A Kinder, Gentler Coughlin Still Makes the Giants Stand Up Straight Tom Coughlin, with his grandson Brennon, is beginning his 10th season as the coach of the Giants. EAST RUTHERFORD, N.J. - When Tom Coughlin's children were growing up, they developed a routine when it came time to ask their father for something. The initial answer, they knew, would be no. "Because the first time you ask him anything, he always says no," Judy Coughlin, Tom's wife of 46 years, explained. It's just spontaneous with him. Whatever it is, it just pops out: no. But Judy would instruct her children to wait and then ask again. "When you come back, he can rationally revisit it, and the answer often is yes," Judy said, laughing. It's just the way he is. Given time, he sees things differently. Tom Coughlin is beginning his 10th season as the coach of the Giants, and in that time he has ranted, raved and waved his arms on the sideline until his deportment has become an immutable fixture of the team's culture. His countenance is as familiar as the team logo - the downturned upper lip, the hands on hips, a man whose face seems perpetually red from exhortation, irritation or unyielding determination. But Coughlin is turning 67 Saturday. He has 11 grandchildren. A game might still bring out sideline histrionics, but during the team's practices he is subdued, more likely to commend than to condemn. Once a habitual yeller with a voice that could be heard across two football fields, he now gives instructions that are usually inaudible except to the players nearest to him. He has written reflective books and gone on tours to promote them, yukking it up with Jon Stewart on "The Daily Show." In time, Coughlin has begun to see things differently. Two Super Bowl victories ought to breed serenity and fulfillment. But those closest to him say it was not the second championship, in 2012, that changed him; it was the birth of a third generation of Coughlins. "Grandkids have softened him," Judy Coughlin said. People think it's winning two Super Bowls, but that's not it. He wasn't around for our kids a lot of the time, and when he was, it was, "Line up your shoes; go take a bath." But with grandkids, it's different. You have all of the love, but you don't have all of the responsibility. He's had more fun with them. At this point in his life, he doesn't care if he shows the softer side of him. He's going to show his love. That benevolence has extended to his players. In the hours before the Giants" last Super Bowl, love was an emotion foremost in Coughlin's mind. It became the dominant theme of his final speech to the team before the game. "I am man enough to say I love you," Coughlin told a roomful of players. His 43-year-old daughter, Keli, smiles when she recalls the father she grew up with and compares him with the one she watched making jokes on Comedy Central in the spring. "He has not fundamentally changed," Keli said. He's just reached a point where he sees that it's time to enjoy some of these things. We in the family sat him down and said: "Hey, this is fun. Good things are happening. Enjoy it a little." " She added: "I wouldn't say he's loosened up - those aren't the right words. But he's trying to embrace the moment. Perhaps it is better to say that Coughlin is more at ease than he once was. Taskmaster Tom is routinely persnickety instead of simply exasperating. Because there is so much that has not changed at all. All of the clocks in the Giants" training and practice complex are still five minutes fast. Everyone calls it Coughlin time. Being two minutes early for a meeting still elicits a sharp rebuke for being tardy. Hats can be worn only forward, if at all. Players sit up straight, feet pressed against the floor. Players pulling their uniform pants too high are still admonished or fined. Coughlin never wants to see a bare knee on his practice field, let alone during a game. "You look like you're wearing Bermuda shorts," Coughlin will yell at some uninformed rookie who hikes his pants too high. It has been a pet peeve of his since the 1980s.