The basketball team at Regis High School had a 1-16 record as the players entered a rival’s gym in the winter of 1958 fully expecting to leave with yet another loss. The other team’s star was a future NBA coach who would one day run the New York Knicks. Regis was led by a diminutive future doctor who would one day run the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases.

“Nobody gave us a chance,” said John Zeman, a Regis alumnus. “Everyone figured it was going to be a blowout.”

But there was one teenager who looked at this demoralizing collection of data and came to a wildly optimistic conclusion.

“Tony said no,” he said. “We’re going to win this game. And we did.”

Tony, the team captain better known as Fauch, a short kid with a thick Brooklyn accent who led his overmatched team to a highly improbable victory in the biggest game of his life, now answers to a name that most Americans have come to recognize: Dr. Anthony Fauci.

The infectious disease specialist who has long been regarded as a national treasure has become a source of trust for hundreds of millions of people over the last month. He is the raspy voice of reason. Fauci’s deep expertise, avuncular demeanor and direct style of communication have turned a distinguished 79-year-old immunologist into the world’s unlikeliest celebrity.

As the point guard of the U.S. response to public health scares, Fauci understands that crisis reveals character. But so does high-school basketball. The way that a bunch of teenagers come together as a team at such a formative time can be a powerful force that shapes the rest of their lives. And one win can stick with you forever.

“I don’t know how he could forget it,” said Bob Bastek, his Regis classmate.

Fauci, who keeps a miniature basketball hoop in his office, has been called “my hero” by Bob Cousy and “the GOAT” by Stephen Curry for his role in this pandemic, which would have delighted a child who grew up playing sports and worshiping Joe DiMaggio, Mickey Mantle and Duke Snider. When he earned a scholarship to Regis, an elite Jesuit school in New York for boys with academic and leadership potential, the free tuition was worth the fantastic schlep: a bus in Brooklyn to a local train to the express train to the IRT to the Upper East Side of Manhattan. He learned to finish his Latin and Greek homework on the commute to get a few hours of sleep at night. “Basketball was important,” said Jim Higney, the team manager. “Homework was more important.”

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