Before they were coaching OLS teams to championships, Chris and Pat Walsh were just kids in the gym at Our Lady of Sorrows School — part of the very early years of its basketball program. Chris played on one of the first organized teams in the mid-1960s, while his younger brother Pat practically lived at the gym, soaking up anything he could. Decades later, both would return to the same court as coaches, carrying forward the same tough, tight-knit culture that defined OLS basketball from the start.
Recently they talked with The Lance about playing for the legendary Hoot Miller, coaching their own championship teams, and why that small gym still feels like home.
The Lance: Let’s start at the beginning — what was it like playing at OLS back in the early days?
Pat Walsh: We lived right across the street. I’d watch for Hoot Miller’s car pulling into the lot and I’d run over. I was always there — a total gym rat. I’d sweep the floor, keep score, whatever I could do just to be in the gym. That place… it just felt like home from the start. Chris was on the first team they ever had. He may have even made the first basket.
Chris Walsh: Probably not the first, but thanks! Yes, Hoot started the whole thing, first with intramurals. Every kid from fifth to eighth grade got put on a team, and you’d play after school. Hoot would go into work at five in the morning, get out at three, and come straight to the gym to run everything. Then he started the first official team, and I was on it. We didn’t have much training, but if you played for Hoot, you were expected to win. He’d tear into you if you were down big, but everyone loved him. He knew the game — played at Syracuse, refereed locally. Everyone really respected him.
The Lance: What stuck with you most about him?
Chris Walsh: He was fair. It didn’t matter that he was one of my dad’s best friends — I had to earn my minutes. He played his best five. I wasn’t always one of them, but that was the deal. You respected that. He wanted to win, and you bought into it.
The Lance: There are some legendary Hoot stories. Got any you can tell?
Pat Walsh: There was a kid who wouldn’t cut his hair, and Hoot told him he wouldn’t play unless he did. The kid shows up for the game, still no haircut. Hoot benches him. At halftime, the kid’s begging to get put in, so Hoot grabs a pair of scissors and cuts his hair right there in a classroom. The kid played the second half and we won.
Chris Walsh: It was a different era. Nobody complained. But you couldn’t do that today!
The Lance: Let’s talk coaching—how did that come about for the two of you?
Chris Walsh: I wasn’t even planning to. I had coached somewhere else and I stopped to watch my son Kyle play. Next thing I know, Sister calls me—she tells me I’m her “last choice,” but asks me to coach anyway. So I do it. The first year, we were okay. The next year, I tod Pat, “You might want to come help.” After that we were very good. We had guys like my son Kyle, Steve Casey, Mike Gambelli, Dennis Hyland — a mix of OLS and public school kids. Really balanced.
The Lance: Any standout moments?
Chris Walsh: That tournament at St. Gabriel’s in the Bronx. We’d already finished our season and put the balls away. Then we got asked to fill in. The first game, we walk in, look at this team — we’re thinking we’re going to get slaughtered. But three seconds in, our guy goes up for a layup and gets swatted so hard the ball hits the wall. We call timeout immediately. We settle down, chip away, and by the fourth quarter, we’re up and the whole gym is rooting for us. We win by a point. That was the toughest game — after that, everything got easier. We won the whole thing.
The Lance: Any other games that still stick out in your memory?
Chris Walsh: The “flu game.” We had a bunch of starters out sick — we barely had a team. Down ten points with two minutes left, and we clawed back to within two. Last play, we get a shot off under the basket — kid gets fouled, no call. Game ends. That was the only time I ever chased a ref off the court. But we were so proud of those kids — the guys who had never started, stepping up like that.
The Lance: That seems to be a theme — guys stepping into roles.
Chris Walsh: Exactly. Basketball’s great that way. You don’t have to be a scorer to contribute. Defense, rebounding, passing — you can carve out a role. And those kids bought into it.
The Lance: Pat, what about your championship team?
Pat Walsh: We won at Fordham in 2002. Kevin Keane, Jr., Ryan O’Neill, Steven Renk, Kevin Boustad, Timmy Martin. Afterward, we ended up on a float in the White Plains St. Patrick’s Day parade going down Mamaroneck Avenue. That was a pretty good way to celebrate.
The Lance: A lot of OLS teams were tough, even without size or star power. Where does that come from?
Chris Walsh: You can teach defense. You can teach effort. You get kids to buy into roles—rebound, box out, play smart. We had teams that weren’t great offensively, but they’d rather die than lose. I remember winning a game 14–12. Not pretty—but we found a way.
The Lance: Looking back, what made OLS basketball special?
Chris Walsh: The community. The league had 15 teams, all these old-school gyms — low ceilings, tight spaces. You felt like you were part of something bigger, something old-school.
The Lance: You coached a long time. What did you each love most about it?
Chris Walsh: I loved the tight games, the ones where you don’t know what’s going to happen. That’s when you actually get to coach — timeouts matter, matchups matter. It becomes a chess match. You feel like Pat Riley for a few minutes.
Pat Walsh: For me, it didn’t matter if the kids were stars or not — it was just being part of a team, part of something. Being in that gym — it still felt like home.