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Bo Pelini, wearing a white baseball cap, strolled into Nebraska's spacious weight room, where he conducts postgame press conferences.

Four months earlier, Thanksgiving Friday, Pelini made this same walk to the same podium. Wearing the white cap he swung toward an official's face, he cursed a pass-interference call. He blamed his job speculation for a late-season slide. He said in reference to Shawn Eichorst and Harvey Perlman:“If they want to fire me, go ahead.”

The spring game circumstances were much different. And this was a much different Bo.

Before he answered a single question, Pelini looked at a pack of student journalists sitting on the weight room floor and quipped, “You guys are (job) shadowing these guys? That's a baaaad deal.”

Then he answered questions from the professional media: About the cat he carriedthrough the tunnel. “Just trying to have a little bit of fun,” he said.

About the passing competition he lost to Kenny Bell. “I'm the best left-handed thrower this side of the Mississippi.”

About the typical personnel hot buttons. Quarterbacks. Safeties. Kickers.

Only once, at the end of his last press conference before the summer, did Pelini receive a question that stumped him. This is where it got interesting: Can this fun, lighthearted feel carry over to the pressure cooker of the fall?

Pelini rubbed his finger across his lip. He no longer looked comfortable.

“I don't know, I mean, if there's a more lighthearted feel. It's not, I don't know, it's not really something I'm ... I don't know. I guess, I'm not doing anything really different.”

He's right. And he's wrong. And it underscores why, entering his seventh season under one of college football's hottest microscopes, Pelini is arguably more mysterious now than ever.

His teams have done little (good or bad) to cause a scene nationally. No conference championships. No losing seasons. But the coach himself elicits strong opinions. He's polarizing.

Pelini would've been more comfortable being a head coach in the 20th century. Surely we can all agree on that.

He's the anti-John Calipari. On TV, he looks like an angry high school gym teacher, not the state's highest-paid employee. He doesn't always express his thoughts with polish. He often sees fans and media as an impediment rather than a boost to his program. He prefers privacy to exposure and isn't particularly concerned about fostering his public image.

Pelini is a football coach, not a politician. And in 2014, the latter is part of the job description, even when it reeks of insincerity. Pelini is sincere. Which is why the press-conference question left him tongue-tied.

It suggested that Bo's recent bouts of feline humor were designed to boost his public image. To build a bridge with fans and media. To tweak the culture of a program that frequently bogs down in pressure situations.

I'm not doing anything really different.

Faux Pelini might disagree.

* * *

The notion that Bo's alter ego represents his bridge to fan-friendliness is so ironic it's comical. Faux Pelini (almost 90,000 Twitter followers) wouldn't exist if Bo didn't have the reputation that he does.

His junior high one-liners are perfect for 140 characters. But more than that, Faux shines a light on the national caricature of Bo. A man known primarily for scowls and tantrums. When Faux Pelini rages on Twitter, an outsider can actually imagine Bo saying those things.

Truth is, Pelini's annoyance with the spotlight prompted him to draw a battle line. On one side stood his trusted confidantes — players, friends, selected boosters, etc. On the other side, the world.

As the past six years unfolded, those two sides have grown further and further apart. They understand each other less and less. It's like they're looking at two totally different men.

Those close to Pelini — players especially — describe him as playful, compassionate, loyal.

Many outsiders not only see the absence of those qualities, they see the antithesis of those qualities.

Jan. 6 represented a small turning point.

The night of the national championship game, Bo tweeted to Faux Pelini: “ok enough is enough ... I want my cat back. You've had her long enough!”

The message was retweeted more than 10,000 times. In 14 words, the coach reminded people across the country there's a sense of humor under his white cap.

Subsequent acknowledgments of Faux the past three months have made everyone wonder: Who is Bo? And is he changing?

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The answers are complicated. First you have to ask yourself who you are. I have to ask myself who I am.

My behavior ranges across a spectrum. Anger on one end, gentleness on the other. Selfishness on one end, benevolence on the other. Gloom on one end, joy on the other.

I'm a good father of two kids. I read to them. I play with them. I snuggle them. Most of the time.

But sometimes I'm not a good father. I spend too much time on my computer. I lose my temper and raise my voice when my 4-year-old doesn't listen. I hustle the kids to bed so I can watch TV.

A stranger's impression of my parenting is dependent on when he sees me.

We understand these nuances for private individuals. Yet we consistently paint public figures in black and white. We're so desperate for real knowledge, insight and access, we don't recognize the absurdity of judging a man by one snapshot. Or even 10.

Do you judge Woody Hayes by the time he spent visiting hospital patients he didn't know? Or by his rage when he punched a Clemson Tiger?

Do you judge Mike Krzyzewski by the millions he raises for cancer research? Or by his words when he curses officials?

A few weeks ago, I found myself tweeting a photo of a church activity just an hour after tweeting a mean-spirited rebuttal to a critic. The messages were right next to each other on my timeline.

Lucky for me, I'm a small enough deal that nobody noticed.

* * *

Pelini may be more extreme — more volatile — than you or me, but the spectrum is the same.

But for much of his time at Nebraska, Pelini has shielded the public from his most likable scenes. Or, put another way, he has only let fans see him at times of high stress, when the spotlight magnifies his shortcomings.

By opening up when it matters least, he lets the public see more than the fire-breathing bully. And he maintains his sincerity. Win-win.

Walking down the tunnel cuddling a cat, as he noted, might not have been out of character. What's out of character is that Pelini let the world in on the joke. Nothing says self-confidence like self-deprecation. He opened the living room curtains and didn't care who was watching.

So is Bo the man who sneers at sideline reporters? Or the man who starred in a Harlem Shake video? Is he burdened by college football's most loyal fan base? Or is he thankful for it? Is he a hot-head? Or is he a mentor?

He's both. He's all. You can't accurately describe the man without covering the whole range.

Pelini is 46 years old. Hard-headed and stubborn. Authentic and principled. He hasn't changed and he won't change.

What he can do, however, is pull back the curtain and let people judge the whole man, not just the slice that appears on fall Saturdays after a questionable call.

It may be good enough, it may not. But at least he can say we knew the Real Bo Pelini.