the lot at Miller Park. Despite the inconvenience of having my giant cotton swab confiscated by the gate agent in St. Louis and having to wait for it on the other side, we were super early for the antics in a lot with a sausage house branded bathroom that’s as luxurious as any parking lot relief center I’ve seen in my time of beer drinking and outdoor venues.
I walked into the bathroom at 10:14 a.m. and an ovalteen frat boy was vomiting on cue in Stall No. 2. Those of us at the urinal all pointed to our watches and did the “smh” thing.
Jack Harbaugh showed up on cue in the Yount Lot next to the Molitor Lot, which was unique because Paul Molitor would be managing the Twins that day and trying to beat the Brewers in Milwaukee.
These Diamond League kids were really a first class bunch. Great families. Great stories. Great brats. Cold beer. Solid cookies and cakes. Many were Marquette alums and the senior Harbaugh was quite the coup for their party!
Jenn swabbed people in the lot.
The Brewers left us press credentials and some really nice tickets on the club level in dangerous foul ball territory off the first base on-deck circle.
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We had two women – more or less Jack Harbaugh’s age – to our left and they were quite the scene. They loved baseball and struck up conversation with strangers as only folks can do at a baseball game.
Jack and I were wearing bring pink shirts and she inquired as to who we were and what we were doing.
Jack, who was wearing a Baltimore Ravens windbreaker around his waist, said to her, “Have you ever heard of Jim Harbaugh or John Harbaugh?”
That’s when the comedy erupted.
“I sure have,” the lady said. “The one is OK but you can have the other one,” she exclaimed unwittingly to their father.
Meanwhile, Jack looks at me and Jenn, with a fun, impish grin more akin to Jack Benny, and turns back to her and says, “Well, what is it that you don’t like about ‘em?”
8She meandered on about chasing other coaches and personality disorders and not being nice during the Super Bowl while we smiled and laughed a little.
And finally he says, “I’m Jack Harbaugh. I’m their father.”
Needless to say, it could’ve gotten a little awkward after that.
But the next five innings were a lot of fun as the elder Harbaugh put on the old Midwestern recruiting charm and we had a blast hearing the outlandish baseball strategies of a woman who loved baseball but needed a little “coaching up” in her educational journey around the grand game. Coach Harbaugh was gently helping her gain some perspective on the finer points of the hit and run, the defensive shift and pitchers hitting eighth instead of ninth.
Jack Harbaugh loves baseball. Jack Harbaugh loves the Cleveland Indians. And I loved watching the Twins and the Brewers with Jack Harbaugh at Miller Park.
And, yes, we attacked that afternoon with an enthusiasm unknown to mankind!
And lived to tell…
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