John Harbaugh, then nine years old, fastened his helmet, slipped into his shoulder pads, tightened his cleats, and fixed his gaze on the mirror. Glancing back, he saw the most resilient football player on the planet. His father had an alternative perspective.
“My father trailed closely behind me,” remembers Harbaugh. “This isn’t a football game, John Boy, until you make your first tackle,” he says.
Recounting his unlucky debut in front of the teams in town for the NCAA lacrosse championship, the Ravens coach is sharing his story. The players are placed at circular dinner tables in the club level of M&T Bank Stadium 48 hours before to the semifinals.
He says, “His name was Ralph.” “For all I knew at the time, Ralph might have weighed 200 pounds.” Ralph shaved his one eyebrow, I believe twice a day. In the sixth grade, I was positive he had hair in places other than under his armpits. Ralph was a large, cruel man.
With the effortless grace of a stand-up comedian, Harbaugh takes his place in front of the podium, clutching the microphone. Despite not having anything written down, he converses fluently with the group of strangers in the room as if they were old friends. Harbaugh embraces everyone with the same sincere warmth. Despite his height of 5’11”, he appears to grow or shrink to the eye level of whoever he is speaking with. You know there’s nothing he’d rather be doing than talking to you.
Whistle sounds, and I emerge. I dropped to a good football position, with my eyes up and my butt down. I was prepared to take this man out. I gave Ralph my all and pursued him. I relaxed—ooh!—with every fiber molecule in my body. You do realize what transpired next?”
“Ralph struck my chest squarely with his knee. There was no air left in me. As he approached my chin, I felt my helmet begin to move sideways and backward. It gets a little hazy after that. All I can recall is that I was clinging desperately to something—possibly his foot or ankle—while Ralph used my body to plow the field. I had no idea how much time it lasted.
In contrast to his younger brother, who eclipsed him in many aspects, Harbaugh was not an exceptionally talented football player. He would take a different route, using coaching as a means of expressing his love for the game.
While his brother Jim was basking in NFL success, having quarterbacked the Bears and Colts as “Captain Comeback,” Harbaugh hopped from school to school and position to position, turning every question and snide comment (are you Jim Harbaugh’s younger brother?) into motivation.
“HARBAUGH WAS NOT A NATIVE FOOTBALL PLAYER.”
The mountain appeared unattainable back then, when he was working in cities called Kalamazoo and Morehead.
Despite having arrived at the promised land—being the first NFL coach to win a playoff game in each of his first three seasons and inking a rumored $12 million, three-year contract extension in February—Harbaugh is determined to remember the road ahead. The lonely evenings spent traveling for recruitment, the late-night movie screenings, and the unsuccessful job interviews. The Ralph family.
“Somehow, someway, I wasn’t sure what happened since it was all dark. Maybe he grew tired, maybe he felt sorry for me, maybe he slipped, and Ralph fell on top of me,” he says. “I was unable to see.” What was going through my head? Oh my god, I’ve gone blind. Please, Lord, grant me sight. I noticed this circle of light in the distance just as I was praying. An intense brightness. I was killed by Ralph. I’ve passed away. I’m heading to paradise.
I recognized I wasn’t dead when I began to hear noises in the background, including guys laughing and cheering. I jumped to my feet, reached for my face mask, turned it around, and posed with my chest out. It was my first time tackling. I used to play football.
The club level erupts in cheers, as it does on many Sundays and, no doubt, Thanksgiving night when John’s Ravens take on Jim’s San Francisco 49ers. Although Harbaugh had to train as a football player, coaching was his calling.
Often, destiny is only clear in retrospect. In retrospect, it seems unbelievable that the two sons of the greatest football coach they have ever known, Jack Harbaugh, would choose not to follow in their father’s footsteps.
However, Jim was the one destined for greatness in football. They were not equals in athletics, but they grew up “like twins,” according to Jack, and still call each other “my greatest buddy.”
The 15-month-old Harbaugh says, “Jim was a tremendous athlete.” “He was consistently significantly larger and superior to the other students in his class.”
In Perrysburg, Ohio, where Jack worked as an assistant high school coach, the boys were born. The family relocated around the Midwest as he secured increasingly coveted positions as a collegiate assistant. Jack taught defensive backs at Pioneer High School in Ann Arbor under University of Michigan coach Bo Schembechler from 1973 to 1979. Harbaugh attended Pioneer High School.
In the Harbaugh household, competition was always the third brother.
Jim claims that “small [ones] were always going on.” My dad served as their primary inspiration. We would grapple in the living room while he cleared the floor. He would time us to go fetch something for him, usually a beer from the refrigerator, while we were sitting there watching TV. We would do every effort to break the world record. Everything seemed interesting to my dad.
John Harbaugh played with less edge than his father, but both played to win.
According to Harbaugh, “Jim was so competitive that others found him to be kind of annoying.” “He didn’t care; he would dominate kids.”
Nobody could say that about John, according to his sister Joani, who naturally married Indiana University basketball player Tom Crean, a coach who had “a huge degree of regard for everyone.” “It’s probably why he makes such a great leader,”
A boyhood acquaintance named Jim Minick describes him as “the pied piper.” “John was the one who was going to solve the problem; Jim and I were the ones who were going to create it.”
Harbaugh was a passable defensive back with modest physical strength on the football field. After receiving a partial scholarship at Miami University in Ohio, he would have graduated anyhow, but knee issues interrupted his career there.
Jim, meantime, moved to Michigan and guided the fabled blue and maize team to Big Ten championship. He was selected by Chicago in the first round of the 1987 NFL Draft.
“I had intended to become a lawyer,” states Harbaugh.
However, the split wasn’t amicable. His lifelong passion, football, nagged at him, and he missed it. He tried it again, and fortunately, he had an in at age 21. In 1984, he was hired as a graduate assistant by his father, who was Western Michigan’s head coach at the time.
“We moved him over to the running backs the following year after he spent the first year working on the defensive side of the ball,” Jack explains. “The house was his home. I drove to and from work with him.
Although it wasn’t glamorous, Harbaugh saw it as a wake-up call.
He remarks, “I had no idea how much there was to football, the Xs and Os.” “Even after 27 years, I still find it astounding how much of the game I still don’t understand.”
Son observed his father in a way that he had never done before, especially the way he interacted with his staff and players.
According to Harbaugh, “He knew how to paint a picture with words.” “There are various ways to do it, and a great teacher figures out how,” he would often say. “I have my concept in my head, and I want to put it into your head.”
Even though Jack was predisposed, he saw something exceptional in return.
According to him, “certain coaches could observe [the game] narrowly.” John possessed the capacity to view the entire field. Although he would be concentrating on defense, he was curious about everything he could learn about the offensive side, including what they were trying to attack and why specific plays were being run. He found the small picture unsatisfactory.
“Josh was the one who fixed the problem, even if we caused it.”
Harbaugh set off on the itinerant path of a college coach, making stops at Pittsburgh, Morehead State, and Cincinnati. If they had asked, he would have trained the water boys—linebackers, tight ends.
He was hired by Cam Cameron, the current offensive coordinator for the Ravens, in 1997 to oversee Indiana’s special teams. Harbaugh was overjoyed, as was his wife Ingrid. They had first connected at Western Michigan, where she was a student assistant in the baseball office and he worked for his father. After six years of marriage, they had reached the Big Ten. The only way they would ever leave beautiful Bloomington would be if an NFL or Michigan dream job offered themselves.
The telephone rang. After a recruiting tour, Harbaugh was on his way back to Indiana University when he received word that the Philadelphia Eagles wanted to speak with him about their opening as special teams coach.
He claims, “I got invited back for a second interview after they interviewed, I think, twelve guys.” It was between the two males. After four hours, they contacted me again and said, “He turned it down, do you want it?” They had told me that they were giving it to the other person and that I had a bright future.Yes, I did want it.
Looking back, he was the right choice.
He was chosen as the Eagles’ Special Teams Coach of the Year after the 2001 campaign, his fourth with the team.
John’s longtime friend Sean McDonough of ESPN adds, “John’s special teams played their asses off for him.” “People seem to get together for John.”
Harbaugh’s name was on several college head coaching short lists after ten years in Philadelphia, but he was never the winner. He had two interviews with the University of Cincinnati, Boston College, and UCLA.
After firing Brian Billick on New Year’s Eve 2007, Steve Bisciotti, the owner of the Ravens, was starting his first coaching search. He put together a team that included Ozzie Newsome, the general manager, who immediately gave the Eagles coach Andy Reid a call.
Reid states, “I believe that people are searching for someone who can solve problems.” “Someone who wins football games, is intelligent, trustworthy, and draws crowds.” John touches on every one of those points if you go through his checklist. Ozzie observed that. “You are one smart person,” I exclaim. “I felt that was a really gutsy move.”
After narrowing their initial list of 30 candidates to five, Harbaugh remained on the list.
“When I arrived for the interview, Bisciotti cornered me with a question for which I had no response,” claims Harbaugh. He questioned me about how I would split my time between scouting, players, coaches, and other activities. My percentages weren’t correct. I realized I was done and had no chance after answering the question incorrectly, but at least I could pick his brain for a day.
Bisciotti laughs at Harbaugh’s memory.
He claims that the purpose of the inquiry was to spark conversation rather than to determine whether or not he was correct. I gave him a little start. I was interested in learning how he approached an issue without a sure answer and how he reasoned. I admired his zeal.
but not to the extent that Jason Garrett wasn’t first pursued by the Ravens. They hired Harbaugh after failing to sign the now-Dallas Cowboys coach.
Again, looking back, he was the right choice.
Five weeks into the John Harbaugh experiment, things didn’t seem promising. With a rookie quarterback leading the offense, the Ravens were 3–2.
Matt Stover, the team’s kicker, adds, “I saw his staff take a hold of Joe Flacco and put him in a position to be able to perform.” “He projects a vision to ensure that everyone understands the path they are taking.” I could see that this man could lead others and foster an atmosphere that welcomed change.
With his lack of play calling and defensive play calling, Harbaugh’s willingness to delegate is uncommon in the ego-tainted world of NFL coaching.
“The appearance you observe on the field is a mirror of my desired outcome,” he states. “While I don’t have the best understanding of the Steelers’ strategy on third and long, I do have the best grasp of the whole picture. Much of that I will comprehend, but [the assistants] must be the most knowledgeable. What are you doing if you are calling the plays?”
Although Baltimore reached the AFC championship that season, it was in risk of missing the playoffs the following year. After a humiliating defeat at Green Bay in December, Harbaugh received an email from his friend Minick, a U.S. Army colonel. Marine Division.
A difficult one last night. It’s a good moment to review some history, Minick wrote. During the Korean War, near the Chosin Reservoir, legendary Marine General Chesty Puller famously said, “My Marines were besieged on all sides by swarms of Chinese by a ratio of 29:1.” Good news, guys! We can now launch an attack from any angle.
Stories instruct, speeches preach. Harbaugh told his players about the story and nudged Minick for more.
Kelly Gregg, a defensive tackle who was let go in July, says, “We just had to rally around each other because of the way those Marines sacrificed everything.” We were unaffected by anything outside the building.
That week’s victory over Detroit marked the first of the Ravens’ three straight wins to secure a post-season berth.
But the season ended in a loss, just like all of Harbaugh’s. Some admirers take issue with his seeming lack of involvement. But don’t allow his naivety and joyous appearance deceive you about his intensity. He has a history of becoming angry at players, as demonstrated by the way he handled Dannell Ellerbe’s hot-dogging of the goal line during a preseason game last year. In full face of the television cameras, Harbaugh took the linebacker by the jersey and gave him another chewing fit.
Call it an opportunity to learn.
In June, Harbaugh is seated in an armchair in his office. This summer, the NFL lockout has kept him here rather than on the field more often than he would have liked. He hasn’t coached his players, although he has played a little golf and toured the Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, battlefields. He’s learning to see the good in that frustration.
He states, “It’s been an opportunity.” “A great teacher is the foundation of a great coach. Having a solid lesson plan is, in my opinion, the cornerstone of being a successful teacher. We’ve had more time to consider how we organize and instruct.”
All about Harbaugh are framed pictures of persons who have instructed him. In one, he greets Reid at the 2009 Pro Bowl as they are both sporting Hawaiian shirts. In another, he gives O.J. a fixed stare. In the locker room, Brigance, the director of player development for the Ravens and a victim of Lou Gehrig’s disease, addresses the players.
His fourth-grader daughter Alison’s artwork are displayed on a bulletin board across the apartment. A contented cow appears in one, while a smiling deer and rabbit appear in another. His preferred design is a maze-like rectangle pattern. Alison, who carries a stick around their Reisterstown home, is teaching him lacrosse.
But an 800-pound Roethlisberger in the room, if you will, taints even his nice office. Harbaugh is 2–6 against Pittsburgh, a team that he despises.
“A outstanding teacher is a great coach.”
He declares, “We have to figure out how to defeat the Steelers.” “We have to improve so much that the next time we play, we bury them, and we have to keep coming back and burying them.” Do whatever it takes to stomp on their throats and refuse to let them go. When you step outside and there are 75,000 Terrible Towels waving and the song “Renegade” by Styx playing—I detest that song! However, you become enthused because you desire to be in that circumstance.
Strangely, the Ravens’ two matchups with Pittsburgh won’t be the most eagerly awaited ones. Rather, Thanksgiving will see the inaugural Harbaugh Bowl, when two siblings will go on one another as head coaches for the first time in NFL history. People will feel a lot.
“I adore him,” Jim declares. “He’s been my best buddy and role model. I will always be honored to call him my brother.
Harbaugh conveys the same sentiments in his own unique style.
“We had to draw a tape line even though we had spent 16 years in the same room. When one dared to cross, a fight broke out. I was 27 when we last got into a fight. He was the Bears’ quarterback. At 6’4”, he weighed 230 pounds. I was about 195 years old. He brings us on a vacation to Florida, where we engage in a wrestling session while relaxing on the beach.
Rolling around in the sand, the fiercest of rivals, but the closest of allies. The image has been painted.
It moves toward the water and becomes a little more combative. I get a shot in, and he gets one. I’m beginning to believe that perhaps I could get along with the older sibling. Then he puts me in a headlock, lifts me, and throws me into a three-foot deep pool of water.
“Under the sea, my head is on the sand. He won’t drown me, of course, but I wonder if he’s lost his cool. My dad is attempting to subdue him, but he is too powerful. I’m going to go under. He picked me up before I passed away. He avoided mouth-to-mouth communication because it was forbidden. That’s when I decided I would never fight my brother again. He is excessively large.
Harbaugh quickly adds, “On Thanksgiving night, the outcome will be different,” as the laughter stops.
He says, “I’m going to submerge his head in the water this time, and the small bubbles will be bursting out.” It will be significant. I’m eager.
Win, lose, or—in the words of Jackie, the matriarch of the Harbaugh family—“If it ends in a draw, wouldn’t that be wonderful?John Harbaugh’s story will be amazing.
