To the kids on his team, New York Giants punter is just Coach Feagles

His defeated football team kneeling around him, the head coach stood in the middle of a semicircle of muddied jerseys and grass-stained egos. He pulled off his cap and rubbed his bald head, searching for the right words, a message that would stick better than the missed tackles that had driven him crazy for the past hour.

He quickly and sternly silenced a groundswell of grumbling about the officiating, then started his speech.

"The difference between winning and losing comes from here," he said, tapping his chest and leaning in for emphasis. "It comes from the heart. You have to want it. Football is about desire and toughness. It's about reaching down and ... and ...

"Hey, is anybody listening to me?"

Uh, no, actually. Nineteen players were looking in about a dozen directions. Some were giving hand signals to their parents, who impatiently jangled car keys. Others were distracted by pony-tailed, giggling cheerleaders. Some glanced at the long line and wondered if the refreshment stand would be out of hot chocolate by the time this boring sermon was over. So, the coach did what he does best: He punted.

"Practice on Monday night," he said with a sigh. "See you then."

In just about any other setting, people would have been hanging on every word from Jeff Feagles. A Rotary meeting of Giants worshippers somewhere in New Jersey. A Big Blue Travel reception on the eve of a critical road game. A Super Bowl victory rally on the steps of New York City Hall.

But here, on a crisp Friday night, under the lights at scruffy Veterans Field in Ridgewood -- where there are no goalposts, only 80 yards between end zones, and a luxury box is a minivan pointed toward the field with the heater running -- one of the greatest punters in NFL history simply couldn't compete with the call of hot dogs and Kit-Kat bars.

"You have to remind yourself that they're 9 years old," Feagles said.

Translation: The kids are not impressed. They can tune him out like any other adult.

The guy is 42 and still playing in the NFL, and just about every time his right foot hits the ball, he sets a record. He has played in all 324 regular-season games since his career began, punting 1,596 times for 66,254 yards. And when he has to drop one inside the opponents' 20-yard line, Feagles hit punts like Tiger Woods hits wedges. If there weren't a bias against punters, he would be a Hall of Fame slam dunk.

But when it comes to his resume, this is what the kids hear: Blah, blah, blah.

"They know he's a professional football player," parent Mark Miller said. "But, to them, he's just 'Coach Feagles.' He's like their Little League coach or basketball coach."

On the eve of the season, Feagles invited the parents and players to his home and let them behind the velvet ropes of his 21-year career. They saw game jerseys from his days with the Patriots, Eagles and Cardinals, Seahawks and Giants. They held game balls. They caressed memorabilia from the unlikely Super Bowl triumph last February.

"Now, that was cool," running back Quincy Peene said.

But when they left the house, they left Jeff Feagles, NFL punter, in the basement. Out here, in the real world, where they see him every day in warmups and sneakers, he is one of them. With four sons (who are terrific athletes) and a thirst to coach, Feagles is a fixture at any local sports event.

"Ike Hilliard came here one day and everyone went nuts," high school student Ryan Ghaderi said. "Mr. Feagles is probably more famous, but he's just Mr. Feagles. He's not Jeff Feagles, Giants punter. Not to us, anyway."

And because he is just one of them, he is open to the ribbing. They still laugh about the time he volunteered to coach a seventh-grade lacrosse team. Feagles already had coached football, basketball and baseball in town. Did he know anything about lacrosse?

"Not a thing," Ghaderi said. "He would say things and we would go, 'Huh?' and laugh. He tried to sound like he knew what he was talking about, but he was ..."

"Clueless," Chris Ebert said.

On the other sideline of the peewee football games, they are usually clueless, too. Ken Crowley, a parent, was snapping photos for the Ramsey football website when someone pointed to the Ridgewood coach and suggested he might want to take a few shots of him.

"That guy?" Crowley said. "Why?"

Minutes after Crowley was told, Ridgewood was stopped for a 3-yard loss on a fourth-and-1. Crowley walked past with a smirk on his face. "I bet he wished he had punted that time," he said. (Incidentally, Feagles' team didn't punt once.)

During games, he paces the sideline. Coaches are allowed on the field, but Feagles sends his offensive and defensive coordinators. Once in a while, during a timeout, he'll sprint into the huddle, say a few words and scat. But mostly, he shouts from a distance: "Get the ball!" or "Make a play!" when his team in on defense, and "Block! Block! Block!" when his kids have the ball. But it's all under control.

"I don't want to act like an idiot in front of the kids," he said. "You can get your point across without ranting and raving."

We know what you're thinking: Maybe he could make that point to his excitable boss, Tom Coughlin. But Feagles smiles and insists he has learned a lot from his gruff coach -- organization, attention to detail, motivation and lists ... lots of lists, because Feagles The Coach has more jobs than Coughlin.

He is head coach (compiling the playbook), equipment manager (fixing chin straps on the fly), trainer ("Where does it hurt?"), parent (his son, Zach, is a running back and linebacker), team psychologist ("Don't quit! Don't ever quit!"), traveling secretary ("Does everyone have a ride home?") and head of security.

Early in the game, his defense stripped a running back and the ball was returned for a touchdown, but an official called a questionable penalty -- about 20 yards from the play -- and the TD was nullified. Some of the coaches and parents grew mouthy. Feagles calmed them. The controversial play turned out to be the difference in the game, but he wouldn't allow his players to blame the referees.

That's the message he was trying to deliver when no one was listening. Of course, like Coughlin, he could fine his players.

"They're 9," Feagles said with a laugh. "We run sprints instead. What am I going to do, take their lunch money?"

Hey, it might get their attention.

(nj.com)