Screen Gem

"He told me a year ago," Vermeil says, "that he was going to take a vacation during the football season and stop looking at films. I said, 'Yeah, sure.' "

It is late morning, the heart of Gillman's time in the film room. In the early morning he walks the golf course at the La Costa country club, three and a half, maybe four miles. Afterward he eats breakfast at the clubhouse "with my boys, my buddies." In the afternoon, it's perhaps nine holes of golf, then a mile on the treadmill, then 10 laps of the pool. Two trips to the hospital—a hiatal hernia in 1969 and heart surgery almost a decade later—have turned him into a fitness buff. But the middle of the day is devoted to the film room.

On a table are nine letters. "Yesterday's mail," Gillman says. "Mostly requests for autographs." One of the envelopes contains a dozen cards to be signed. Next to the letters is a playbook from a small-college coach. It is 62 pages long. "Could you please analyze this?" the attached note says.

"I'll try, but...you know," Gillman shrugs. "I'll tell him, 'Great job, absolutely wonderful. You mind if I use some of that?' No use discouraging a young coach."

The phone rings. "You're doing a what?" Gillman says. "A history of the American Football League?" ("Oh, god, another one," he says under his breath.) "O.K., why don't you call me at six tonight, if that's convenient for you. I don't know what you expect me to remember. That was 5,000 years ago."

He is scowling now. "Everyone's interested in the past, the good old days, the Golden Age, that's what people call the '40s and '50s. God almighty, football's so much better now, the techniques, the players. The game's the greatest now. I'm part of the good old days, and they weren't worth a damn. Who could play both ways now? I remember when I was with the Rams, I had a receiver tell me it used to be a feast against the Bears because he'd go against George Blanda playing cornerback. You think Lawrence Taylor could play both ways now, the way he chases quarterbacks? He'd be on his ass by halftime."

He presses the button for the VCR. A 1990 New England Patriots game comes on. The Patriots? Why the Patriots?

"I want to see what every team is doing," Gillman says. "I'll get about 150 games a season. There are about five clubs that regularly send me their coaching tapes. Then I'll have both VCRs working on the weekend, and I'll get every game they show here. Plus, I want to see that young quarterback, Tommy Hodson. Dick Coury, their offensive coordinator, sent me a reel of five games. He wants me to evaluate Hodson."

On the tape of the Patriots-Steelers game, Hodson takes a five-step drop, and throws a hook pass to Marv Cook, the tight end. The ball is dropped. "It's a delay pattern and the receiver sat down early," Gillman says. "It's a coaching point. Why run into coverage? But watch the quarterback. See him bounce in place after he's taken his drop? That's what I always wanted my quarterbacks to do, to bounce. Now he moves up as he feels the rush, now he throws. Good technique. That's what I've seen this kid do. I like him. I'm gonna tell Dick I think he can play."

Quarterbacks have always been Gillman's babies, his pride. They always commanded his special attention. Someone once asked him why. "Because when we have the ball, I want to see Gillman Jr. at quarterback," he said.