It’s been two weeks since the Harvard men’s basketball team stunned the college basketball world with its 68-62 victory over New Mexico. But for me, the gigantic upset was nowhere near the most surprising occurrence of the night.

I was instead most shocked on that historic evening by the fan support shown for the program whose rapid ascension to the top of the Ivy League has often been accompanied by an underlying hesitation about whether success on the basketball court is a type of success Harvard should be striving for.

My fellow beat writers and I attended all four games on the second round’s inaugural day, and the Crimson supporters were undoubtedly the second-most boisterous of the eight groups present (only following Gonzaga, the country’s No. 1 team).

I first noticed this about 90 minutes before tip, during my effort to purchase a souvenir t-shirt. Walking through the arena, a large number of people were wearing Crimson gear, and upon finally getting to the front of the long line and asking for the Harvard edition of the commemorative shirt, I was told, “You’re lucky—this is the last one.”

By the time I got back to my seat on press row, it was clear that Harvard’s fan section was filling up quicker than New Mexico’s, and at tip, the Crimson had at least as many—and very possibly more—fans in attendance than the Lobos, whose campus is about four times closer to the arena than Harvard’s is.

During the contest, the Crimson fans were louder, as well, with parents, alumni, and students alike trying to will the school to the upset. They chanted “defense” from the start, screamed mercilessly at the referees, and when Kenyatta Smith’s jump hook capped a 7-0 run that put Harvard up six with 4:33 to go, the building was louder than it had been at any point during the other three games that day.

This all came to a momentous climax with 49 seconds remaining, when New Mexico’s Kendall Williams lined up to shoot free throws. As he did so, the entire arena—save for the remaining Lobos fans—was loudly chanting “Let’s Go Harvard!”

By then, many of the neutral spectators had gotten behind the underdog, but to hear those three words ricocheting throughout the arena was nonetheless simply stunning.

For despite having covered the men’s basketball team for the past three seasons, I had never seen it garner that level of support. Indeed, on a number of recent occasions, Lavietes Pavilion has almost felt like a neutral court. The arena is made up of eight sections, and whenever opposing Ivy teams—especially Penn, Princeton, and, to a lesser extent, Cornell—visit Cambridge, a quarter of them are filled with supporters of Harvard’s rivals.

I believe that the obstreperous presence of Quaker fans in last season’s final regular season contest was a major reason why the Crimson’s 28-game home winning streak came to an end, and Tigers and Big Red fans always make their presence felt as well.

Of course, it’s understandable why those three schools would have the largest fan bases in the conference. The Killer P’s have been the Ancient Eight’s traditional powers; together, they account for almost 70 percent of league’s tournament appearances. Cornell, too, continues to reap the benefits of its recent three-peat and ensuing Sweet 16 run.

However, in those schools’ own home arenas—and in those of the rest of the Ivy League—Crimson fans have generally been nowhere to be found, despite the extraordinary levels of success the program has achieved over the last three seasons. Sure, a few alums show up here and there, and no, Ithaca and Princeton are not as easy to travel to as Boston. But in general, the Crimson’s road support has been substandard at best.

That’s why I was so stunned by the turnout in Salt Lake City. For the first time in three years, it really felt like Harvard had a fanbase—one that extended beyond the parents, couple hundred or so students, and few handfuls of alumni that normally come to games. For one day, at least, Harvard was no different than New Mexico, or Arizona, or Gonzaga, or Pittsburgh. It was a basketball school.

There are certainly those who resent this fact. Tommy Amaker has taken a lot of slack from those who fear that this Harvard is no longer their Harvard. They question the coach’s motives and complain about his tactics and criticize his practices to the point that minor issues get blown out of proportion—a self-reported unintentional secondary infraction is depicted as an act of deceitful cheating; a purported equalizing of standards is portrayed solely as a lowering of them.

This is not entirely surprising, for from substantial change always emerges those who wish to return to the past—even when the new represents a vast improvement over the old. That is the certainly case here, as the amount of good Amaker and the men’s basketball program has brought to Harvard’s campus far outweighs the hyperbolic “costs” of achieving it.