COPING WITH TRAGEDY.

Byline: BILLY WITZ

Somewhere on the road to million dollar salaries, best-selling biographies and status as sports icons, coaching in the NFL ceased being a job. It became a way of life.

If we are increasingly living in a 24-7 world, football coaches may have been the first ones to adjust their clocks. Jon Gruden, rather famously, has his set for 3:17 a.m., the time he rises to head into work each day.

Others don't have much time for even that. Joe Gibbs, after once catching an assistant looking at a clock during a meeting in his first tour in Washington, immediately ordered all clocks removed from meeting rooms. So devoted is Nick Saban to turning around the Dolphins that he recently forgot his wedding anniversary.

At the annual league meeting last March, which is attended by coaches, owners and team executives, Tony Dungy seemed like a good person to ask why coaching seems to have turned into an around-the-clock job.

In Indianapolis and Tampa Bay, Dungy had won as consistently as anyone in the NFL over the last decade. Yet win or lose, Dungy never appeared consumed by the outcome.

When I asked if there was a keeping-up-with-the-Joneses element to this workaholism, Dungy nodded.

``We're our own worst enemy,'' Dungy said, recalling how different it was in 1981, when he began coaching under Chuck Noll in Pittsburgh, where he'd spent most of his brief playing career.

``The whole time I was there, eight years, I don't think I was ever not home at 6:30. When you play, you realize there's only so much you can do to get ready. That was reinforced working for Chuck Noll. If you have a good system and you're efficient, you can do it without spending your whole life in the office.''

The NFL has evolved in many ways since then. There are more media demands and an increase in specialization - such as players grouped for use in certain downs and distances - has created more preparation. Also, computers have become as essential a coaching tool as a whistle. Games that were once broken down on film, then video, are now reviewed digitally.

However, the size of coaching staffs has ballooned, too. For example, the Redskins have 19 assistant coaches, nearly one for every starter.

``If you want every ball thrown to (Terrell Owens) on third down, you can do it like that,'' Dungy said, snapping his fingers. ``You can go so much more into detail and with all the substitution packages, there's more to get ready for now and with computers there's more you can do.''

Dungy said his time spent under Noll and the four years he worked under Dennis Green in Minnesota left him secure in his beliefs that there were different ways to coach a winning football team.

``If you're secure and believe in a system, then you do things your own way,'' Dungy said. ``If what you believe in means getting done at 8, then that's what you do. If it's 2 (in the morning), that's what you do.

``I'm always encouraging my coaches to go home. The NFL has become so high-pressured. Nobody wants to feel like they're not doing everything they can to win.''

It was easy to see that having a life beyond his job was important to Dungy. It troubled him that on the night he'd set aside to play cards with his sons, if he wasn't home by 7:30, they would draw cards for him.

Memories of that conversation became more poignant Thursday when Dungy's 18-year-old son, James, died in what police near Tampa, Fla., where he was attending junior college, have initially ruled a suicide.

Bill Belichick and Bill Parcells have endured the deaths of a father and a brother, respectively, this season. Parcells buried his brother on the morning of a game. I suspect, though, that losing a child is different since it's something a parent never expects to do.

Three years ago, Don Johnson, then a UCLA assistant, lost his son, Duane, in an automobile accident that also killed Duane's best friend, Padres outfielder Mike Darr, who had lived with the Johnsons for a time.

Johnson, now an assistant with the Bears, said he fought through anger - both with the boys and himself - after learning that they had been driving after going out for a few drinks, something he often counseled them against.

``I don't know if you get through it or not,'' Johnson said, eight months after Duane's death. ``Time passes. You have to take comfort in your beliefs that things are better for him and eventually one day you'll get to see him again. But sometimes you question that. Your initial thought is anger. Then comes the hurt and the disbelief. Those emotions still kind of play heavy on you, even this far into it.''

It's easy to imagine Dungy dealing with those same emotions as he, his wife and their four children try to understand why James died.

Dungy remained in Tampa on Saturday with his family, while the Colts were losing in Seattle, 28-13. There is no word on when he'll return tot he team.

Johnson said returning to work provided a small diversion, but what was most difficult was upholding his standards on the job while being able to support his wife and family through their tragedy.

It's that balance, between faith, family and football, that Dungy will be seeking more than ever.

CAPTION(S):

photo, 2 boxes

Photo:

A young Colts fan expresses his sympathy for Indianapolis coach Tony Dungy and his family. Dungy's son, James, died last week in what police have initially ruled a suicide.

Getty Images

Box:

(1) TODAY'S GAMES

- Associated Press

(2) BUMP & RUN