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The photo is a bit blurry, but the fuzziness does little to lessen the impact.

Isaac Haas, a 7-foot-2, nearly 300-pound man, is sitting in a chair in Purdue’s basketball locker room.

Nolan Paschal isn’t even quite up to Haas’ sitting height.

Turned out to be nearly perfect hugging height, though.

So that’s what Haas did, even if it meant still having to bend a bit, as he opened his massive wing span to only quickly close arms around Nolan, whose response was leaning his head on Haas’ right shoulder.

Picture snapped.

“That’s, like, peek-a-boo kittens cute,” Nolan’s 11-year-old sister Adelynne said afterward, aptly describing the frozen-in-time gesture.

A gesture of comfort, of support, of gratitude in one simple action.

On a night full of “awesome” for the 9-year-old with Williams syndrome, a developmental disorder characterized by mild-to-moderate intellectual disability or learning problems, unique personality characteristics and distinctive facial features.

That’s the word, at least, Nolan used to describe everything that happened Feb. 18.

How he watched the Boilermakers beat Penn State, specifically mentioning favorite moments of seeing Carsen Edwards stick deep three-pointers and Haas sink what Nolan would tell him later was a nice baseline shot. (To which Haas responded, “Thanks, buddy.”)

How he stayed up late to attend the 8 p.m. tip and actually lasted well past the 11 p.m. or so postgame festivities — he’s usually in bed by 7:30, but at least he didn’t have school the next day.

How he had the entire team autograph a copy of Gold and Black Illustrated.

How he showcased the form on his shot for the players, using a gold, plastic basketball given out at the game that was perfectly sized for his little hand.

How he had bounced from locker room to player lounge to film room, a special behind-the-scenes treat because all those areas usually off limits to all but program personnel.

How he met his favorite player.

The mammoth of a man in Haas.

The man whose Size 22 shoe, fresh with an autograph, Nolan’s parents carried out with them as one tangible souvenir from the night. The shoe that extended from Nolan’s toe to knee, when held up to see how long it was. The shoe that prompted Nolan to say to that measurement, “Whoa! We need to cut this thing off!” The shoe that dad quickly promised would not be cut off.

The man who has, on occasion, flexed his muscles after dunks.

The man whose most impressive muscle isn’t, technically, visible.

Until opportunities arise like Feb. 18.

When director of basketball operations Elliot Bloom approaches Haas and the rest of the Boilermakers and says he has a special guest popping by. Like Nolan. Or like 10-year-old Tyler, a pediatric cancer patient. Or 18-year-old Ian, who has cerebral palsy. Nolan’s and Ian’s visits were in conjunction with Boiler-Maker-Wish, a student-athlete-run organization headed by volleyball player Ashley Evans that caters to granting Purdue-specific wishes to special needs kids.

But Bloom makes sure the team’s list of opportunities to impact members of the community is considerable and wide-ranging, whether it’s shopping alongside as many as 15 families at Meijer near Christmastime or loading up and delivering boxes of food at Food Finders or inviting a group from Big Brothers Big Sisters to watch practice and shoot baskets afterward or chatting with the folks at the Cary Home for Children over dinner at Mackey.

All of it matters, not just for linking the program to the community but for linking the community to the people in the program.

Because they’re people worth knowing.

“They’ve got a great deal of compassion for people,” Bloom said of Purdue's players. “I guess the best way to sum it up is they’re just not selfish guys. They’re probably what our society could use a little bit more of, just that compassion and selflessness.”

Every opportunity Bloom presents, player relish it.

That’s not how it’s always been.

Bloom has served in his current role for 10 years with the Boilermakers, so he’s seen multiple classes roll through, and, at times, he’s had to do some prodding with players. But that has not been the case, ever, with this group, firmly cemented by its high-integrity, high-character senior class of Vincent Edwards, Haas, Dakota Mathias and P.J. Thompson.

They just “get it,” Bloom said.

“Unless you get out in the community, you don’t realize the plight of some people,” Bloom said. “They go out and do that stuff, and it’s not fake. It’s not like, ‘Oh, let’s get through this.’ It’s genuine. Some of them, their backgrounds are like, ‘This is like home or people I grew up with,’ so they relate. But even the ones who maybe grew up with it maybe a little bit better than others, they still get enough that they know (the impact). They have a great deal of empathy for others.”

And that shows up in every interaction they’ve been blessed to have.

A five-minute chat with Haas allows folks to see he’s not only what his body says he is: A potentially imposing dude who can rock a scowl and a bruise. He’s a big-hearted guy who loves people and admittedly has a specific affinity for kids with special needs. His sister, Erin, has suffered from seizures all of her life, and big brother always has served as a protector, and, lately, an advocate for epilepsy.

It may be no wonder, then, Nolan flocked to Haas.

The size, first, is a bit intriguing. But ultimately it was Haas’ personality, his willingness to soften, his willingness to ask about Nolan’s life and his willingness to listen that Nolan truly became infatuated with.

After autographs were secured from the entire team, Haas asked Nolan if he’d seen the entire space yet. Nolan hadn’t. So Haas popped up out of his chair and said he’d give him a tour.

“I took him throughout the rest of the locker room, kind of showed him stuff, talked to him a little bit, messed around with him. At the end, gave him a hug and told him come back anytime,” said Haas, smiling as he relayed the story. “We just had a good time with that kid. He’s a great kid. He’s going to have a pretty good upside with the family he’s got.”

Haas’ willingness to spend one-on-one time allowed Nolan an opportunity to relax.

And feel comfortable.

“He didn’t want to leave,” said Brandon Paschal, Nolan’s dad and a Purdue grad. “And not threw a fit and didn’t want to leave, but, like, went out and picked out a seat in the lounge and sat down and wanted to watch TV.”

Mom Megan Paschal was trying not to cry as she watched the entire experience unfold.

For one, she knew Nolan was a bit overwhelmed but was so happy to see him holding it together.

For another, she saw the joy on her son’s face.

“When they finally started coming out and got in there and they were all sitting there talking to him, it was really neat to see him,” said Megan, also a Purdue grad.

“If he could articulate a dream, that would be it, for sure.”

And so much of that was because of the response by the players.

Brandon and Megan admitted they — and maybe all of Purdue’s fans — can see the players as a bit “untouchable,” even considering them “kind of celebrities,” which daughters Adelynne and 13-year-old Aubrey, who got a selfie with Mathias, quickly confirmed.

But then getting in a room with them, having conversations with them, they all realized they’re just guys.

“They were genuine,” Brandon said.

And that’s not a one-time thing.

Perhaps the biggest test, so to speak, of the players’ character came only two weeks earlier.

Purdue had just lost on a buzzer-beater to Ohio State in what was the biggest game of the season up to that point, a pivotal one to determine the Big Ten’s regular-season champion. But Bloom already had set up Tyler’s visit for that game, and it couldn’t be changed.

So Tyler was introduced in the locker room afterward, and the players’ faces lit up and their voices piped up, welcoming the kiddo to their private space.

“It’s bigger than us. It’s bigger than basketball,” Mathias said. “It was a devastating loss here, but to see a kid come in who has a lot bigger problems than losing a game by a couple points, really puts life in perspective. It really brings you back down to earth. I think it humbles you.”

Bloom certainly builds perspective-giving service into the extensive list.

One of the players’ favorite service opportunities has been the annual shopping trip in which the team serves people from Willowstone Family Services and pairs with Fastbreakers and Meijer to provide gift cards. Players even have chipped in part of their holiday per diem to the pool, allowing the total to continue to increase for what families can spend on the shopping spree. Players are paired with families and scour the aisles for toys, clothes or whatever the caregivers — and sometimes the kids, who are welcome to join — want to buy with those gift cards, which were $500 per family this year.

“Just seeing people who don’t have what we have and being able to help them and just to see their appreciation and the excitement on their faces, that’s better than any win we’ve ever had here,” Mathias said.

Not all the opportunities to give may be that grand in gesture and scope.

But each still leaves a tremendous impression.

Edwards received a letter this year in the mail from a young fan, whose father emailed Bloom nearly at the same time. Maya had missed an opportunity to meet Edwards, her favorite player, after a game earlier this season because of what her dad called “stage fright.”

She left the game crying.

But her dad encouraged her to write.

So as soon as Edwards got the letter, he dropped it on Bloom’s lap before film one day and said, “Get it done. I don’t care how you get it done, just get it done.”

Two days after Purdue lost to Wisconsin in mid-February, the pre-teen fan and her dad were meeting Edwards before practice. He’d come early. Maya told Edwards how she had watched every game and hung on every possession. A loss meant tears. A win meant massive celebration. Edwards took a couple pictures with her and gave her an autographed practice jersey.

But it wasn’t about the stuff at all.

It was about Edwards being attentive and listening. About offering a smile and giving a hug.

It was so much more than a 15-minute meet-and-greet.

“She really just wanted to, honestly, just see me. That was the greatest part of it,” Edwards said. “Seeing her, seeing how happy she was, how shy she was, how emotional she was, I thought it was neat.”

The next day, Bloom got an email from Maya’s father, relaying how Maya went to school and shared all the photos and showed the jersey with her friends. And the dad repeated what has become a common refrain to Bloom: Because of his daughter’s interaction with Edwards, he is now forever a Boilermakers fan.

“He’s like, ‘I’m kind of a Purdue transplant, but you guys have become my team because of this,’ ” Bloom said. “That’s something I hear a bunch. You’ve got to win games and everybody likes that, but so many people say these guys are my guys because of this kind of stuff, every bit as much as the wins they’ve had.”

That’s because it is clear from the people who interact with the players on a real level, not basing opinions off a good or bad night on the court, quickly see the most impressive muscle all of their bodies is the one that beats.

They see hearts bursting to love, to offer hope and to serve.

“I want to be that role model to kids,” Edwards said. “Of course, I’m not going to get every kid, but if it’s so sincere as (Maya) — he took the time to email and the daughter to write me a letter personally — it immediately hit me. I want to be that guy for kids. Whether I play professionally for 10 years, eight years, however long my body can hold up, I want to be that guy kids can look up to.”

Haas has similar aspirations.

He said he appreciates LeBron James’ approach to community efforts and being a mentor for kids, especially, and Haas is working to do everything he can right now, where he’s at and with what he’s been given, to do just that.

Maybe that’s handing over a pair of shoes, which he does frequently (without asking permission).

Maybe it’s pulling on a T-shirt and wearing it to a postgame press conference, so Tyler’s name and #fightlikety hashtag could be on display for thousands of folks to see.

Maybe it’s making sure to literally extend an arm in an effort to high-five a fan that seemingly is unreachable, stuck in the corner of Mackey Arena, after a game, finding any one whose hand is hoping for that pay-off.

Maybe it’s allowing the kid who is shuttling you around Meijer on a shopping spree to hold your hand the entire time, like happened with Haas last year.

Maybe it’s posing for a photo, like he and the seniors did over and over and over again hours after they’d beaten Minnesota on senior night.

“I try to help everybody have a good time because that’s all that we’re here for,” Haas said. “I think it helps people realize that nobody is untouchable. It’s all just a matter of how you present yourself to the public that allows kids to look up to you in a different way.

“I think (serving) definitely helps everyone just keep a positive outlook and realize we’re blessed to be in the situation we’re in. We’re basically living the life. You lose sight of that, at times. When you have a bad practice, things like that. It just puts things in perspective and reminds you you’re living pretty well.”

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