TAMPA - In the privacy of his office, behind the walls filled with depth charts and the shelves stocked with game tapes, Tim Marcum is asked to try it on. Just for giggles. Just to, you know, see how it fits.
You might have guessed he wouldn't do it. Not even behind a closed door. It's harder than you'd think to dress someone in a noun such as legend.
And, really, that's a shame. Because in the world of Arena Football Marcum is a few years beyond impressive and long past important.
The league is preparing for its 17th edition of the ArenaBowl at the St. Pete Times Forum on Sunday, and Marcum is bringing a team for the 10th time in 15 seasons as a head coach.
"Tim is the heart and soul of the Arena Football League. He has given his professional career to seeing this game grow," AFL commissioner David Baker said. "Tim, and several other people like him, are the reason we're here today and are enjoying this success."
As legends and lore go, this would be a miniature version. Sort of like the league itself. A smaller field, smaller contracts, smaller legend.
None of which changes Marcum's impact in this arena. Think pioneer. Think innovator. Think champion. Now you're thinking of Marcum.
"To put it in context," Baker said, "he is like our George Halas."
Some of this, you've got to know, is a fluke. Growing up the son of a football coach in buzzards-know-where Texas, Marcum did not exactly dream of being the most recognizable face in a league that has known Harleys and hot tubs, but not offensive tackles.
He'd followed the typical high school to junior college to Division I coaching path before making the leap to the USFL in the mid 1980s.
When the league folded, Marcum was out of a job in the middle of August. Not exactly the time of year when the NFL or NCAA is seeking football coaches.
Marcum was selling used cars when run-and-shoot guru Mouse Davis called and asked if he wanted to be a head coach in a brand new league.
"Mouse says, "You want to coach Arena Football?' I said, "Arena what? What the heck are you talking about?"' Marcum said. "He said this guy has an idea, yada, da, da and they wanted me to be one of the head coaches. Mouse said, "I'll pay you $25,000 for two months.' I said, "(expletive) yeah.'
"Next thing I know, we're in Wheaton, Ill. with 120 guys, making up the rules as we go."
Marcum won the first ArenaBowl as the coach in Denver. He won the second as the coach in Detroit. He's won six in all, including a pair with the Storm in 1995-96. He waves off his success as a product of finding the best players. But finding players is one of the things Marcum does best.
He's developed relationships with NFL scouts and front-office types around the league, and they often steer players in his direction.
"I don't get up at 3:17 in the morning listening to the Notre Dame fight song," Marcum said. "Not that there's anything wrong with that. That seems to be a pattern of success for some people. I don't need to do that. I do know a little bit about the game because I've been there from Day One."
Along the way, Marcum has rubbed some the wrong way. He's learned Arena players are more interchangeable than in the NFL, and he's not afraid to show them the door. Talking to the Arizona Republic, Rattlers receiver/linebacker Hunkie Cooper said Marcum "steps on people to get what he's done."
Asked to describe his style as a coach, Marcum waves the question off. So he is offered a description. Two words. Hard is the first. A three-letter euphemism for one's posterior is the second.
Marcum laughs.
But he does not argue.
"You won't hear me getting after a guy if he sees something we haven't prepared him for," Marcum said. "But if I have shown you that situation three times in the last week and you are not successful, then I may get after your (rear). And if you don't like that, you'll go down the road and someone else will come in here. And I'll get after his (rear)."
In a league where everyone is in a hurry to move on, to be the next Kurt Warner or Tommy Maddox, Marcum is here to stay. He has a salary in the $200,000 range and owner Woody Kern has made him a part-owner. By year's end, Marcum says he will have about a 14 percent stake in the franchise.
There were times in the past when he was looking to get out. Almost 10 years ago, Marcum spent a season as an Atlanta Falcons assistant, but discovered he had little taste for the egos and excesses of the NFL.
Before that, in 1990, he was the linebackers coach on Steve Spurrier's first staff at Florida.
He figured he had found a home at Florida but was lured back to the Arena League when Detroit offered to nearly triple his salary.
Marcum was replaced at Florida by Ron Zook who, months later, became the Gators defensive coordinator when Jim Bates left.
"Would I have been the defensive coordinator if I stayed? I don't know. Would I be with Steve today with the Redskins? I don't know," Marcum said. "If I stayed there, who the hell knows what would have happened.
"But I know this: I've done pretty good since then."
