It is a rare warm day in Eden Prairie. Vikings coach Brad Childress emerges from his office and escorts a visitor to the steps outside that oversee the practice fields, where players are working on passing drills.
The previous week, Childress had hosted his second annual "Coaching 101" clinic for local media, had sent out an e-mail filled with silly jokes and had agreed to chat about his changing persona.
One of the best lines in sportswriting history concerns a grumpy veteran ballplayer who turned gregarious just before retirement, being described as learning to say hello when he should have been learning to say goodbye.
Childress, conversely, is finding his voice just when you would have expected him to turn mute.
The Chiller is thawing.
Most high-profile coaches arrive eager and depart embittered. Childress seems to be moving in the opposite direction. He alienated just about everyone in Minnesota in his first year on the job; in his second season, even as much of the fan base seemed to turn on him, he became more human, more like the guy known to be popular in Philadelphia and among his peers.
"I think if you don't ever step back and self-assess, whether it's with your team or yourself, you're being delusional," Childress said. "I think you have to go through how you relate with players, coaches, administrators, the media. It's conscious, but at the same time, it's not uncomfortable.
"It's not like I have any illusions about doing five minutes on Johnny Carson. But these guys -- the players -- would tell you there's a different side that they see."