BACK IN THE BUILDING

This is a story about Jerry Glanville, so it’s bound to be a little odd.

You expect to read about a football coach but end up on the streets of Baghdad. Or in the middle of nowhere, South Dakota.

You get Elvis, a flipped-over suitcase and something called the “Black Rose.”

You get a fireplug of a man with a grin that’s too wide and cheery for this hour of day, the hazy side of 9 a.m., which is when the University of Hawaii football team practices.

“Nice, huh?” he says.

Maybe the easiest way to begin this story is at the end. After more than a decade away from coaching, Glanville, 63, returns to the sideline on Saturday in his debut as Hawaii’s defensive coordinator. His first assignment? Find a way to stop quarterback Matt Leinart, tailback Reggie Bush and the rest of the USC offense in the season opener at Aloha Stadium.

“What a great way to start,” Glanville chuckles. “I just wish I had a preseason like in the NFL ... a couple of games that don’t count.”

*

It seems like another lifetime that he was coaching in the pros, controversial, wisecracking, dressed in black. How did he get from there to here?

The first clue comes from USC Coach Pete Carroll. Back in the early 1980s, when Carroll was the defensive coordinator at North Carolina State, he and fellow assistant Greg Robinson got in a van and drove to Atlanta.

Glanville was then the Falcons’ defensive coordinator. He was a gracious host, Carroll recalls, welcoming his visitors into meetings, teaching them about his approach to the game, his aggressive defense.

What did Carroll learn?

“That he’s a great football coach,” Carroll says. “And that he’s half nuts.”

The rest of the country got to know Glanville as a first-class character during his four-plus seasons as coach of the Houston Oilers and, after that, four more at Atlanta.

Football’s version of “The Man in Black” wore big sunglasses and an even bigger cowboy hat. He left tickets for Elvis Presley at the will-call window.

His defenses were every bit as flashy. Whether it was the “Grits Blitz” in Atlanta or “The House of Pain” in Houston, his squads were known for all-out pursuit of the quarterback.

Some people called him crazy. Hawaii Coach June Jones, a coordinator for Glanville in both cities, prefers “intense” and “flamboyant.”

When Atlanta fired Glanville after the 1993 season, he segued into television. He was a natural on camera, even if it sometimes irked him to be in the booth instead of on the sideline. He might have spent the rest of his days that way, talking about other coaches’ teams, if not for an unusual trip.

*

In the spring of 2004, the NFL Alumni Assn. sent a group to visit the troops in and around Baghdad. Bud Grant, Deacon Jones and Randy Gradishar went. So did Glanville.

More than once during his years on television, Glanville had commented on showboating and contract holdouts in the league, bemoaning the new breed of player. A symptom of America’s changing youth, he figured.

Then he got to Iraq.

“No griping, no complaining,” he says. “I was with this generation of kids and was overcome by their dedication and commitment.”

There came a seminal moment, around midnight, as the NFL entourage made its way through city streets. One of the cars took a wrong turn and, for several anxious minutes, became lost in dangerous territory.

“We got in a little trouble and it was one of those promises you make to God,” Glanville says. “I had to coach this generation of kids.”

Friends asked which NFL team he might contact. Glanville said no, he wanted the college game, where he had last coached in the 1970s.

A quick check of the Internet revealed that tiny Northern State University, a Division II school in Aberdeen, S.D., had an opening. Glanville applied and was soon a finalist for the position. He went so far as to pack a suitcase with warm clothes.

But thousands of miles and half an ocean away, Jones was surfing the net too. He saw a Northern State news release with Glanville’s name on it and called his old friend.

They had not talked in 12 years, not since Atlanta fired Glanville and hired Jones in his place. Glanville swears he didn’t hold a grudge. It was simply a matter of the “Black Rose.”

*

Call it habit. A quirk. Glanville makes a point of never talking to former assistants, never so much as picking up the phone to say hello. The guys who worked for him have a term for it: They say they’ve been “black-rosed.”

“It means you’re dead,” Jones explains. “I was legally dead for a while.”

Glanville shrugs: “I’m not a telephone guy and I don’t keep friendships alive like I should. That’s a fault of mine.”

When Jones finally broke the ice, calling last spring, Glanville explained that he had already committed to Northern State. Jones reminded him: “Remember when I came and helped you twice? In Houston and Atlanta?”

Glanville hung up the phone, walked into the bedroom and tipped the heavy clothes out of his suitcase.

“What are you doing?” his wife asked.

“June told me to bring shorts.”

Within days, he was in Honolulu as an “unofficial observer,” looking over a defense that had finished the 2004 season ranked 117th out of 118 Division I teams. He was undaunted.

“The same old Jerry,” Jones says. “That same energy.”

Once his hiring became official, the players got the message. “Oh, big time,” defensive back Leonard Peters says. “He’s real loud. Always talking, always yelling. That’s the kind of coach you want. He doesn’t beat around the bush.”

Honolulu seems like a nice enough place to land, Glanville says. He lives in a condominium near campus and chats with fans at the supermarket and drugstore, which he never used to do. But the beaches, the balmy evenings, all of that has to wait.

“It doesn’t matter where you live when you’re coaching,” he says. “I get to work by 5 a.m. and stay late. I could be anywhere. I could be in Mingo Junction, Ohio.”

*

People around the NFL knew him as a teacher and a tactician who, if given time, could devise a masterful defensive plan. For USC, he’s had time. By kickoff on Saturday, Glanville estimates he will have watched 150 days’ worth of film on Leinart and the Trojan offense.

“I’ve got to quit,” he says. “You learn too much. Sometimes you think you have an idea on how to stop them, then you see they have other ideas.”

Forgive the USC coaches if they don’t sympathize. Theirs is a different problem.

“We’ve got to go play Jerry Glanville without any film,” offensive coordinator Lane Kiffin says. “How often does that happen, you play a guy who hasn’t coached in 10 years?”

Glanville shrugs. Standing on a practice field surrounded by trees blossoming in reds, purples and pinks, he talks about his young players, their tendency to make mistakes. It might take a month or more to whip them into shape, he figures.

The man still wears a straw cowboy hat and mirrored shades. He still dresses in black, only now it’s shorts and short sleeves.

And Carroll has a sneaking suspicion that USC will see something familiar from the Hawaii defense. Lots of pressure. An island version of the “Grits Blitz.”

“That’s his style,” the USC coach says, but later cautions: “We really don’t know what to expect.”

With a guy like Glanville, who does?

*

(BEGIN TEXT OF INFOBOX)

For the defense

(text of infobox not included)