SOUTH BEND — Baseball or Jimmy Buffett.
It was hard to tell which Joel Reinebold loved more.
Only on days that ended in “y,” there was no better place for Reinebold to be than at a baseball field. To him, it was “the yard.” Always the yard. On that riding mower, making sure the infield grass was manicured to a proper height, the batter’s box and baselines were properly chalked and dragging the infield to his specific standard, and it was a high one.
No detail was too small for Reinebold to ignore. Select dozens might be out to watch a high school baseball game on a miserable spring day, but he prepared every field like it was Game 7 of the World Series. For an early afternoon game, it was common for him to arrive at the yard before 7 a.m. He might not leave until after 9 p.m.
For Reinebold, it was the ultimate labor of love. His labor. His love. Being at the yard served as a conduit to the past, the present, the future.
Often while he worked, Buffett tunes bounced out of the stadium speakers at a place that carried the family name ― Reinebold Field, a long home run away from Clay High School, where he served as baseball coach for 11 seasons.
Reinebold, set to turn 66 in August, died Sunday only days after suffering a massive heart attack. His death came barely a week after Clay athletics lost another cornerstone in former basketball standout Jaraan Cornell, who died of a heart attack on June 6 at age 48.
If you cannot write the history of Clay Colonial athletics without Cornell in the lead, you cannot write the history of Clay Colonial athletics without Reinebold in an early paragraph. He mattered that much. Not because of how much he won, but because of how much he cared. About the game. About the kids.
Our paths last crossed this spring on a high school baseball field. Reinebold was among those in attendance that late-April day when Hall of Fame Penn coach Greg Dikos had the Kingsmen’s home field named in his honor.
Reinebold smiled the smile of a proud former assistant coach for Dikos, but you could tell from behind his sunglasses how much he missed the game. He missed being at the park. He missed being in uniform. He missed teaching. He missed coaching.
When he coached Clay’s last home game in the spring of 2024, a part of Reinebold died that day. A big part. One chapter in his life was ending. A new one, one that wouldn’t include coaching, wouldn’t include games at Reinebold Field, was coming.
That was hard for Reinebold to accept. Really, he never did.
Reinebold didn’t win a ton of games. He didn’t challenge for sectional and regional and semistate trophies every season. He didn’t play for a state championship at a place that won it all in 1970, but no high school coach cared more about being a coach.
It wasn’t about the record. It wasn’t about the league standings and the trophies and trinkets that come with winning. For Reinebold, it was about the game. How you played it. How you taught it and thought it. How your uniform fit. How the yard looked. Respect the game, play it the right way, and the game will give you something forever.
Happiness. In your heart. In your life.
In that regard, no high school coach enjoyed more success than Reinebold.
In those last few years before Clay closed in 2024, the Colonials were undermanned and overmatched. They often had to play a junior varsity schedule because of a lack of talent and a lack of numbers. That hurt Reinebold, but he approached every day of practice, every Northern Indiana Conference game as if nothing else in the world mattered.
A day at the yard? What was better? For Reinebold, nothing.
He was the happiest on the diamond. He was the happiest with a Buffett tune bouncing around somewhere, either over the speakers or on his car stereo. Somewhere was always a suitable time for Reinebold to lose himself in his two loves ― baseball and Buffett.
Text him a few lines from a Buffett song (“But there’s this one particular harbour … so far, but yet, so near … where I see the days as they fade away …and finally disappear”) and wait for the smiley face emoji. If you liked Buffett, Reinebold liked you.
Watching Reinebold work, he would walk to the third-base coaching box and pause for a beat. With his left foot, he’d outline No. 4 in the dirt. That 4 would remain for as long as the Colonials hit. When the inning ended, Reinebold would take his foot and quietly and quickly erase the 4. Next time up, he’d draw a 4, keep it there, then wipe it clean.
Four was the number of Reinebold’s hero, his father, James, the long-time Colonial head coach who died in 2017. Every day at the yard was a good day for Reinebold but in some ways, a sad day. It reminded him of his father, who could no longer be there.
He never stopped missing No. 4.
It was fitting that Reinebold died early Father’s Day morning. A sad day, sure, but a good day. Picture the two of them Sunday sitting somewhere talking baseball. Watching baseball. Thinking baseball. Father and son. Together. Maybe with Buffett there in a corner with his guitar.
Reinebold wasn’t big on social media. To be a Facebook friend with him meant plenty of posts and photos about Rastamon, his beloved golden retriever. Reinebold never had children, though Rastamon was his child. There’s Rastamon enjoying ice cream. There’s Rastamon set to inhale a cheeseburger while Buffett’s “Cheeseburger in Paradise” played. There’s Rastamon ready to go for a car ride. There he is creating chaos around the Reinebold home.
Seven days before his death, Reinebold reposted on Facebook a quote from a Jimmy Buffett Day page. It read “Life is short, wear flip-flops, chase sunsets, and keep your heart tuned to island time.”
True, Reinebold wrote.
True, indeed.
Island time and sunsets forever, Coach. You earned it.
Follow South Bend Tribune and NDInsider columnist Tom Noie on X (formerly Twitter): @tnoieNDI. Contact Noie at tnoie@sbtinfo.com
This article originally appeared on South Bend Tribune: For this high school baseball coach, it wasn’t the wins or the losses that really mattered
Reporting by Tom Noie, South Bend Tribune / South Bend Tribune
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