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We would knock politely and then just walk right in.  He always says it is not really his office.  It belongs to all of us.  (First indication of the We before the I.)

Nice office, though... floor to ceiling windows on two sides with the sun pouring in and a full view of the football stadium. Big bookcase on one wall... coaching, philosophy, religion... photos of him and players he had coached that went on to the NFL.  Big, cluttered, wrap-around desk strewn with knick-knacks from his daughter and scouting reports and old helmets and a gumball machine.  If they had won the week before, there would be a big tub of rice krispy bars that his wife had made for the team and he would always offer us one.   A plaque on the wall in honor of his mom and dad... another with "Holy Nutmeg!" on it, a favorite Stigism.

He obviously spends a lot of time there... clothes and shoes and jackets and toothbrushes and stuff everywhere.  The helmet he wears when he rides his scooter to and from work.  I always feel like we are invading his home, but he never says a word about it.  A lot of a coaches life is out there... it's in view... and he knows it and he is comfortable with it.  Or he makes it appear to be that way.

He probably has a few skeletons in the closet.  Maybe he was mean to a dog once or muttered an obscenity to a heckler as he ran off the field at halftime once...  but I doubt it.

Every Monday morning, he would either be crouched over the computer watching game film or running off to a meeting about what kind of shoes the team would wear that week or a session with his coordinators or talking to a scout or an agent or doing a conference call or something.  I don't think he takes an hour off, let alone a whole day.

We would set up our lights and camera and laptop while he went about his business.  When we were ready, he would take a quick look at the hilites of the game from the week before.  We would chat a bit about nothing.  He would ask if the microphone worked and if the camera was white-balanced and if the shot looked okay.  I would start with a dumb question and he would give me a smart answer.  We would run thru the game hilites and he would explain why things worked and why they didn't and this would be the meat of the SDSU coaches show we would put together that week.

When we were done we would chat some more about nothing.... maybe a joke or two about the other local programs.  He would ask us questions.  He would be courteous and honest and genuine and you just don't get that a lot.

But Stig gets it.  He is more than willing to help you do your job.  He understands that dealing with reporters asking him dumb questions is part of his job.  And you can tell it is not just professional courtesy with him.  It is human courtesy.  He cares about other people.   He cares about "his men" as people and not just as players.   He is We instead of I.  He is holiday cheer year round.  He says you choose your attitude and he is right.

He doesn't know that we quote him sometimes and speak in Stigisms and that we do it because we genuinely like him which is not always the case when you imitate someone.  And he is someone to imitate.  Not flashy.  Not seeking attention.  Not making a run for the money somewhere else.  Just the epitome of do unto others.  And he's a good coach, too.

He says he might not be around to coach in the new stadium or bask in the glory of a program on the rise that he has helped create. He knows that a coaches existence  is year to year and day to day... and for him and his team, all about going 1-0 (Stigism) in the moment.