“Nothing like home court advantage,” she said. “It was wonderful. It really did a lot to have us get the lead, keep the lead, and keep the momentum down the stretch. It did give us confidence.”

Tuesday night’s second half was one of the best I’ve seen in a long time.

Cserny’s drive, pass fake, and lay-in was pretty, but it was even better with some guy screaming “It’s the Magic Man! The Magic Man!”

Katie Murphy’s swats were powerful, but they were even more resounding with the arena hooting and “Ohhh!”ing.

McCaffery’s treys down the stretch were huge, but they were even bigger with nearly 2000 jumping up and roaring.

Students often feel they have little in common with athletes, that athletes are separate from them, in a different community, among a different set of people.

There may be some truth to that.

But in the arena, on the court, in the bleachers, running up and down the court, screaming and chanting, diving for loose balls, clapping and shouting, those differences fade away.

We are at a place that distinctly lacks distinct identity. That is the downside of diversity. As a whole, there is no compelling mission that binds us here; the university does not exist to make us “Men and Women for Others.”

Harvard athletes have often confessed that their main motivation for what they do is not the name on their shirts, but the people they play along side of.

Sure you might not be the best friends with the team, but you are good friends with competition and effort. To greater or lesser extents we are all desperately want to be the best at whatever we do; in the classroom, behind the piano, in front of an easel.

Come to appreciate the effort that is put forth, and encourage it, and share in it.

You’re more than willing to go to an a cappella jam, or catch a play, or hear an orchestra.

Why not come over to a game?

You just might like what you see.

—Staff writer J. Patrick Coyne can be reached at coyne@fas.harvard.edu.