John Thompson III didn’t know how right he was.

“I want to be Brady Merchant when I grow up,” the Princeton coach said two weeks ago. Thompson had just seen Merchant nearly steal a win singlehandedly from the Tigers on the strength of two clutch threes in the final minute. The baskets gave Merchant a game-high 22 points.

“That kid put on one hell of a show,” Thompson said.

One can only wonder what Thompson would have said last Saturday. What would he have said to see Merchant score 14 of Harvard’s first 17 points and finish with a career-high 28—at halftime? What would he have said to watch Merchant hit off-balance three-pointer after off-balance three-pointer in the second half, desperately keeping his team in the game against Brown? What would he have said to see him finish the game with a school-record 45 points?

What would Thompson have said to see him play the game of his life in his final game and have it all happen with Dave Merchant, his father, standing and applauding at each basket, tears welling up in his eyes? His father, who coached him in high school and abruptly retired from the sidelines last year just so he could watch his middle son—the gym rat, who turned down football offers to play Division I hoops—during his senior season?

Maybe Thompson would have realized that the only thing better than growing up to be Brady Merchant is watching your son grow up to be him.

But even then, Thompson wouldn’t have known the half of it. He couldn’t have. Sure, anyone who ever practiced last-second fadeaway jumpers in his front driveway dreams of performances like Merchant’s on Saturday. But that isn’t even the half of it.

To know the rest, you’d have to have seen firsthand how Merchant selflessly toiled as the Crimson’s sixth man for the first three years of his career. Ironically, he was a starter in the first few games of his rookie campaign, but after an ankle injury, he was relegated to coming off the bench. Earlier this season, he said that, looking back, he probably didn’t appreciate his starting role as much as he should have at the time. Maybe he’s right. Or maybe he knew exactly what he was missing and was simply content to serve the team however he could.

Even when he finally cracked the starting lineup this season, Merchant never much took a shine to the extra attention. As captain, his name was saved for last during player introductions, but he hardly ever waited for it. Usually, the PA announcer would announce Elliott Prasse-Freeman and then, as the point guard made his way down the line of teammates, Merchant would bound right behind him, ready to form the huddle. The team was always more important.

Yes, every record-setting hero should have as much class as Dave Merchant’s son. But then, Harvard seems to attract more of those types than most.

There’s a quiet dignity that Frank Sullivan—as respected a coach as any in the Ivy League—cultivates in his basketball program, wins and losses be damned. Lest anyone consider the Crimson’s 4-10 Ivy mark as the standard by which the program be judged, the true measure of Sullivan’s record as coach was apparent Saturday night. Four rows behind the Harvard bench sat two former Harvard captains, all-around good citizens and loyal ambassadors of the program. Damian Long ’00 who is devoutly religious, has spent the last three years working with Athletes in Action, a Christian ministry service. Next to Long was the quietly purposeful Drew Gellert ’02, who was praised at his own Senior Night last year for setting the standard by which all future captains would be judged.

Merchant, it can safely be said, more than measured up.

At some schools, the retired numbers of former greats hang from the rafters of cavernous arenas. At Harvard, your jersey is given away almost as soon as it’s turned in. Four years ago, No. 15 Tim Hill ’99 became Elliott Prasse-Freeman and No. 22 Mike Beam ’99 became Brady Merchant. Next year, the process will repeat itself. At Harvard, the program is forever bigger than any one player.

No one understood that better than Merchant. This season, after three years of watching the senior classes before them play only for pride down the stretch, Merchant and his classmates had hoped to finally make winning part of the Crimson tradition as well. But it quickly became apparent that the time for Harvard’s first men’s basketball championship was not this year.

It will come one day. When it does, it’s entirely possible that the Crimson player who hits the game-winning, title-clinching shot will be wearing Merchant’s No. 22. When that happens, the victory will belong to Merchant—who always put the program first—as much as anyone.

“There are no moral victories,” Merchant said two weeks ago after just barely missing out on the program’s first win against Princeton in four years.

Oh no? Tell that to the fans who chanted the Crimson captain’s name as he, with tears in his eyes, walked arm-in-arm with Prasse-Freeman off the floor for the last time Saturday. As Lavietes Pavilions brimmed with a father’s pride and the heartfelt thanks of a grateful program, it was abundantly clear that a larger victory had been won.

In the end, good things do happen to good people.

—BRIAN E. FALLON