[Author’s Note: This piece is the longer version of my story that ran in the Wall Street Journal, on line Thursday, and in the paper Friday.  http://www.wsj.com/articles/michigans-jim-harbaugh-a-wolverine-is-on-the-loose-1426174025]

 

When Jim Harbaugh was growing up in Ann Arbor, his father Jack, coached the defensive backs for Bo Schembechler at the University of Michigan. When Jack handed his kids their lunches each morning, he’d tell them to “attack this day with an enthusiasm unknown to mankind!”

It’s fair to say, Jim got the message.

After Jim’s sophomore year in high school, the family moved to Palo Alto, where his father took a post as Stanford’s defensive coordinator. Although Jim starred for Palo Alto High, Stanford did not offer him a scholarship, and Michigan didn’t, either, ““until the last minute,” Bo Schembechler told Mitch Albom, for their book, Bo.

Schembechler sat Harbaugh down in his office, said, “Jim, I want you here” – and that was it. Harbaugh accepted so quickly, he had to call a few days later to ask Schembechler if he was giving him a full scholarship.

Harbaugh was appreciative – but still young.

For his first team meeting that summer, he showed up a few minutes late – a definite no-no under Schembechler.

“I can’t believe you!” Schembechler screamed, in front of the team. “Don’t even bother to come into this meeting. YOU WILL NEVER PLAY A DOWN AT MICHIGAN!”

The seniors knew better — they’d heard countless such threats before – but Harbaugh didn’t. He was not late again. Four years later, he was the Big Ten’s MVP.

He’s not likely to be late now, either, as Michigan’s head coach — Schembechler’s heir, in every way. If it was not a good idea to show up late for Schembechler’s meetings, it is probably no wiser to show up late for Harbaugh’s, either.

He once said, “I don’t get sick. I don’t observe major holidays. I’m a jack-hammer.”

In his office last week, he told me, “Now that we’re into spring ball, we’ve been bunkered down at the hotel.  Everyone’s wife is shopping for homes, because we don’t have time to look.

“At 5:45 each morning, we meet in the lobby and eat breakfast—oatmeal, whatever they’ve got. Then we carpool to Schembechler Hall—I still don’t have a car—and we go until midnight, then carpool back to the hotel. Then we get up and do it again.

“It’s been a fun way to get to know each other.”

Michigan’s disappointing decade has fueled the fans’ hunger for Harbaugh’s old-school toughness. The Wolverines, college football’s all-time winningest team, have stumbled to a 46-42 record since the start of the 2008 season, which means they were bested by Northwestern, at 50-39.

“I don’t think people realized what Michigan football meant to them until it was in the toilet,” longtime booster Jeff Cappo said. “After the last decade, you can’t take anything for granted.”

The natives were restless, and hungry.

In December I wrote, “If [Harbaugh] had gone to New York, Chicago or across the Bay to Oakland, he’d still be a great coach — and would likely get fired one day. But if he returned to Michigan, he’d be greeted as a savior.”

In hindsight, “savior” was an understatement.

Harbaugh is not yet three months into his tenure as the coach of his alma mater. The Wolverines have held a grand total of four practices, and they’re still almost half a year from their first game. But Harbaugh’s gold-plated resume and boundless passion have inspired Michigan fans to give him a reception like no coach before him — not even Schembechler himself.

When Michigan hired Schembechler from Miami (Ohio) after the 1968 season, fans and reporters famously asked, “Bo who?” In 1995, Michigan’s athletic director named Lloyd Carr the interim head coach, but stressed he wouldn’t be considered for the permanent post. Rich Rodriguez came with high expectations, but was an unknown outsider. Brady Hoke arrived with a 47-50 career record, and more questions than answers.

Not Harbaugh. He transformed Stanford from lambs to lions in just four years, then led the San Francisco 49ers to the NFC Championship Game three straight seasons.

On December 30, Harbaugh did the unthinkable, leaving a successful NFL career to return to the college game. That same day, when he addressed the Michigan fans at a basketball game, the students wore khakis, Harbaugh’s preferred sideline apparel, in his honor. “Maize, Blue and Khaki” is now a popular T-shirt, as is “Welcome to Ann Harbaugh.”

Harbaugh has quickly become the sport’s foremost celebrity. He already has more twitter followers than any coach this side of Urban Meyer, who just won his third national title. In February, Jameis Winston and Bryce Petty—two of the top quarterback prospects in this year’s draft—came to Ann Arbor to get some private Harbaugh coaching, and thanked him for it publicly. Last week Harbaugh tweeted Judith Sheindlin, aka “Judge Judy,” to congratulate her on a contract extension, and tell her he’s a “devout fan.” She tweeted right back, wishing him best of luck at Michigan.

The same week, Harbaugh unwittingly threatened to elevate his status to sainthood when he witnessed a car roll over on I-94, then jumped out to help two older women get out of their crushed SUV, and loaned his coat to prevent shock. The women later said they had no idea they were being helped by Harbaugh, but stopped short of asking, “Who was that masked man?”

Then last weekend, with his players on spring break, Harbaugh popped up like Forrest Gump again, this time coaching first base for the Oakland A’s. That set off another round of blog entiries. “Is there anything this man can’t do?”

“Everyone’s showed him so much love here,” Harbaugh’s wife Sarah said, “but we know he’s not the king.”

It’s everyone else who seems to think so. Just minutes after Harbaugh accepted the job, a reporter asked him about being “the messiah.”

“I’m not comfortable with that at all,” Harbaugh said, trying in vain to dampen expectations that were already soaring.

“Last night a college student walked up to our table,” Sarah recalled a couple weeks ago, “to show him the bracelets he and his friends had made, that say, ‘Hail Harbaugh.’ I’m thinking, ‘Kid, you’re not helping!’”

Then Harbaugh pulled a Schembechler, and started pumping the kid for his name, his major and his career plans. “He was so into this guy,” Sarah said, “you’d think he was his career counselor.

“The people here are just grateful, and it feels good. I don’t feel like anywhere else he could have gone, would we get a reception like this.

“This was meant to be.”

Harbaugh is a bit removed from all the excitement. “We’re here, in Schembechler Hall, all day,” he said. “But like I told recruits, there’s a lot of hunger for Michigan football right now.

“And hungry dogs hunt best.”

* * * * *

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