Because if I have learned one thing over the past three years, it is that Tommy Amaker does not want to win basketball games for himself. If he did, he simply would no longer be here. He would have accepted the offer from Miami that would have nearly quintupled his salary two years ago, or he would have been more amenable to strong interest from South Carolina or LSU last year. He would have done exactly what was done by his coaching opponent in the tournament, Steve Alford, who accepted the UCLA job just 10 days after signing a 10-year commitment to New Mexico. Or he would have done what Princeton’s Sydney Johnson did two seasons ago, when he parlayed the Tigers’ Ivy title into a Fairfield job that likely only represents one more stepping stone.

And nobody would have faulted Amaker if he had done so; after all, very few of us would turn down an employment opportunity where we would earn significantly more money, work in vastly better facilities, and be granted far more leeway to do our job.

But Harvard’s coach continues to do just that. He witnessed first-hand the obsessive focus placed on winning tournament games during his tenure at Michigan, and he was fired because he failed to achieve that. So at Harvard, sure, he wants to win, but not for the reason most athletes and coaches do—not for individual glory and notoriety. He wants to win for us.

Indeed, the rise of Harvard basketball has never been about capturing Ivy League championships or earning national recognition or recruiting elite talent. Since Amaker’s first day on the job, the reason he has wanted to do those things was, and continues to be, because they would help him to achieve his real overarching vision—the creation of a community the likes of which Harvard had never before seen. One where students would cross an icy river before going out on Friday and Saturday nights to support their classmates in the sport that can be most strongly swayed by a crowd. One where—like at Duke, Amaker’s alma mater—intelligent students with a wide array of academic and extracurricular passions could discover a new interest—college basketball. One where local residents of one of the nation’s best sports cities could add Harvard to their list of teams to support.

And that was exactly why those 10 seconds when Kendall Williams was shooting free throws were so meaningful. They signified that Amaker had won—not just in the tangible game itself, though it was certainly nice that the Crimson was about to do that too. No, Amaker had won because he had achieved his main goal. He had built a program about which the Harvard community cared. Genuinely, passionately cared.

It wasn’t just in EnergySoutions Arena that this was the case. Back home, the victory set off an incredible slew of celebratory Facebook posts from my fellow Harvard students, many of whom would normally have never placed the slightest bit of importance on sports. Dozens and dozens of status updates popped up in a row after the final buzzer from people who were proud of their college not because it was ranked first in the academic rankings, but because it had won a basketball game.

In general, school spirit largely does not exist at Harvard, with the exception of The Game—and even then, students tend to place more importance on individual revelry than on the actual play on the field or the eventual victor. Against New Mexico, however, people really cared about the Crimson winning, and that brought them together in the way that only sports can. This was best exemplified by the photo of the band’s joyous celebration, which went viral on Deadspin and Grantland largely because the general public did not expect so much excitement over a sporting event from a bunch of Harvard students.

What most of Amaker’s critics don’t realize is that it is precisely this sense of community that the men’s basketball program has brought to the campus—not the Top 25 appearances or the league titles—that is the coach’s greatest accomplishment, and the one of which he is most proud and cares most deeply.

Two days later, many members of that community gathered together throughout Harvard Square to watch the Crimson’s third round game against Arizona. And all the way across the country in Salt Lake, though its team was largely noncompetitive from the start, Harvard’s fan section remained vociferous, roaring passionately every time the Crimson made a shot. You could sense that whenever Harvard became ready to make a comeback attempt, its fans would be there alongside it, ready to do their best to help it do so.

That never happened, of course, and Harvard lost. But that was okay. Because by finally realizing its coach’s five-year vision—not on the court but on the campus surrounding it—the program had really already won.

—Staff writer Scott A. Sherman can be reached at ssherman13@college.harvard.edu. Follow him on Twitter @ScottASherm.