“Bill Cleary gave me that shot,” Walsh says. “It meant a lot to me.”

Now, in his eighth season here, Walsh has given seen the Crimson to four Ivy titles and as many NCAA regionals appearances after years as an Ivy bottom-dweller.

“One of the first things we did was the change the schedule, raise the bar and go out with an aggressive style of baseball,” he says, explaining his earliest actions as coach. “I think the kids that were here just had to believe in themselves a little bit—they were already a pretty good group. I think there may have been a mindset that needed to be changed, but there was a lot of talent and a lot of ability.”

He also was in the right place at the right time.

“I happened to come in when the team had been down for a few years,” Walsh says. “They had been in the cellar of the Ivy League for three or four years. You look at it like, hey, the only way to go is up.”

Up they went. In Walsh’s first season in 1996, the Crimson reversed its previous year’s league record by going 14-6 and winning the Red Rolfe Division before losing to Princeton two games to none in the best-of-three championship series.

The bitter 1-0 loss in the second game set the stage for what Walsh calls the proudest moment of his Harvard career. As he watched the Tigers swarm into a pig-pile in the infield and saw the Princeton crowd celebrating, he could only envision the next year’s championship.

“Wow, someday this is gonna be us, next year we’re gonna get it,” Walsh recalls thinking.

One year later Walsh watched from third base as the Crimson steamrolled Princeton 22-4 to take the series 2-1.

“I’m saying, ‘I wonder if these guys are gonna have a big pig-pile here,’” Walsh recounts.

“We shook hands and walked through the line, and the guys here at Harvard said to me afterwards, ‘Coach, what time’s practice tomorrow?’”

The Ivy title, while satisfying, is only the first stop on the road to the College World Series.

“It has been the goal here not just to win the Ivy League, but to be the last team standing. From the day that occurred, I realized the kids here could think that way, and wanted to think that way,” Walsh concludes. “You don’t always get it, but that’s the expectation level.”

Bolstered by an eternally optimistic outlook, Walsh is not swayed by the odds annually stacked against the Crimson—the relatively weak league schedule, lack of exposure, no scholarships, and unaccommodating weather. Unlike other sports, where size and scholarships present insurmountable obstacles, Walsh sees a level playing field behind every first pitch.

“A three-hopper off anybody’s bat is the same as a three-hopper off of an Ivy League bat,” Walsh notes.