AUSTIN, Texas — So let’s talk pressure. Wrap your mind around that nebulous thought, that overused cliché so carelessly dropped into any conversation, and reveal the true value, the true sense, of it all.

That was Charlie Strong, an innocent black child growing up in Batesville, Ark., trying to comprehend men with hoods parading down his street. The boy is standing on the curb, scant feet separating him from decades of institutional racism that only those with his skin color can ultimately understand.

MORE: Charlie Strong photos | SN Preseason Top 25 | Top 10 program rankings | Top 50 players

A boy who grew to become a young man, who walked on to play football at tiny Central Arkansas, who wanted to be a college professor but decided to give coaching football a shot. A young man who grew to become an elite assistant coach, who was passed over and over and over for head coaching jobs because those same decades of institutional racism that confidently strolled down the streets of Batesville years earlier were engrained in the hearts and minds of university academia, too.

A coach who nearly gave up on his dream of becoming a head coach, only to get a chance at Louisville and win big, and the next thing you know, he’s standing in the posh office that overlooks the gigantic stadium at the University of Texas — smack in the middle of the best damn job in all of college football.

“I went down in the stadium and walked across the field and looked around and thought, wow, this is it,” Strong said. “I said to myself, you cannot fail, buddy. Too many people are counting on you.”

So let’s talk pressure. Not the nonsensical concept we so often use as a crutch, but real, honest-to-goodness, core-of-your-soul pressure.

A few months after Strong arrived at Texas , long after the laughable idea of Nick Saban coaching for $100 million over 10 years had whistled through here like the bats blossoming under Congress Avenue Bridge as the burnt orange sun sets in the West, they celebrated the 50-year anniversary of the signing of the Civil Rights Act.

President Obama and the former living presidents were on hand to celebrate and commemorate, and Obama told the story of former president Lyndon Johnson’s meeting with his closest advisors after suddenly inheriting the presidency when John Kennedy was assassinated. Johnson wanted to call on Congress to pass a sweeping civil rights bill, and most of his staff counseled him against it.

There was too much risk, his staff warned. One particular aide told Johnson he did not believe a president should spend his time and power on lost causes, no matter how worthy. To which Johnson replied , “What the hell’s the presidency for if not to fight for causes you believe in?”

Why take the Texas job — the biggest, baddest, most powerful job in all of college sports with its own television network and enough meddling, deep-pocket boosters (true or not) with the bottom line ideal of winning from Day 1 — if not to use it as the fight for the one cause you believe in?

For the first time since he took over at Texas, Strong is sitting in his perfectly placed office, this shining example of everything is bigger in Texas, and opening up about the game and what it means beyond Xs and Os and winning and losing.

How many other Charlie Strongs are out there toiling away in college football? How many other African American men were asked to interview for a job, fly to the university, get off the plane and head to the president’s house — only to have a friend call and tell him said university had already hired its coach, that he was a token interview.

It’s not difficult to draw a line and connect the dots between civil rights and coaching football. The cause isn’t as encompassing nor as critical, but every fight is a piece of the struggle.

“That’s why I stand on tall shoulders, because of the road so many men and women before me paved,” Strong said. “I wouldn’t have this opportunity I have now if someone didn’t fight the fight they fought. I never got bitter because it keeps you from moving forward. But if I have success here, it’s only going to open doors for everyone else.”

Unconventional interview process

This wasn’t going to be your typical job interview. Tom Jurich had heard the stories, and knew of Strong’s sudden apprehension — wait, disdain — of the interview process.

There had to be a better way of making this thing work, of making Charlie Strong feel like, for the first time, an interview with Louisville really was an interview.

“I just felt like I had to do something completely different,” Jurich says now.

A few years earlier in 2007, after the disaster that was the fake interview at Minnesota (the Gophers hired Tim Brewster, who was fired four years later); after California told then-South Carolina coach Lou Holtz in the early 2000s they were going to hire Strong then didn’t, the reality that it might not ever happen began to set in.

“The athletic director at California told me we’re going to hire (Strong) tomorrow,” Holtz said. “I was so excited for Charlie, and then it didn’t happen. You start wondering what in the world is going on here?”

It was then that Strong, after another failed (or is that fake?) interview — Vanderbilt, California, Pittsburgh; they all run together at some point — told friend John Gutekunst he was done interviewing.

He was tired of the sham, and didn’t want to deal with the absurdity of the process. At one point during all of those interviews, it had become clear that many universities weren't comfortable with the idea of Strong's family makeup. His wife Vicki, is white.

Strong downplays that idea now, but says without hesitation, "she doesn't make play calls."

Fortunately there was Gutekunst, a former head coach at Minnesota and then a defensive assistant at South Carolina with Strong, who helped Strong see the value of persevering.

“There are too many African American coaches who have not had the opportunity you have right now,” Gutekunst told Strong. “I’m sorry you’ve been the guy who has been picked for this, but you can’t quit (interviewing).”

Strong remembers that day, pauses, and reveals a thought process that was discovered and nurtured through all of those painful years.

“People see so many racial issues,” he says. “Sometimes you have to take a step back and hear the message — everyone has a message. I had a friend who was a high school coach in South Carolina about the time of the flag issue on the state capitol. He said, ‘I’m the person I am, but my family died fighting for that flag.’ That kind of hit me.

“We don’t want to hear other people’s perspective because we feel like we’re always right, yet we don’t listen. A lot of times people think if you’re going to express it, it has to be right. No, it doesn’t. We all should step back and look at things from the other person’s perspective and realize what their battles are.”

This is what Jurich was walking into that day in December 2009 when he met with Strong, who was carrying years of disappointment and distrust and still working through all of those emotions. It wasn’t just a head-coaching job; for years Strong — and many other African American assistant coaches — couldn’t even get coordinator jobs.

Even today, there are only seven African American head coaches among the 65 Power 5 conferences jobs (including Notre Dame), a pitiful breakdown of about 10 percent: Strong, James Franklin (Penn State), Darrell Hazell (Purdue), Mike London (Virginia), Derek Mason (Vanderbilt), David Shaw (Stanford) and Kevin Sumlin (Texas A&M).

So Jurich decided to do the unconventional.

“The first thing I did was offer him the job,” Jurich said. “He said I accept and we shook hands, and then I said, great, now let’s interview. He was tired of being used; you could see it in his face. After I offered the job, it was the best interview I’ve had.”

Then Strong did what everyone who knows him knew he would do: turned Louisville into a winner. He arrived and found a team deep in disarray, a program shocked by the sudden departure of Bobby Petrino to the NFL and lulled into insignificance by Steve Kragthorpe, a good man who spent three years trying to undo the mess of Petrino’s escape.

Three years later, Strong took his Louisville team to the Sugar Bowl and routed Florida — the same Florida that could have hired Strong to replace Urban Meyer (Strong was Meyer’s defensive coordinator, and had three different stints as an assistant in Gainesville) but instead hired Texas defensive coordinator Will Muschamp.

Strong won 28 of his last 33 games at Louisville and Texas came calling. Muschamp was fired after four seasons.

Charlie Strong and the Cardinals celebrated their Sugar Bowl win against the Gators in January 2013. (Getty Images)

After years of crushing disappointment, sweet symmetry had finally arrived. It’s a long way from stepping off the plane in Minneapolis and getting gut-punched to best job in the land pursuing him.

The boy who watched the Ku Klux Klan rally in front of his young eyes; the man who was a token interview, now had the Texas Longhorns — the Texas Flippin’ Longhorns — waiting for a yes or no.

“I had to take the job, I couldn’t say no,” Strong said. “This is bigger than me.”

Change is happening

They laughed at him last season when he boldly declared Texas would not lose five games again under his watch.

Just like they laughed at him when he said the national championship was within reach at Louisville. Or when he said he was starting a skinny freshman quarterback from the state of Florida, a player he beat the big three programs in the state of Florida for, and a player he knew was a winner.

Teddy Bridgewater won 30 games in three seasons at Louisville and was a first-round pick in the NFL Draft — and is the exact reason Strong will not only win, but win big at Texas. It’s not only finding players, it’s developing them — both on and off the field.

LOOKING BACK: Strong not putting up with any crap at Texas | Is he ready to handle Longhorn monster?

He weeded out the malcontents last season at Texas, nine players who refused to buy into what he was selling. Nine guys who, for whatever reason, couldn’t grasp Strong’s five core values:

— No drugs.

— No guns.

— No stealing.

— Be honest.

— Treat women with respect.

Those nine players who were kicked off the team for violating those rules combined for 1,494 yards rushing, 576 yards receiving, 28 TDs and 38 tackles for their UT careers. You better believe that contributed last year to a couple (or more) of those seven losses.

But the choice for Strong was, and still is, a simple one: eliminate the problem, or compromise who you are and the core of your philosophy. If that means a season of headache and heartache and too many losses, so be it.

Eventually, it will turn.

“If you’re going to criticize us for that, go ahead,” says Texas defensive coordinator Vance Bedford. “We’re building something that families want to send their kids to.”

Strong’s first team at Louisville lost six games. So did his second. By the time his third team hit the field, the transformation was complete — and Louisville could play with any team in the nation.

The Cardinals won 11 games in Year 3, and 12 in Year 4.

“The job he did here, and I told him this when he left for Texas, was A-plus across the board in everything he did,” Jurich said. “It’s something we are all indebted to him for. He built this into something very special.”

Then why leave? Why leave a program with so much sweat equity invested, a program that pays you well, for the meatgrinder that is Texas?

Because he had to. The job, the purpose, is bigger than anything that could have convinced him to stay at Louisville.

This isn’t just about Charlie Strong, it’s about every other young African American assistant coach looking for his big break. That’s what made the end of last season so poignant.

When it finally hit rock bottom, when the Longhorns were dragging off the field after getting whipped by former Southwest Conference rival Arkansas in the Texas Bowl, Strong knew he had this team. It had finally turned.

“That was an embarrassment,” Strong said. “After that, guys started to realize we have to listen. We have to buy in. That’s the only way we’re going to change.”

Recruiting picked up in January, and the Longhorns finished strong with a top 10 class. The vibe was different in spring practice; there was more attention and focus to detail.

And there might just be a freshman quarterback — redshirt freshman Jerrod Heard — starting the season opener at Notre Dame.

“I’m not worried about the quarterback; we’ll get that figured out,” Strong said. “The big thing now is guys are figuring out what it takes to succeed here as a young man, not just a football player. The next step is playing with each other and for each other. Once that happens, everything changes.”

Charlie Strong finished 6-7 — losing in the Texas Bowl — in his first season in Austin. (Getty Images)

'We can't fail here'

So let’s talk pressure. You’re replacing a legend in the state of Texas, a successful, smooth-talking tall glass of iced tea and a sweetheart of a man.

Mack Brown won 158 games and a national title in 16 seasons at Texas , and next to the late Darrell Royal, there is no more beloved figure in Austin. Or, as Strong so matter-of-factly puts it:

“He sat in that big chair for 16 years. Sixteen years! ”

If carrying the weight of all those hard-working, more-than-deserving African American coaches isn’t burden enough, go ahead and follow the guy who brought Texas back from the lost decade of David McWilliams and John Mackovic to demanding and expecting championships again.

How in the world could Strong have known what he was getting into when he entered his first press conference at Texas? He turned the corner and saw more than 100 media members and 30 television cameras crammed into the media room awaiting his every word.

“I thought holy cow, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Strong said. “The first thing I did was go over and kiss Mrs. (Edith) Royal, figuring that could break the ice.”

Before he answered his first question, they were falling over each other four rows deep in the room, one camera pushing so hard against a young woman in the front row, she was staring at the feet of Strong.

“The one thing about Texas, the good and the bad, is it’s a lightning rod,” Brown said. “When I asked Coach Royal the best thing about coaching at Texas, he said 27 million people care about what you do every day of your life. I asked the worst thing about Texas, he said 27 million people care about what you do every day of your life.”

After 16 months on the job, word has gotten around that Strong likes to run in the morning. Rain or shine, he arrives at his office at 4 a.m. and gets in those five miles.

Sometimes students or Austin residents will join him on the run and hang for a bit before tailing off. Some talk football; some just want to be around him. All tell him they’re pulling for him.

The man who arrived stating he wanted to put the “T” back in Texas; who did what new coaches never do and declared the previous coach left the program in great shape; who put a target on his own back by eliminating any wiggle room in the desire and determination to win it all, knows a thing or two about pressure. Only not the way everyone thinks.

There’s no doubt the first African American coach in more than 100 years of Texas football will win. He has a proven track record.

But can he win and become transcendent?

“When I decided to take this job, I can’t tell you the number of coaches that called and said, oh my god, are you kidding me? You got it!” Strong said. “Because they know — everyone across the country sees it now, too. It’s not one of those where they’re not watching. They’re all watching.”

Midway through last season, in the middle of all that change and all that uncertainty, Strong was filling his car with gas when an older lady approached him not knowing who he was. She asked if the Longhorns won on Saturday night, and Strong told her they did.

“She said, well, thank God. I just love that coach over there and I pray for him all the time,” Strong said. “I could probably walk to the pearly gates of heaven because of all the prayers that have been given up for me.”

He laughs, and that million-dollar smile that lights up a room is followed by a long, heavy exhale.

“We can’t fail here,” Strong said. “There are too many people counting on us.”