Early on, Herrmann wowed coaches and teammates in throwing sessions. But he didn’t surprise himself.

“I knew how hard I worked,” he says.

Walsh, for his part, saw visions of success.

“I tell you what,” Walsh says now, “in the gym, it was earlier in the year, and I pulled him over. I said, ‘You just went from being a suspect to a prospect.’”

“He was bringing it,” Walsh adds.

Immediately, Herrmann displayed breakout potential. In his first start, a March 13 appearance at the indoor Hubert H. Humphrey Metrodome in Minneapolis, the junior shut out Minnesota—a team that would finish with a winning record in the Big Ten—over six innings in an eventual 9-1 win.

By the arrival of the Ivy season, Herrmann had locked in. From his complete game one-hitter against Cornell on April 9 to his two-hit shutout against Yale on April 16, Herrmann allowed just three hits and one run over 14 dominant innings.

Herrmann battled through tendonitis and struggled in subsequent starts against Penn and Dartmouth, but then returned to finish a nine-inning complete game shutout in Game 1 of the Ivy Championship Series against Cornell.

Through it all, Herrmann never stopped working.

“He’s very devoted to weightlifting,” Walsh says. “He does all the right things in there. And those are the things, the sacrifices that you’re going to make on your own, and he’s done that.”

Surprised by his success?

“Not surprised by his work ethic,” Walsh says.

Herrmann maintains that he can “always tell” when he hasn’t worked hard in the gym before a start.

“I don’t know if it’s mental or physical or what,” he says. “If I half-assed it that week, I’m second-guessing myself.”

To the observer, “second-guessing” doesn’t appear to be part of the Herrmann vocabulary. Off the field, his spirit is jovial, self-assured, and straightforward—with a dash of raucous humor.

“He’s got these one-liners,” Walsh testifies, “that just go and go.”

On the field, Herrmann remains dogged. It is commonplace to see the broad-shouldered pitcher—Walsh once reported that Herrmann could play a passable linebacker for football coach Tim Murphy—pop his glove with a growl after striking out a batter to end an inning.

“He wants the ball,” Walsh says. “He’s a bulldog. Nothing’s going to bother him. He’s a team leader.”

“I tell you what,” Walsh adds. “If we’ve got two teams and something breaks out, I’m going in right behind Frankie!”

—Staff writer Alex McPhillips can be reached at rmcphill@fas.harvard.edu.