While most of the Harvard fans resumed their celebration, which had been temporarily postponed by the Wallace three, an eerie feeling swept over the building. It was one which was best embodied by the dumbstruck look on the faces of the Princeton faithful who had made the trip north for the road trip.

They needed four points. They needed more than a miracle. Not even Kyle Wente could save them now.

Tigers guard Scott Greenman rushed down the floor and fired up an irrelevant jumper that didn’t come close to falling.

The horn sounded. Half-dozens of Harvard students rushed the floor. The rest remained in the stands, not quite sure what to make of the events that had just unfolded. Maybe they were still waiting for the crushing blow, the timely dagger. Or maybe they were just perpetuating the stereotype of the apathetic Crimson fan.

On the opposite side of the gym, the feeling of shock predominated. A slip-up against Brown had turned into a skid at Dartmouth, and now it became a season death warrant in Cambridge. They had waited anxiously but confidently for the dramatic comeback to occur.

Even after the tip-in by junior center Brian Cusworth and his layup on the next possession to give Harvard a 54-50 lead with a minute to go, it was still just a matter of time. History would step in and trump the Crimson’s chances.

But the Harvard players refused to pay attention. They knew about the past, but they didn’t care. They shouldn’t have been able to inbound the ball so easily. They shouldn’t have made 7-of-8 free throws in the final minute. They shouldn’t have been able to get a defensive stop up three with just 22 seconds to play.

Where was the costly turnover? The choke at the stripe? The big Princeton shot?

Everyone knew it was coming. And in the end, everyone was wrong.

—Staff writer Michael R. James can be reached at mrjames@fas.harvard.edu.