I stand behind Chad Crippe and the KTVB news crew on the porch as the February rain threatens to mess up the line of my carefully parted hair.
The sound of the musical doorbell still rings in my head as we wait for an answer. I'm barely through the second stanza, when a large man opens the door, wearing a black t-shirt shirt emblazoned with the word "Security" across his barrel-chest.
He immediately recognizes us as official members of the media who have been invited over for this rare glimpse of Coach Harsin's private life and ushers us in.
Well, most of us, anyway.
"Excuse me, who are you with?" A large hand in my chest ensures my hair gel will continue to rinse out.
"I'm with One Bronco Nation Under God," I answer. "OBNUG, you know."
"Where's your press pass?" he barks.
"I'm wearing this shirt that says OBNUG," I say, puffing up my chest to match his. "See? Churros and everything!"
"I'm going to have to call Drew Roberts," he responds. He takes his phone out, dials a number and puts it on speaker, presumably so I can chime in at any time.
I hear Drew pick up the line: "Hello?"
"I got this guy with me, sez he's with OBNUG," Goliath says.
"'Sup, Drew? This is Russ!" I say.
Silence for a moment... "Who is this, again?"
I drop my head and mumble under my breath, "Uh...Fresh Breff."
"Oh yeah! The guy with the face!"
"So you know this guy?" the security guard asks Drew.
"Well, he's not on our payroll, but he should be okay," Drew answers. Then he adds, "Just make sure he doesn't have any rubber bands on him. I hear he's a flipper."
After a thorough pat-down, I'm allowed to enter, albeit a few rubber bands poorer. The security guard informs me that I'd better find a different place to stash them if I want any more posterity. Probably good advice.
I'm taken into the kitchen/dining room area, where food has been generously laid out for members of the media. I grab a plate and stack it with food, putting a few ham and cream cheese rolls in my pockets for the wife and kids. I meet Coach Harsin's wife, Kes, who cordially greets me and offers me a glass of lemonade, along with a towel, since I've brought the outside in.
I fill my belly then look around for Coach Harsin. He is speaking with Chad Crippe and Tom Scott, who are recording the conversation with a phone and camera, respectively. I don't want to look unprepared, so I pull out my tracfone, flip it open, and slip in behind Harsin, nodding thoughtfully.
"...And that's the biggest reason why we're set to move forward on that. You heard it here first!" Harsin concludes. I make a mental note to look up Crippe's article and link to it in "Wake Up, Bronco Nation" tomorrow.
"That guy walked into the shot," the cameraman says, pointing at me.
"We can remove him in post," Scott replies.
"(T)hat's the biggest reason why we're set to move forward on that. You heard it here first!"
Harsin moves on: "Let me show you around my place!" We walk from there into a spacious family room, where Offensive and Defensive Coordinators Mike Sanford and Marcel Yates sit in front of a large TV, playing Madden on a PS4. We watch them play for a few minutes, then suddenly, Mike Sanford stands up and leaves the room.
"Is he angry?" I ask Yates.
"Naw," he replies. "He just likes to run up the score in the first half and then quit at halftime. Then it's all up to me to win the game."
"Sounds tough," I say.
"I do alright."
We go from there into Harsin's trophy room, where half-a-dozen jerseys hang framed on the wall. "I like to keep jerseys of players I respect on the wall," Harsin says. "Please stop smelling the Kellen Moore jersey," he adds.
"It was probably that guy," I say, pointing at Scott.
Out in the garage are a few vehicles, one really nice Bronco-blue truck, in particular.
"I have one in the exact same color," Crippe says. "But it doesn't have the lift kit and black rims."
"Hey, I have a blue truck, too!" Scott says. "Just make sure Rocky Long doesn't see you driving on the Blue Turf!"
"How could he?!" Harsin says. Raucous laughter ensues. "Hey, maybe we should start a blue truck club!" Harsin says. More laughter.
"Hey, gang! If anyone wants to start a red Ford Escort club, you don't even have to have air conditioning or cruise control!" I say. There's an awkward silence. "My wife makes really good Muddy Buddies!" I add, hopefully.
On our way out, we run into the Harsin kids, playing a game of football in the yard. The rain has since stopped, and the setting sun casts a surreal golden glow about the scene, like a memory captured in a scrapbook, or an analogy that escapes my memory right now. Coach Harsin's eyes beam with pride. His eldest daughter, Devyn completes a pass to her sister, Dayn, while young Davis is content to run around both of them, laughing.
"This is why I do it," Harsin says. "I want to create a better future for my kids, while giving other kids the opportunity to become better people through the sport I've held so close to my heart."
"Catch, daddy!" Dayn yells, throwing him a better spiral than I could. He pulls it in with one arm, and puts his other arm around Kes' waist, drawing her near.
"This is the future," He says with a smile on his face.
A slight spring breeze blows past, bringing with it the smell of hope, success, optimism and a little bit of sweat.
...Just like Kellen Moore's jersey.