frank Sullivan called for a substitution and ended Brady Merchant’s Crimson career and likely his life of playing basketball.

As the senior captain walked off the court to a standing ovation, he couldn’t contain the emotions of the moment. Merchant cried as his teammates embraced him, leaving his tears fittingly on the floor with the blood and sweat of all those years.

Cheers cascaded from the Lavietes bleachers—almost as if cued to produce a cinematic effect—as the voice of the public address announcer feebly tried to broadcast the significance of Merchant’s school-record 45-point accomplishment.

But the crowd that night didn’t need a reminder of the special effort Merchant had wrought. Whether the fans fully knew it or not, the deafening chant of “Brady! Brady! Brady!” at game’s end was the appropriate expression of gratitude for a performance never seen in over a century of Harvard basketball.

And yet, Merchant’s legendary night was the epitome of bittersweet—a valiant, heroic charge in a lost battle. The hope of victory and the dismal reality of defeat on Saturday night was a perfect encapsulation of the Crimson’s disappointing roller-coaster season and the tumultuous four-year careers of the team’s four seniors.

But although these four men may have lost tough battles now and again, it is unmistakable that they won the war on their own terms and in their own resilient way. This will be their legacy to the program and they were right to leave the court that night with heads held high.

Before the game, the four seniors were honored at half-court as part of the annual Senior Night tradition. Typically, this sort of display goes without record in the print of this paper, but Saturday night’s ceremonies seemed to carry more weight than usual and they explain exactly why the Class of 2003 should not be too troubled by regret and disappointment.

Coach Sullivan admitted as much after the game, saying that the departure of the four seniors—the cornerstones of a program he has helped to build to respectability—was a difficult sight to swallow.

“This was, emotionally, tougher than most years, especially to see them walk out the door together,” Sullivan said. “I couldn’t be more proud of a group of guys.”

Pride and emotion were in ready supply that night, as the players’ families were in attendance to witness the closing of a chapter in the lives of their loved ones.

Marliss Prasse, the mother of the most prolific point guard in the history of the Ivy League, had flown in from Seattle, Wash. to watch her son, Elliott Prasse-Freeman, play in his final game.

“It’s the most special night,” Prasse said. “I’ve been watching him play since he was six and I can’t express how glad I am to be here at his last game.”

Two rows up sat Clare Sig, the comparatively diminutive mother of seven-foot center Brian Sigafoos. She had also flown across the country—in her case, from San Diego—to watch the culmination of her son’s long climb to the top.

“He’s worked very hard to get where he is,” Sig said of her son’s journey from the junior varsity squad to the varsity starting lineup. “He’s a terrific person and I couldn’t be more proud.”

A few seats down, the family of Sam Winter watched the game with the quiet knowledge of true basketball aficionados—what else could you expect from Kansans? Mit Winter III, Sam’s dad, spoke about how hard it was to see his son play in his final game in between loudly cheering and clapping as the Crimson surged ahead of Brown for the last time in the game.