Josh Harrison
I’ve asked a lot of guys what it’s like to make the bigs—but Josh Harrison? That guy always knew he belonged. When I asked about his first time walking into a ballpark, he didn’t talk about seats or smells—he talked about respect. For the game. For the players. For the fans. Josh played like every day was a gift, and in places like PNC and Great American, that joy caught fire. From pinch-hitting against Chapman to clowning Cubs fans at Wrigley, he’s got stories that’ll make you laugh and moments that’ll make you feel it deep in your chest.
Tell me about the first time you remember walking into a ballpark. What do you remember?
I don’t remember my first time, because I grew up around it—my uncle, John Shelby, played and coached in the big leagues. I was at games during the ’88 World Series. From early on, I knew that’s where I wanted to be. I didn’t go just for autographs—I’d shake hands and learn. My dad always taught me: don’t talk trash about players. That stuck with me. I respected the game because I saw where it could take you.
You always seemed like a guy who saw giving back as part of the job. Why was that important to you?
I’ve always been observant. Being the youngest of three helped me learn. I never lost the fun in the game, and I try to bring that joy to fans. I’m human, just like them—same emotions, same struggles. And I’ve always been about the kids. Some just want an autograph because they love the game. That means something. I’ll always stop for a kid before an adult climbing over them.
You’re from Cincinnati. What was it like the first time you played a big league game at Great American Ball Park?
I didn’t play the first few times I came back with the Pirates. I'd pinch-hit late or just cheer from the bench. My friends were yelling to put me in—Clint Hurdle would say, “Hey, your boys are getting on me!” Eventually, I got in against Aroldis Chapman. Welcome home, right?
In 2015, you signed a life-changing contract extension. What was it like doing that in your hometown?
Surreal. Nobody knew until after Opening Day. I had to get a physical in Pittsburgh on the off day, then came back for the press conference in Cincy. My whole family was there. I was told it was the first press conference for a visiting player since Jeter was named Yankees captain. That meant a lot—especially having my family there.
What did it mean for your parents to watch you play there once you were an All-Star?
My mom only comes if it’s warm—she calls herself a “fair-weather fan.” My dad? Rain, shine, he’s there. And he’s known in Cincinnati. At any game, I’d look into the crowd and see people I grew up with. It was like being back in the neighborhood.
And what’s it like playing at Great American?
I got to sleep in my own bed! We call it Great American “Small Park,” but you still have to hit the ball well. It’s a great place to hit, but it's not automatic. I had my only career multi-homer game there.
What about PNC Park—what was it like calling that home?
That place took me in. Pittsburgh fans love blue-collar guys. If you play hard, they love you. If you play well and hard, they love you even more. I was that guy. I played through injuries, never took anything for granted, waited my turn. That city and that ballpark were special to me and my family.
You always played hard—never got cheated on effort. Do you think that’s why fans connected with you?
Absolutely. I wasn’t handed anything. Took me three years to get a starting role, but I stayed ready. I’ve had injuries, setbacks, but I never gave up. My dad reminds me: “You played 13 years.” There’s a lot I didn’t get to do because of injury, but I’m proud of what I did.
What about Wrigley? I remember a certain outfield switch…
I was supposed to play second, but Marte got scratched. I went to Clint and said, “Put me in left.” I didn’t want Max Moroff out there—he’d never played outfield. Clint let me do it. That day, our whole outfield—me, Cutch, Polanco—hit homers. It was wild.
And the fans? Trash talkers. I give ’em three innings to come up with something good. One guy showed me his replica Cubs ring, said I wished I had one. I said, “Yours ain’t real either.” We won, and I left the field singing “No Cubs No.” Fifteen seconds later, I’m getting tweets: “Harrison, you suck!” I loved it. Wrigley day games are the best.
What’s it like defensively out there with the ivy and wind?
You gotta respect the ivy—there’s brick behind it. That’s real. You play deeper. The wind will play tricks on you. That’s why I told Clint to put me out there. I’m not afraid to look like a fool. I’ve done it before—I’ll do it again.
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More from Josh Harrison
NOTE: The above was edited for clarity and length.
You can read the full transcript here.