A year ago last September, I was standing at a urinal in Wrigley Field when a fellow took the spot next to me and started talking about Jim Harbaugh. Not everyone likes to talk while standing at a urinal, and even when a conversation is struck up it doesn’t often concern Jim Harbaugh–although, admittedly, it’s a lot more likely now than it was then–but that was all right because, between gentlemen, all men’s room conversations are pretty much the same, and because this fellow didn’t look like the sort who usually tries to establish a conversation in the men’s room. He was short–that is, about a half-foot shorter than I am, or about five-foot-six–wearing a cable-knit cardigan (it was a cold day), and with shortish, shall I say maize-colored hair only slightly more unkempt than his beard. That doesn’t say much, because his beard was so well manicured that it could have passed for a hedge in Glencoe if it had surrounded a yard and not his face. We were standing there, and he turned the chin of his beard up to face me (to show he wasn’t looking at anything else, I imagine), and he said, “What do you think about the Bears’ quarterbacks?”
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He nodded his head, and in the deep but well-trimmed aperture of the beard around his mouth I believe I saw his lips purse. “Well, let me tell you,” he said, “I’m from Michigan, and I think the kid’s a winner.” He looked straight ahead and went on as if making a point in a phone-system commercial, telling me about how he’d watched Jim Harbaugh score a touchdown with a broken wrist, how he’d seen him rally the old Maize and Blue to many a game-winning score, and how the kid was, in short, a “gamer.”
At which point he shook himself off, buttoned himself up, and marched away as if I’d asked him to compare penis size. He glanced over his shoulder as he left, however, and said, “Illinois–you guys are cheaters.” To which I said nothing. We Illini alumni long ago learned to let the Michigans have the last word: it’s the price we pay for being able to piss longer than they do.
Harbaugh’s first start, a week ago last Monday against the Los Angeles Rams, was a predictable embarrassment. We knew it was going to be a long Monday night from the first play from scrimmage. With a kid quarterback starting his first game, the coaches prepare the first play with the utmost care. In all the playbook, in light of all the films of the opponent, they look for the one play guaranteed to work, the one pass the kid can complete to start the game with a little rush of confidence. The Bears’ coaches considered that play a slightly demanding but still fairly simple slant-in pass to the wide receiver. He cuts in from the wide-out position on a diagonal toward the center of the field, and the quarterback leads him in his path. It’s impossible to defend, a play of pure timing between the quarterback and wide receiver, but Harbaugh left the pass far behind the receiver. After that, it was a long night, made worse by the coaches’ intransigence in having Harbaugh throw, repeatedly, upfield and in having him pass out of the shotgun formation on third down and short yardage. Eventually, the defense broke down under the stress, and the game turned into a rout.
Give Ditka credit. The Vikings were down 16-6 at this point, and a victory by the Bears would mean a divisional title and home-field advantage through the playoffs–no ifs, ands, or buts. Yet he stuck With Harbaugh, who hit his first tiny pass over the middle to tight end James Thornton, and then went on a beautiful streak where he threw only one incomplete pass. (He completed 18 of 26 on the day.) He moved them down just into field-goal range for Kevin Butler, but with a cold, heavy ball a kick of more than 40 yards was iffy at best, even with the wind at his back. The key play was a third down from the Lions’ 30-yard line. The Lions blitzed both safeties; Neal Anderson blocked the first one through, but had to let the other go. Harbaugh read the blitz, prepared to take the hit, and lofted a beautiful pass to Dennis McKinnon 15 yards downfield.
