So you want to know what Steve Spurrier's first 100 days as Redskins coach were like? No problem, just as long as you understand that Ballcoach -- that's what everyone called him at Florida -- isn't big on probing, sit-down interviews where you ask Barbara Walters-like questions such as "If you were a visor, what kind of visor would you be?" You get in, you get out. The second he starts rummaging through the mail on his desk, or running his hands through his hair, or glancing at the 1998 Gators watch he still wears, it's time to close the notebook. In other words, you've got about 10 minutes, tops.

Jan.15 -- Ashburn, Va. Press Conference. Visor: No

You saw the press conference at Redskins Park, right? Spurrier, 57, and Daniel Snyder, 20 years his junior, are smiling as if they've just gotten their teeth whitened. Spurrier promises a game ball to The Daniel if the Skins beat the Cowboys next season. Spurrier gets a league-high $5 million per, even though he hasn't coached as much as a calisthenics drill in the NFL.

The most his father made as a Presbyterian minister in the small town of Johnson City, Tenn., was about $5,000 a year. "When I got into coaching," Spurrier says, "I thought if I could make $150,000 a year, man, I'd have it made." Maybe that's why Spurrier wears a freebie watch, not a Rolex, why he still glances at his paystub in disbelief, and why he's a preacher's son first, a multimillionaire second. And why, as he sits on Snyder's private jet this morning on the way from Gainesville to Dulles, Mr. Confidence is having second thoughts on becoming the fourth Redskins coach in the last 13 months.

Ballcoach spent 31 of the last 37 years in the Sunshine State. Won his Heisman there. Met his wife there. Won a national championship there. Drained a Coors after practice there. Had a beach house there. Now he's got the job heebie-jeebies.

"What am I doing?" he wonders. "Why am I leaving Florida? Is this what I really want to do?"

Then the plane lands, and the limo arrives, and he feels the excitement, feels the expectations. That's when the most competitive man in America decides he hasn't made a mistake after all. So he charms them at the press conference. And that night, The Daniel and some of his minority partners take Spurrier and his family to Morton's steak house in Tysons Corner. Former CNN anchor Bernard Shaw, who gets a lot of face time in The Daniel's suite at FedExField, stops by Spurrier's table.

"Only one piece of advice," says Shaw, who insists Spurrier call him Bernie. "Just be yourself."

"That's all I know how to do," Spurrier answers.

Jan. 22 -- Mobile, Ala. Senior Bowl Week. Visor: Yes

Spurrier's arrival here doesn't go well. The day ends with him fleeing the parking lot at UMS-Wright High School, where the South team is practicing. Photogs, TV crews, writers and an ant trail of autograph-seekers follow Spurrier as he does a fly pattern from the field to his rental car.

"Y'all don't want to pester me now," he says as teenage kids with pens and scraps of paper close the gap. Then he gestures to some fogy in a parked car. "Go talk to that guy. He's driving a Cadillac."

There are over 1,600 general managers, coaches, NFL types, agents and players here this week, and a few are already snickering at the idea of college-boy Spurrier coming in and winning games in this league.

"The highest-paid offensive coordinator in the NFL," some are saying. What they don't understand is Spurrier has made a career out of turning things upside down. So what if he's never spent the night on his office sofa. Or if he encourages his staff to bring their kids to work. Or if he pulls out a putter in the middle of a meeting. Spurrier sees everything, forgets nothing.

A few years ago, after a dreadful Florida scrimmage, Spurrier picked up the phone and called Gators beat reporter Chris Harry at home. Harry and his wife were out, but the baby-sitter answered.

"Chris Harry there?" said Spurrier.

"No," said the baby-sitter. "Can I take a message?"

"Nah, that's okay."

"Is this Coach Spurrier?"

"Who's this?" said Spurrier, clearly surprised.

"This is Christine. I'm Jeff Mitchell's girlfriend." Mitchell was a Gators center.

"Jeff Mitchell's girlfriend?" Spurrier said. "Jeff Mitchell jumped offside today!"

Jan 22 -- Mobile. Senior Bowl Practice. Visor: Yes

Spurrier has an 8 a.m. meeting with his staff and scouts "to figure out what we're looking at." Since the Skins ranked 28th in total offense and 30th in passing last season, here's guessing they'll be looking at quarterbacks and wide receivers.

"I like the idea of a microphone in the quarterback's helmet," Spurrier says at one point. "Fifteen seconds to call a play ... dang, you can actually coach him every down."

At the South practice, former Vanderbilt coach Woody Widenhofer is doing a little networking. Widenhofer, who was the Steel Curtain's D-coordinator in the 1970s, went 0–5 against Spurrier, including a 71-13 loss this past season.

"If his scheme doesn't work, he'll adjust," Widenhofer says. Yes, adjust The Scheme. Or, as Spurrier likes to say, "Pitching it and catching it." But the NFL doesn't have a Vandy or a Louisiana-Monroe -- although the Bengals come close.

"He's plenty smart enough to do this," says Jets coach Herman Edwards. "A good coach is a good coach. Anyway, it all comes down to two questions: Can you adapt to how fast the defenses move, and can you protect your quarterback?"

Jan. 23 -- Mobile. Senior Bowl Practice. Visor: Yes

Spurrier sits in the upper corner of the pigeon poop-stained bleacher seats at UMS-Wright. As usual, he's fighting off autograph requests. Then a mustachioed, middle-aged man lumbers up the stairs, sits down in front of Spurrier and sticks out his hand. It's Widenhofer, looking for a job.

There are a few moments of small talk, followed by a few moments of awkward silence, followed by Widenhofer's departure. "You're gonna have a blast," says Widenhofer as he leaves. "I hope so, Woody," Spurrier says. "All right, man, good seeing you."

Nothing against Widenhofer, but he doesn't seem high on Spurrier's short-short list of coordinator candidates. Then again, Spurrier is uncharacteristically vague about his most important new hire. Ask him who he's looking at, and he gets all Enron on you. The new guy will have a lot of freedom, because Spurrier will be spending his time on offense. The Daniel wants points, especially after last season's snore-a-thons, when it looked as if the Skins didn't know the forward pass was legal.

Spurrier is already working on that. On the drive to the South's practice at UMS-Wright, he calls Redskins star running back Stephen Davis. "Coach, I'm excited," says Davis, who rushed for a team record 1,432 yards last season. "I can't wait."

"Well," says Spurrier, "hopefully we can throw the ball well enough that you won't be running into eight-man fronts all the time."

You can almost hear Davis smile.

Jan 30 -- Wailuku (Maui), Hawaii. Hula Bowl. Visor: Yes

Spurrier is in town to serve as offensive coordinator for buddy Bob Stoops' Aina (Hawaiian for "land") All-Star team. Compared to the Senior Bowl, this thing is about as intense as flag football. There aren't more than 50 pro scouts, if that, at today's early morning practice. "If I were still at Florida, we'd be recruiting right now," Spurrier says. "We'd be waiting until the last minute for the late commitments. They'd be wanting to be wooed."

At the end of the session, a Japanese photographer and an interpreter approach Spurrier. The photog hands him a business card. It's in Japanese. "Okay, all right," he says, not quite sure what to do with the thing. The photographer motions for him to turn the card over. The other side is in English.

"Oh," says Spurrier.

"You are so famous in Japan," says the interpreter. "They are waiting for you." The photographer smiles and nods. "Well, I don't know about that," says Spurrier. Then it hits him.

He'll be making his NFL preseason debut in the American Bowl -- in Osaka.

Jan 31 -- Wailuku. Hula Bowl Practice. Visor: Yes

Texas quarterback Major Applewhite, who's on the Aina team, offers this abridged version of the Fun 'n Gun: three sheets of pass plays, one sheet of run plays and formations, one sheet of trick plays. Everything is big-play oriented. Spurrier teaches his quarterbacks to look long first, short second. Ballcoach didn't come all the way to Maui to run off-tackle.

"It was pretty wild being coached by Spurrier today," Applewhite says. Hawaii quarterback Nick Rolovich has a somewhat more colorful take on his first encounter with the great Spurrier: "I kind of crapped my pants."

The players at the next level don't figure to be so intimidated. Oregon State's Dennis Erickson, another friend of Spurrier's, is coaching the Kai ("ocean") team. He made the jump from the University of Miami to the Seattle Seahawks. It wasn't exactly a seamless transition.

"The X's and O's in the NFL aren't any different," Erickson says. "It's who the X's and O's are."

Feb. 2 -- Wailuku. Hula Bowl Game. Visor: Yes

It's game day, and Spurrier looks right at home. The guy is a coaching fast-twitch muscle. It's the semimeaningless Hula Bowl, remember -- one player sits on the bench talking on a cell phone, another eats a hamburger -- but Spurrier's out there rotating quarterbacks, drawing up new plays with a black Magic Marker, micromanaging wide receiver splits ("Tighter, Kendall! Tighter!"), grimacing at each snap, seeing things that others don't ("Now! Now! Throw it! Throw it!"), going for it on fourth-and-9 from the Kai 36.

By halftime his Aina team is up 28-7 and Spurrier is ... pissed. "We should be able to complete every pass," he grouses. Florida senior center Zac Zedalis is standing nearby. He has a piece of advice for the Redskin players. And for Spurrier.

"Have some thick skin," Zedalis says. "He's a great coach, as long as you listen to him. But he'll have to listen to those guys too. He'll have to change a little bit."

Feb. 11 -- Ashburn. Monday Meeting. Visor: No

The owner, the new coach and Ravens D-coordinator Marvin Lewis met the preceding morning at Redskins Park. "By last night he was on our team," Spurrier says proudly. "Best thing that could happen to us."

Egomaniac, huh? Thing is, it was Spurrier who urged the Redskins to make a run at Lewis after Lewis was stiffed by the rocket scientists who own the Bucs. So pumped is Ballcoach about the new hire, he can't help himself when Lewis arrives for a meet-and-greet session. "You guys want to get together and watch tape?" he says, to Lewis and other staff members, even before Lewis has been formally introduced to the DC media.

So the highest-paid head coach and the highest-paid coordinator (3 years, $2.7 million, plus incentives that can push up its worth to $3.6 million) watch tape of the Redskins and Eagles. They barely know each other, but both understand what's at stake. Says Lewis, who would sneak peeks at Florida games just to see what Spurrier was doing: "We both have something to prove."

March 1 -- Ashburn. Visor: No

"Well, we got Danny Wuerffel on our team today," says Spurrier from his office at Redskins Park. Here's how it went down:

Snyder to Spurrier: "You want Danny Wuerffel?"

Spurrier to Snyder: "Sure."

So Snyder talked to Texans GM Charlie Casserly, and that was that. Spurrier gave up backup defensive lineman Jerry DeLoach for a Heisman winner that nobody else thinks can start in this league.

"It will be fun proving guys wrong," says Spurrier, who won a national title with Wuerffel. "One of the writers said this is a bad move. I was just curious. How many quarterbacks has this guy coached? I've been coaching Danny his whole life."

March 2 -- Indianapolis. NFL Combine. Visor: No

Spurrier and The Daniel hop on the private jet for a quickie trip to the Combine. Snyder has been skiing in Aspen the past few days and badly needs a football fix. So far, Spurrier and his staff have put together their offensive and defensive playbook and have broken down tape of the 2001 Skins.

("I watched last year's games," says Spurrier. "Again, the Redskins weren't very good on offense.") They're up to their chin straps in analyzing college prospects, and they're trying to fill out a two-deep depth chart for the March 25 minicamp.

Spurrier gives a brief State-of-the-Skins update to the media in Indy before ducking into the RCA Dome for Combine workouts. Subjects of interest: Wuerffel: See March 1.

The NFL's best offensive coach: Mike Martz. And not just because Martz called Spurrier to congratulate him on the Redskins gig. Spurrier loves Martz's audacity. The feeling is mutual. "Steve will have a big impact on this league," says Martz.

Visors: "I can't wear the little ones, the kind Jon Gruden wears." Spurrier's people have asked Reebok for custom-made Redskins visors.

Meanwhile, The Daniel is walking around town wearing a brown leather bomber jacket with a huge Redskins logo on the back. And maybe it means something, maybe it doesn't, but Spurrier meets with Oregon quarterback Joey Harrington.

March 26 -- Ashburn. Minicamp. Visor: No

The Daniel's black Lincoln limo is already parked a few feet from the glass front doors by 10 a.m. And Spurrier is already pacing the artificial turf as 57 veterans and free agents complete warmups for his first-ever Redskins practice. Because he's a new coach, the NFL gives him an extra three-day minicamp. And because he's Spurrier, an NFL Films crew has miked him for sound.

It's a bitingly raw, wet and windy day, but that doesn't stop Spurrier from wearing nothing more than a black windbreaker, khaki shorts, tennis shoes and a black baseball cap. "Sort of like playing golf in Ireland," he says, dismissing the cold.

Snyder is out here too. He's ditched his business suit -- a shocker, according to longtime Redskins observers -- and changed into a full coaching-clothes ensemble. Time to see his investment at work.

In a stunner, Spurrier puts in almost the entire playbook during the first team meeting. Most coaches put in a half-dozen plays and call it a day. So here's Spurrier during the drills, chirping away with the calls and even throwing a few short passes. Completing them, too. Truth is, he couldn't be happier if you handed him a set of new Callaways and a tee time at Pebble Beach. Spurrier can glance around and see one son, 30-year-old Steve Jr., coaching the wide receivers. His other son, 15-year-old Scotty, is on the sidelines running down-and-out patterns on the soggy field with a friend.

By the start of the afternoon practice, the windchill makes the place feel like Juneau. And yet there's Spurrier, still walking around in shorts. Wuerffel wears gloves, but he's sporting a jersey, No.17, that he will eventually trade for No.7, which is what he wore at Florida. No Redskin has worn No.7 since Joe Theismann retired. Hmmm ... wasn't Theismann the one who told The Washington Post that firing Marty Schottenheimer and hiring Spurrier would be Snyder's "biggest mistake"?

March 27 -- Ashburn. Minicamp. Day 2. Visor: No

Ballcoach lasts 10 minutes in shorts and then bolts to the locker room for warmer threads. His wife, Jerri, visits the afternoon workout and is greeted with hugs by The Daniel and several other friends of Snyder. Ballcoach and Snyder might be attached at the wallet, but they're also trying to prove they can co-exist as -- gasp! -- football partners. Snyder won't come out and say it, but it's obvious he hated being left out of Schottenheimer's loop. And now? "It's more fun when everybody is putting their two cents in," he says.

It's also more fun when a few of the NFL old-timers say Snyder is an over-spending doofus and Spurrier is a clueless college boy. "He's not afraid to take risks," says The Daniel. "Nor am I."

April 5 -- Ashburn. Visor: No

Everything is possible leading up to Spurrier's first 100 days, or so the buzz inside the offices at Redskins Park makes it seem. That's why Snyder has the Redskins' three Super Bowl trophies, as well as championship rings from each of those years, in a glass case positioned just inside the entrance of the building. Snyder wants everyone to know what he's paying for -- and what they're playing for. Sometimes, when there's nobody around, The Daniel just stares at those silver trophies and gold rings.

Spurrier wants a Lombardi and some jewelry too. More than he'll ever say. This is a guy who says the Redskins should be able to win the NFC East. This is the guy who mutters to himself if he bogeys a hole, who doesn't give gimmes. He's the same guy who slipped and fell while going for a kill shot during a game of Ping Pong against the stunned wife, Molly, of Florida athletic director Jeremy Foley. The score was 1-1. And that was a friendly game. Just think how hard he'll try in the NFL.

"I think we're going to throw it around a little bit better than they did in the past," is all Ballcoach will say for now. Then he glances at his watch, pulls off his cap, runs his hand through his hair.

Your 10 minutes are up.

This article appears in the April 29 issue of ESPN The Magazine.