‘That’s just Jake’: Through ebbs and flows of football journey, Jarmolowich has remained unapologetically himself

By Sarah Kirkpatrick Ryan

It was nearly the perfect heartwarming story. 

Jake Jarmolowich — navigating adversity and a fresh sense of grief that he’d never experienced before — was playing one of the best games of his career, with his teammates rallying around him. That day, against Harvard on Oct. 19, the senior free safety was nearing his career high in tackles, and made a game-changing, bruising fourth-down stop that seemed to tilt momentum in the Crusaders’ favor. 

But to fast-forward a bit: The game ended in heartbreak. 

After a late back-and-forth battle — capped by a Hail Mary touchdown catch by Jarmolowich’s roommate, Jacob Petersen — a two-point conversion attempt was unsuccessful, and the Crusaders lost to the Crimson, 35-34. For the Holy Cross squad, it was a complicated web of feelings: an unsettlement from the sheer roller-coaster ride of the game, pride in the spirited comeback effort against a strong opponent, confidence headed into the home stretch of league play, devastation that the team came up just short.

No matter the result that Saturday, the entanglement of emotions would have weighed heavily on Jarmolowich. That day, football was both a much-welcomed distraction, and seemingly so trivial at the same time. 

Usually, amid the roar of a crowd of thousands, one distinct voice would rise above the rest: “Here we go, Jake!” Usually, amid the commotion, he could pick out the specific pitch of a sharp whistle. But as Jarmolowich stood on the field, those familiar sounds were notably absent. 

Something felt off that Friday morning. Jarmolowich couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but his older brother, Mikey, was slow to text him back, and he just had the slightest sense that something was wrong. Still, he went about his normal routine the day before a game — he got a workout in, and prepared for team meetings and walkthrough later that afternoon. 

When Jarmolowich was called into the coaches’ offices shortly after 2 p.m., he saw three unexpected faces: Mikey, his uncle, and their close family friend. His stomach sank immediately — his earlier premonition had been accurate, and something was really wrong. 

They had driven three-and-a-half hours north from their hometown of Summit, New Jersey, to break the news in person: Jake and Mikey’s father, Michael, had passed away unexpectedly that morning. 

Jarmolowich sat in disbelief, a million thoughts running through his head — his first concern was the rest of his family, including his nine-year-old sister. Is Mom okay? Is Kate okay? Are you guys okay? But he immediately snapped into his natural tendency: Plan of attack mode. What are we going to do with the house? What about the services? What’s everything that we have to get done? 

Then came the natural next series of questions: Should I still play tomorrow? How are we going to tell the team?

Jarmolowich opted to rip off the Band-Aid, and have the team informed during their walkthrough that afternoon. He just wanted everything to be normal. He stayed for walkthrough, too, and carried on through game day at Harvard, insisting that his teammates didn’t treat him any differently. 

But after the game ended, and as his preferred default state of chaos began to slow down around him — it all began to sink in fully. He sat in the visiting locker room, all alone, staring at the floor. 

“You okay?” Curtis Harris-Lopez, his roommate and close friend, asked him quietly.

“I feel like I’m in a time warp,” he responded. “I don’t feel like I’m existing. Life doesn’t feel real right now.” 

Jarmo

Jake Jarmolowich is the type of person who can fix anything. Have a tear in your sweatshirt? He can sew it back together. A year and a half ago, he bought a 1972 Honda CB 450 motorcycle and completely rebuilt it, despite knowing absolutely nothing about the mechanics of a motorcycle at the start. If there’s a problem to be solved, he’s the type who won’t stop until it’s settled. 

He doesn’t watch a lot of sports in his free time — he hates sitting still, and will take on any project he can get his hands on. He restores and builds watches. Sometimes, while Harris-Lopez is playing video games in their room, he’ll look over and see Jarmolowich hunched over at his desk — wearing a headlamp and latex gloves — precisely constructing a timepiece. Jarmolowich has constructed custom stands for his game balls using his 3D printer, has painted shoes, and loves any chance to show off his natural creativity (a trait he attributes to his mother, Deana).

His appreciation for art extends into his love of music and cinema. He loves folk, indie, classic rock, 60s and 70s soul, and his go-to icebreaker is asking others their top three favorite movies (his? Of course, he can’t pick just three — it depends on the day — but a few particular favorites are The Princess Bride, The Prestige, Good Will Hunting and Life Is Beautiful).

To put it simply: Jarmolowich is unapologetically, unabashedly himself. He’s a free thinker, and marches to the beat of his own drum. 

“I know I'm not perfect — I'm nowhere near it — but I'm not going to apologize for who I am,” he said. “I'm not ignorant or stubborn, but I'm gonna be who I am, and I will improve and progress, but I'm always willing to change and adapt.”

He’s a natural extrovert. His close friends note that he can sometimes lack a filter — or volume control (“Sometimes he’s a little too loud and needs to be told to quiet it down a little bit,” Petersen said). His sense of humor can be irreverent at times — his most-worn hat is embroidered with a screenshot from the credits of Curb Your Enthusiasm: “Executive Producer Larry David.” 

His sense of style is as vibrant as his personality. He doesn't hesitate to take risks — if he likes something on the rack, he knows he can pull it off. Whether it’s his stack of anklets, his cowboy boots (which he simply describes with a chef’s kiss gesture), a versatile sweater or a flashy jacket, he uses fashion to express himself. 

His most prized possessions all have names. There’s Bonnie, a stuffed rainbow unicorn, which he purchased at a gas station during a stop on a road trip to Bucknell his freshman year. There’s Violet — his purple road bike. (He’s brought both to his media day photo shoots over the last couple of years.) 

When he was in the first grade, he insisted on being a Care Bear for Halloween — even as his classmates dressed up as cowboys or firefighters, he marched in the town parade as the blue Care Bear. 

“One thing about Jarmo,” said his teammate and roommate, Jonathon Wood, “is that he's never going to change who he is as a person. He's so confident in himself, and he's never going to change for anybody.”

But as bold as he is, he cares — and loves — with an even greater level of gusto. He’s fiercely loyal to everyone around him, and is persistently positive toward his teammates. Early on in his football career, he even earned an award for being the most encouraging teammate. 

“I care a lot about a lot of things, sometimes too much, but I think that my heart, partnered with my ability to reflect and grow every day, that's one of my biggest things,” Jarmolowich said. “I'm well in tune with how I feel about certain things, and so I can express things better than some people, or I can be there for people better than others.”

“He has the courage to feel his feelings,” Deana said. 

Michael Jarmolowich, too, was unapologetically, unabashedly himself — and always stressed that his children should be the same. He was a proud non-conformist, always willing to challenge the status quo. 

He was a two-time All-ACC honoree at the University of Maryland, a punishing linebacker in the late 80s and early 90s — and ended his career one of the leading tacklers in program history. He had a natural determination and football talent, coupled with a confident personality. A 1991 Washington Post article captured his essence:  

Mention Mike Jarmolowich's name to any of Maryland's football coaches and they start rhapsodizing about his toughness, desire and hustle.

Mention Jarmolowich to virtually any of his defensive teammates, and they instinctively howl: "Prrretttty Booyyy."

"Off the field I am. I try to look good all the time," Jarmolowich said, his chest and arms bulging against a yellow sports shirt, his hair swept back, gelled and spiked just so. "I like dressing up when I go out. . . . You could consider me almost like a quarterback — you know, how they're flashy and everything. They're always trying to look pretty."

But that's off the field. On the field, Jarmolowich forgets about styling and chillingly immerses himself in the stuff that football coaches love: playing defense. Running and hitting. Especially hitting.

“He was a lot like Jake in a lot of ways, where he just marched to the beat of his own drum,” Deana said. “My husband, he always had a unique perspective…he always thought of things from a different perspective than most people, which is one of the things I really loved about him.”

He very simply didn’t concern himself with others’ opinions about him. He used to sneak the family dog, Henry, into sporting events in his coat pocket. He stayed true to his interests: While he worked in finance in New York City, he also owned a sports performance center in New Jersey. 

“He wasn't one-dimensional, and it was kind of his way out of being caught up in the rat race or conforming of how you're supposed to do this, and go to this type of school, get this type of job,” Mikey said. “And that wasn't what he was in his heart, and he followed his passion and his heart.”

And Michael’s passion for football helped guide his sons to their own successful football careers at the collegiate level — Mikey played 44 games across four seasons at Colgate and a grad year at Richmond, while Jake has played in 38 games to date with the Crusaders. At every game he could make it to, he was the most vocal of supporters, a voice — or a whistle — that stuck out in the crowd. And he always had a particular knack for finding his way as close to the field as possible.

“That's just who he always was,” Mikey said, “somebody that was passionate, and you could feel it in everything he did. He didn't conform, or let anybody tell him what to do or not to do. That's just who he was.”

“He was a man like no other,” Jake said. “He was nowhere near perfect, like any other man, but he cared a lot, and he loved a lot. 

“And he loved me and my family.”

For a while, it was up in the air if Jake would even continue his football career after high school. He wasn’t particularly interested in going to college — he instead wanted to go to trade school and become an electrician — but his desire to keep playing football led him to The Hill. 

He was initially skeptical about going to Holy Cross, but his parents encouraged him to take the leap. In his first season, he saw substantial playing time on special teams, and grew into more of a mainstay on defense as his career progressed. As he grew comfortable with his football ability, and also became closer with his teammates, Holy Cross began to feel more like home.

In his time with the Crusaders, Jake has grown immensely, not just as far as his on-field play but as far as his adjusted mindset. He’s learned to let go of what’s out of his control — and focus solely on doing his job. 

As a player, Jake is fast and downhill, covers the back end well, and is very schematically competent. And he has a natural ability to  understand the flow of the game and where the ball is going. Jake’s playing style reflects his personality, in many ways — free and reliant on his instincts. And above all, he has fun while he’s playing. 

“That’s just how he plays, and you can see the times he’s a little goofy on the field,” Mikey said. “There’s times he’s flipping over a guy while trying to tackle somebody, and then he ends up, like, on top of the tight end’s shoulders and spins around on top of the guy. 

“That's just Jake.” 

Entering his junior season, Jake struggled in camp — but he restored his confidence after a strong season opener against Merrimack, in which he recorded seven tackles and a pass breakup. The next week, against ACC foe Boston College, he had the best game of his career to that point, a nine-tackle outing against a formidable opponent. He entered the next game against Yale feeling on top of the world, and ready to prove even more people wrong. 

He made four tackles in the first quarter — but as he tackled the Yale quarterback, he braced himself on a fall to the ground, and his elbow popped out, fracturing his radial head. He felt immediate shock, immediate pain, immediate confusion. 

As he sat in the injury tent with the Crusaders’ head athletic trainer, Alicia Caswell, his mind raced. What do you think? What’s going on? What’s wrong? Am I going to be okay?

But he paused, and decided to take the recovery one step at a time. After X-rays determined that he would miss the majority of the season, he chose to remind himself that everything happens for a reason — he’d been through worse before, and he’d come out stronger as a result. 

Walking into the Luth Athletic Complex one Sunday for treatment, Jake snapped a photo of the building, and wrote a note to himself: Everything's going to be okay. You're going to be alright.

That image still frequently rotates through his memories on his phone — a soothing reminder that seemingly always pops up for him in the most necessary of times. 

Jarmo senior day

Mikey and Jake are separated in age by just 16 months, and have done everything in tandem for the majority of their lives. While Deana never dressed them in identical outfits, they were always coordinating — sometimes matching page boy caps or pea coats (she notes that Jake loved his pea coat, but Mikey hated wearing his). 

The two brothers have shared a bedroom in their Summit house for their entire lives. Of course, like any brothers, they’ll have natural disagreements — often clothing-related, like earlier this summer, when Mikey “borrowed” one of Jake’s shirts to wear to a Yankees game (without Jake’s permission). While the two share a passion for football, their approach to the game is very different — Mikey’s approach is more technical, while Jake’s is more free-flowing. 

Mikey very much paved the way for Jake when it came to football. He was always the star player, the team captain, a shining example. As such, Jake became, to an extent, “Jarmo’s little brother.” But Jake was intent on forging his own path, and making a name for himself.  

“Jake always looked up to Mikey a lot and followed his lead,” Deana said. “Mikey is very straight-laced. Jake has a little bit more of a wild side — but Mikey doesn't really have a wild side…Jake's always looked up to Mikey in the ways that he's led his life, which I think has been great. 

“But at the same time, I see Mikey now learning from Jake. That’s been something over the past year or two, where he listens to what Jake has to say now.”

The two have a connection that has only grown stronger over the years — and especially in recent weeks as the two have leaned on each other. Both are dedicated to self-improvement, and journal every day, reflecting on how they both can grow. 

“There's just an unspoken bond that, ironically, speaks volumes,” Mikey said.

Mikey has seen Jake in every phase of his life, and has seen the man he’s grown into — he gushes at length about Jake’s strength, his optimism through hardship, his many talents.

“But,” he said, “I'm also just proud of him because he’s my brother.

Though football has bonded them primarily over the years, the two grew up playing hockey together: Jake a goalie, Mikey a defenseman. Of course, any hockey team rallies around its goaltender, making sure the netminder remains untouched by the opposing team. But when you’re brothers, that bond becomes even stronger. Jake will always have Mikey’s back — and vice versa.

“You know,” Michael would often say to his eldest son while heading to hockey practice, “You’ve always got to protect him.”

Jake and his roommates — Harris-Lopez, Petersen, and Wood, along with housemates Joe Pesansky, Jordan Fuller, Ryan Ruane and Frankie Monte — are virtually inseparable. That full group, along with Joshua Williams and Christo Kelly, made the drive to Summit for his father’s funeral service. Mikey, by extension, has become a core member of the friend group as well. They’ve all spent time at the Jarmolowich family’s beach house, spent hours discussing nonsense, and celebrated all of the wins, losses and everything in between. 

“We’ve become so close, we can read each other like a book,” Harris-Lopez said. “We’re together 24/7 — there's never a time when we're not together. We’ve gotten to know all the good and the bad…we started from zero, and now we’re to the moon.”

As Jake has navigated the ups and downs of the last few weeks, he’s leaned heavily on his closest friends. During the week of his father’s services, Harris-Lopez and Petersen went and stayed with the Jarmolowich family, providing the quiet support he needed at that time. 

“I don't have words,” Jake said. “They're just beautiful humans.”

In recent weeks, football has provided a valuable routine and support system for Jake. While he still makes sure to check in with his family as often as possible from afar — he FaceTimes Kate every single night before she goes to sleep — he has honed in on his role as a leader on the Holy Cross defense. This past weekend, in a thrilling Crusader win over Bucknell, he matched his career high with nine tackles. 

“As the season’s progressed, I’ve just started to play into myself a little bit more, have a little more confidence,” he said. “Really just relax and let the plays come to me. And I’ve been happy to help our defense thrive and help our team win games that we can.”

After Holy Cross defeated Lafayette on Oct. 26 — Holy Cross’ first win after Jake’s father’s passing — head coach Dan Curran passed off the game ball to an emotional Jake, who was immediately mobbed by his teammates. 

“I love every single one of you like my own family,” Jake told them, choking back his tears. 

Mikey stood on the sideline for the entirety of the Harvard game. A heavy contingent of the Jarmolowich family and their close friends, the Dohertys, came up from Summit to cheer on Jake that day — through triumph and grief, that support system has always remained intact.

“It's been a lifetime of very good things,” Deana said. “Right now, we're going through something that's not so great, but we have each other — and we have those memories.” 

Football provided a much-needed reprieve and comfort for both Jake and Mikey that day. The two embraced pregame, and shed a few tears, but the focus soon shifted to the game. As the emotion of the game swelled in the final minutes, one distinct voice rose above the rest. 

“Here we go, one-five!” Mikey screamed, cheering for his little brother. “Here we go, two-one!” he screamed, cheering for Harris-Lopez — in many ways, his de facto little brother. He sported a cap he borrowed from Petersen (whom Mikey refers to as “Big Jake”) for the day, with an 86 stitched on the side. 

In many ways, the ups and downs of that game were a reflection of the range of emotions they felt that week. Football has long been a medium for the Jarmolowich family to express themselves — no matter the highs or lows.

“When I'm running around and playing, I'm at peace,” Jake said. “If I'm angry, I can hit somebody. If I'm sad, I have my friends around me to pull me through things. If I'm happy, I can continue the happiness. It just brings me peace and comfort.”

But now, it’s taken on a whole new meaning.

In Loving Memory 

Michael W. Jarmolowich

1969-2024 

Photos courtesy of Jarmolowich family, Maryland Athletics and Colgate Athletics

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