Former Eagles find their place on sideline as coaches

IT WAS GETTING colder and dimmer, but Duce Staley stayed outside.

First, he shoved LeSean McCoy right.

Then, he pushed Owen Schmitt forward.

Staley was reinforcing techniques and assignments in advance of the Eagles' wild-card playoff game against Green Bay. He was teaching the Eagles' running backs how to deal with blitzing linebackers, Staley's forte as a running back with the Eagles from 1997 to 2003.

This is the beginning of Staley's new career. He hopes, like his fellow former Eagles, it is his job for a long time.

Staley was a coaching intern with the Eagles this year, an entry-level worker following the path of Doug Pederson, Mike Zordich and Mike Caldwell.

Of the four, Staley was the most accomplished as a player. As players, all shared a passion for the game. None was projected to be as successful in the NFL as they were. Having earned millions in the NFL, fully vested for their pensions, none does this job for the money.

Now, they project that passion onto a painfully young crop of Birds, all familiar with the Eagles' power structure and the philosophy, and grateful for the chance to learn at the feet of Andy Reid, whose coaching tree grows yearly.

"They've brought good energy," said Reid, who expects to have all four back this year. "They're familiar with the system, so they've been great for the players. They're learning the profession. That's a tough thing to do."

Reid coached Staley, Pederson and Caldwell. When they left the Eagles, he let them know they would be welcome to join him on the sideline if ever they wanted back in. He never coached Zordich, but he knew that Zordich was the quarterback of Ray Rhodes' defense; Reid succeeded Rhodes as the Eagles' head coach after both rose to prominence on the Packers staff.

Rhodes and Reid beat the odds and became part of the NFL's fabric. They gave their lives to the league. For now, this quartet hopes to do the same.

"They've all got great capacity. The sky's the limit for them," Reid said. "They've just got to keep growing in the business."

This is how they got planted in this side of the business.

Staley spent the past 3 years hosting a sports talk-radio show in his native South Carolina and putting off David Culley.

Culley, the Eagles' wide-receivers coach, had hounded Staley to coach in the NFL since Staley's playing career ended in 2006. Family issues kept him from biting.

This year, at training camp, he nibbled.

Now, he cannot satisfy his hunger.

"I was blown away," Staley said. "Being able to go through training camp - if you can withstand training camp, you can last through the season. I was like a kid in a candy store."

Reid didn't plan on having Staley as part of his staff beyond last summer, but he saw a delightful fire in Staley. He marveled at how Staley related to McCoy, a second-year runner, without interfering with running-backs coach Ted Williams, who embraced Staley's presence.

"He did a great job. He was great for LeSean, and he's got a great relationship with Ted, so I asked him to stay on," Reid said.

Effort and devotion never have been issues for Staley. A third-round pick in 1997, Staley worked like a madman to become a frontline NFL running back.

He played behind Ricky Watters, one of the better West Coast backs in history, and was coached by Williams, who begged the Birds to draft Staley after he worked him out at South Carolina.

Within a year, Staley was a 1,000-yard rusher, one of his three 1,000-yard seasons in a 10-year career. He always considered himself just a lucky third-round pick.

"Coming into the NFL, I never saw myself being a star. I just wanted to be a part of the machine," he said.

Working for success as a player, with the rewards of fortune and fame, and working as a coach, with rewards that are measured in group success, are different endeavors.

Staley was unsure if he had the temperament to coach; going from a seven-figure salary to a five-figure salary, huddled in an office like workaholics such as his former offensive coordinator, Jon Gruden, staring at endless loops of film, dealing with ever more petulant players.

"You hear the horror stories. I've been around Gruden," Staley said. "I heard the stories about him staying here all night long. I always told myself, 'I can't do that.' "

It turns out, not only could he do it, he couldn't get enough of it.

"I was never dragging. I was so excited, being a part of the team. I never thought about rough hours. Not getting enough sleep," Staley said. "The crazy thing is, I still love the game. And I still appreciate the game. You can love someone but not appreciate them. You can misuse someone or something you love."

Staley, at 35, is the youngest of the group, recently removed from playing, the scent of churned turf still fresh in his nostrils.

"I play the game through McCoy," Staley said. "When somebody's making a move, I catch myself making the move along with them."

Seated on a bench in the Eagles' practice facility, he starts his right leg to twitching: "The way I stay satisfied is playing through them."

In that, he differs from the other three, who seem to love coaching purely for coaching's sake. Unlike the other three, Staley would not coach if it was not in the NFL.

Also, Staley is the only unmarried man among them, so he needed no permission to immerse himself in the all-consuming world of NFL coaching.

The biggest difference: Staley is not set on becoming a head coach.

"I don't know. I don't know what it's like," Staley said. "I don't know what all comes with that. Will I burn out? I don't want to get to that point. If it comes, and I'm able to do it, cool. But if not, I'm thankful just to be a part of this game."

The other three are greedier.

Really, none of the other three needed spousal permission, either. Actually, all were pushed - especially Caldwell.

He played linebacker from 1998 to 2001 in Philadelphia, retired in 2003 after 11 seasons and, for the next 5 years, he ran a real estate business in Columbus, Ga. He tried golf addiction.

Caldwell found his greatest happiness in the company of Tim Walton, his brother-in-law . . . and, at the time, the defensive-backs coach, then the coordinator, for the University of Miami. Walton now coaches the Detroit Lions' secondary.

"Sue actually was the one who initiated it," Caldwell said, referring to his wife. "I'd been hanging out with him, sitting in on meetings. I enjoyed it. She said, 'Why don't you try it?' "

Because, Caldwell said, he has three children who still are not yet 10 years old, and, when she posed the question, they were on their way to having the third. Because, Caldwell said, he didn't want to miss any more fatherhood.

Sue said, go anyway.

Like Staley, Caldwell served as an intern at training camp. That was 2007. Caldwell helped implement Jim Johnson's defense as a player in 1999, so he was not limited to freshening other coaches' coffee.

"I was familiar with the system, so I was able to supply more input," Caldwell said. "Coach Johnson trusted me, so I was able to take the linebackers and show them this, show them that."

Reid was impressed. He told Caldwell, "If you ever want to coach, look me up."

Caldwell did. He lacks a teaching certificate, often a requirement to coach in high school. He lacks the ability to plead to adolescents, often a requirement as a recruiter as a college coach.

So, he found himself at the Senior Bowl the following winter, where much of the offseason interviewing and hiring is done for coaching positions. Caldwell said he was just there to watch.

He met with Reid. Reid made an offer. Caldwell walked away with the chance to join the Eagles as a quality-control coach: breaking down film, compiling schedules, organizing game plans . . . and, yes, working with the linebackers.

He jumped at the chance. He did it for his first two seasons - a menial job, but one he adored.

"It's not work for me. I like breaking down film," Caldwell said. "I like trying to get guys to do what I used to do, see things the way I see them. I can see something on film and say, 'It reads this way in the playbook, but in my eyes, here's how it should be taught, here's how it should be looked at.' "

A third-round pick by Cleveland out of Middle Tennessee State in 1993, Caldwell never became a cornerstone of a defense. That helps him connect with players like linebacker Moise Fokou, a 235-pound seventh-round pick in 2009 who, like Caldwell, became valued as a special-teams player before he sniffed a starting spot.

"Mike's a coach behind a coach," Fokou said. "Having been a player, now seeing it from a coach's perspective, he can tell you: 'This is what the coaches are seeing. This is what I saw as a player. I understand what you see as a player.' "

Caldwell now is the assistant linebackers coach. He has moved his family to South Jersey. He serves as a teacher. He also serves as a buffer.

"He's been a great person to go to when you don't want to ask the [more senior] coaches, or confide in them what you're thinking," Fokou said.

Caldwell, 39, expects he, one day, will be one of the coaches in whom Fokou cannot confide. He wants to be a coordinator, at least; the head man, at best.

"I'll take it as far as it will go. I never put a ceiling on myself," Caldwell said. "If I can reach the status of a head coach, that's the ultimate goal."

Pederson already reached that goal.

Sort of.

" 'Coach P,' as my high-school students called me. It took a long time to get used to," Pederson said.

Unlike the other three, Pederson never took a break from football. He played his 10th season with the Packers in 2004, briefly moved back to Monroe, La., where he went to college, and almost immediately took the head-coaching job at Calvary Baptist Academy, about 90 miles away in Shreveport.

It was a 4-year test. Pederson went 40-11 and won a district title.

"I just love teaching the game, sharing my experiences," he said. "The high-school level gave me a great opportunity to get that started. And it gave me an opportunity to see if I wanted to coach. It made me believe in myself as a coach."

Reid always believed in Pederson as a coach. When Reid was hired in 1999 he famously brought Pederson with him from Green Bay to tutor the Eagles, and chiefly first-round pick Donovan McNabb, in Reid's version of the West Coast offense.

Pederson started nine games in 1999, started eight for the Browns the next season - a remarkable feat for a guy who not didn't break into the NFL until he was 25. For the last four seasons of his career, Pederson went back to Green Bay, where he served as a de facto coach for Brett Favre. That stint piqued his interest.

"The last couple of years of playing in Green Bay, watching, learning, playing behind Brett, helping him - that really started the fire in me," Pederson said.

So, for 4 years, he taught three physical-education courses a day, coached in the afternoon, spent a lot of time with his wife, Jeannie, and sons Drew, Josh and Joel, now aged 15, 13 and 8.

When Pederson decided he wanted to try the NFL, he called Reid in 2009.

"I'd stayed in touch with Andy. Dropped a bug in his ear," Pederson said. "It popped."

What popped, really, was Eagles quarterbacks coach Pat Shurmur snagging the St. Louis Rams' offensive-coordinator job, which led to James Urban's promotion to quarterbacks coach, which opened the offensive quality-control job.

For Pederson.

It is he who, right now, sacrifices most for his job. He is 42. His boys are football players in Moorestown, N.J. Jeannie runs the household, taking care of all of the chores and errands Pederson found himself loving when they lived in Shreveport.

"It was a transition that first year," Pederson said. "The first 6-7 months - wow. She's wonderful."

She knew what was coming.

It's likely to get worse before it gets better.

McNabb, of course, rose to superstardom after Pederson eased him into the league. Not coincidentally, Michael Vick's rebirth - or, rather, his meteoric development - coincides with Pederson's presence.

Perhaps more than any of the other four coaches, Pederson was fortunate that the Eagles had a spot.

"I wanted to get into the NFL, in a familiar system," Pederson said. "That really helps. I would have gone anywhere . . . that was a familiar system."

Here, with Vick and Kevin Kolb and DeSean Jackson and the rest, offense is hot. Anyone associated with it will be considered part of the means to the end - especially assistants who, as players, were noted for their cerebral abilities.

That might be a decade away. But Pederson has a clear goal.

"If, one day, it turns into a head-coaching job, that'd be great," he said.

At least he knows what he's getting into.

The other former high school coach only did it as a hobby.

It's remarkable, perhaps, that the most experienced coach among the four is the one who sought it the least.

Zordich walked away from his 12th NFL season in 1998 a battered safety who had spent the last 5 years helping Rhodes and coordinator Emmitt Thomas implement one of the best defenses in the league. Rhodes and Thomas left the Eagles after that season, too, but both got jobs elsewhere. Both asked Zordich to join their coaching staffs.

"I was done," Zordich said. "It wasn't fun."

All Zordich wanted to do was return to Youngstown, Ohio, heal up, watch his three kids grow and help his wife Cynthia's career as a photographer blossom.

He did all that. For the first 4 years, that's all he did. That, and running a utility business with his father-in-law.

"It wasn't my cup of tea. It was perfect at the time," Zordich said. "But, you're 44, 45, you think: 'Is this what I want to do the rest of my life?' "

By then, Zordich had joined the staff of the high school team for which his boys would play, Cardinal Mooney. He was a defensive assistant, worked 4 or 5 hours a day, back in the game but not immersed in it. He was in heaven.

"We just had so much fun, as a staff," Zordich said. "And my boys playing there - it was perfect."

It turned out that camaraderie and fatherhood were convenient byproducts of Zordich's happiness. By the time his eldest, Michael, a running back, had finished his senior season in 2008 and decided to follow in Zordich's footsteps at Penn State, Zordich had recognized the intoxication.

"I sent out a little postcard, said, 'Hey, I'd like to get back in the league,' " Zordich said.

He sent it to the old Eagles crew - Rhodes, Thomas, Mike Trgovac, Danny Smith - and, of course, to Jim Johnson, who, upon his arrival, used Zordich as a barometer to gauge the personnel and the climate of the Eagles.

Zordich believed it would take at least a year to land even the lowest-level job; "I figured I'd start knocking on doors, putting out feelers, you know."

He went to the Senior Bowl, he went to the combine, and he spoke with Reid.

"He was really cool. He told me to come to the [offseason] minicamps," Zordich said. "I went to the first one. I didn't want to leave. I said to myself, 'This is cool. This is good stuff. I'm back where I belong.' "

Johnson agreed. He allowed Zordich to coach the defensive backs, not just hold a clipboard. He persuaded Zordich to join the staff immediately as a defensive quality-control assistant.

That meant missing the senior football season of Alex, his second child, now at the University of Buffalo. It meant missing the final 2 years of Aiden's high school cheerleading career; Aiden now is a senior.

It meant leaving his wife back in Ohio.

"Ah, she was all for it from the get-go," Zordich said, laughing. "She never wanted me to leave the league."

He might never leave it again.

Zordich loves the job so much that he invited rookie safety Kurt Coleman to his home after Coleman missed preseason camps because of Ohio State's late dismissal times. Like the other three alumni coaches, he wholly understands how to teach today's player.

"A lot of times you have a guy who's trying to coach you who's never played the game. He doesn't understand what it's like. That guy is hard to listen to," said safety Quintin Mikell, who was undrafted - as Zordich would have been, since the ninth round, in which he was selected, no longer exists. "We talk about our similar experiences, I feel a connection there. I look at a guy like that who started at the bottom and worked his way up and kept being very, very productive."

Zordich hopes to replicate that rise as a coach. He has a late start - he's 47 - but, he said, "I'd like to be where Andy is one day."

Already, he has made the sacrifices he swore he never would make.

Zordich recalled how horrified he was one Saturday night at the team hotel when, as a player, he asked downcast linebackers coach Joe Vitt why Vitt was so sad.

"I'm missing my son's last high school football game," Vitt said.

"What? Why don't you just go?" Zordich said. "We'll be all right here without you for one night."

Zordich retold that story a few days ago, and snorted a little laugh.

"I told Joe Vitt that, and here I missed Alex's whole senior season," Zordich said. "Ironic, huh?"