CLEMSON -- A pulled-down projector screen is frozen on a sky-high view of a defensive formation, and "Coach V," seated at a wooden podium nearby, calls his meeting room to attention.
He rapidly beats the metal ring on his finger against a nearby wall -- tap-tap-tap-tap-tap -- before he flashes his green laser-pointer in the eyes of a fifth-year senior and wannabe All-American named Derek.
"Call, right now," Coach V demands.
Derek should know, based on the defensive and offensive fronts displayed, a "pinch" call is required in Coach V's defense. When Derek says "right right" -- you don't actually hear him say it, because Derek isn't real -- Coach V starts tap-tap-tapping on the wall in frustration.
"The great ones make the layup the majority of the time," Coach V says. "The good ones make it, like, 50 percent," which is a line the actual Coach V, ex-Clemson defensive coordinator Brent Venables, would definitely use. He'd tap-tap-tap his ring against the wall, too.
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But the actor in this video, a 20-something in a backwards hat, isn't Brent.
"I constantly give you layups to try and help you and assist you, but you just can't do it," says Clemson safety Tyler Venables, impersonating a disgruntled coach in a parody posted to his Instagram page under a "Bored" highlight tab he created.
Tyler, in his own way, has become his own Coach V.
Clemson teammates have taken to calling him by his father's nickname because Tyler is something of a student coach who dresses in full pads and takes snaps on the field sometimes. That's opposite of his father, an energetic taskmaster who needed a "get-back coach" to keep him off the field.
Tyler has absorbed pieces of Brent, stealing phrases for funny videos. But the younger Venables is anything but an impersonator. He's taken his own path.
When his dad left for Oklahoma, Tyler stayed at Clemson.
When the Tigers' safety racked up an unbearably long list of injuries, including a twice-busted hip, a torn pectoral muscle and hamstrings that, he says, snap like Twizzlers, Tyler didn't shift course.
He has stayed in Clemson, even with the distance between himself and his mother, Julie, who has battled breast cancer for the last couple of years. She just had another tumor removed last week.
In spite of everything, Tyler has held onto his sense of humor. He's become a wise elder on the Clemson sideline. He's a pseudo-Coach V, but he's adopted more characters than his father's "Jimmy Greenbeans" persona, which emerged when Brent played scout-team quarterback.
Tyler is a safety, a future coach, and ...
Batman?
Burning the playbook
In the same media room where Dabo Swinney holds his weekly press conferences, the Dark Knight has said a few words.
He sat at a table with an orange "Clemson" tablecloth, quoting his butler, Alfred, who spoke about the chaotic tendencies of the supervillain Joker.
Only the context was a bit different.
"Some offensive coordinators, they don't coach by any tendencies. They don't have any accurate run-pass percentages," Tyler says in a full Batman costume, in the gravelliest of Christian Bale voices.
"Some offensive coordinators just want to watch my playbook burn."
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Before he was Batman, Tyler paced Clemson's media room dressed as a member of the Continental Congress. Long coat, frocks and tricorn hat.
He told "Herbie" Hancock he was on the "Do Not Trust List" -- another Brent line -- and threatened a benching from the American Revolution.
"You won't be at Lexington and Concord," Tyler says. "Shot Heard Round the World? You won't hear it, because you won't be there!"
This is admittedly silly stuff -- "I"m just an outside-the-box kind of guy," Tyler says with a smirk -- but he's never lacked creativity. Or a willingness to put himself out there.
Julie considered her son a "Little MacGyver," recalling the time their family's boat drifted from their dock on the lake. Tyler just dove in, clothes and all, commandeered the vessel and returned it to shore.
Tyler's adventures nearly put him on the "Do Not Trust List" during Brent's first stint at Oklahoma in the early 2000s. The coordinator's son, somehow, locked himself in the shoe compartment of a player's locker. For hours.
In a stairwell by the weight room, Tyler whipped around a squat belt -- to him, Batman's belt -- latching it to a sprinkler head. He tugged, and the entire weight room, and its newly renovated floor, was completely flooded.
"Mischievous," Tyler said. "That's probably how I would describe myself."
Some of this was inevitable because Tyler grew up with other coaches' sons. He was thrown down the laundry chute more than once. His older brother, Jake, was run over by kids driving a Gator, which left tire tracks on his chest.
"My dad said, 'Don't tell mom,'" Jake said. "I walked right in the house and I lifted my shirt up. It was the last time I went to dad's work for a while."
They were Coach's sons, but Jake and Tyler didn't want to be coaches. They dreamed of being Navy SEALs.
In fact, Tyler didn't care much for Brent's wisdom when he was a quarterback at Daniel High. He still set a program record with nearly 7,000 passing yards. He scored 111 touchdowns.
"I was kind of a know-it-all in high school. I just thought he didn't know because our team was our team, and his team was his," Tyler said.
He arrived to Clemson a tad immature, prone to sleeping in.
He was inquisitive, even questioning his dad's coaching, which led to some enthusiastic exchanges.
"Tyler's asking too many questions about why, why, why," said Jake, who played linebacker at Clemson, "as opposed to just doing it the way he wants."
In time, Tyler grew up. He learned to ask the right questions. He played in 12 games apiece his first two seasons, racking up 61 tackles, plus a pick at Syracuse which garnered a warm hug from dad in the parking lot postgame.
When Brent took the Oklahoma job, Tyler felt an urge to follow.
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But Tyler, an aging soul, liked the simplicity of life in Clemson. A move back to Norman would have been complicated because Brent had to not only build a culture -- the Sooners are 5-5 this season -- but nothing analogous to Clemson's career development program, P.A.W. Journey, existed at Oklahoma.
Everything was already in place at Clemson.
Until pieces of Tyler fell apart.
Learning the hard way
Hip surgery came after the 2021 season. But Tyler didn't fret, because he could still lift heavy with his upper body.
Four months into his recovery, Tyler hit the bench press with some seniors ahead of Clemson's pro day. Five reps, close-grip, 315 pounds.
Tyler's form wasn't great, letting the bar fall on his chest each time. On rep No. 3, Tyler figured strength coach Joey Batson had come over to place a hand on his chest. Only Batson wasn't there.
The pressure Tyler felt was his pectoral muscle tearing. It didn't stop him from taking a weekend flight out to Las Vegas to visit Jake, an intern with the UFC.
"I sat in the exit row. They asked me if I could lift the door. I said yeah," Tyler said, "but I don't know if I could have in the event of an emergency."
The real emergency came weeks after pec surgery, in the most innocuous of circumstances.
Tyler was just putting on his jersey ahead of Clemson's spring game. It felt painful.
Luckily, Tyler hadn't eaten that day, because doctors discovered the surgical site was infected. He was put under at halftime and whisked into another surgery.
He spent three days in a hospital, drugged up and restless. Julie sent Jake to his brother's side, hoping to confiscate Tyler's phone before he posted something embarrassing on social media.
Tyler returned to the field despite a regimen of antibiotics that turned his sweat orange. His 2022 season started well, but then he pulled a hamstring. Then he drove a moped into the back of car and was concussed.
For whatever reason, the universe didn't want Tyler playing football. He spent the entire 2023 season sidelined by a second hip injury, wearing shirts that read "Make My Hip Great Again" and "Contains aftermarket parts."
"Whether it's injuries or anything else, something negative, I try to make it positive and laugh it off," Tyler said. "I'm not a big fan of just kind of sitting in it and, you know, complaining."
Tyler has scars. But also perspective.
He was roommates with Bryan Bresee, who lost his sister, Ella, to brain cancer early in the 2022 season. Tyler's mother was diagnosed with breast cancer shortly after the family moved to Oklahoma.
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Julie, a nurse, has long identified Tyler as her child most likely to attend med school. He is always asking questions about her treatments. He has often traveled to be by her side when she has surgery.
The overlap between Julie's diagnosis and Tyler's misfortunes was a lot to take.
"It was hard for all of us emotionally, but it was really hard for him," Julie said. "Letting off steam for him is tackling and running on a football field. Because of the injuries, he hadn't been able to do that."
Tyler parlayed some of his excess energies into the "Bored" tab on his Instagram, tying football to Batman and the Continental Congress.
On game days in 2023, Tyler wore a coach's headset.
The latter became more than a costume.
The return of Coach V
After a season of hearing crosstalk over Clemson's headsets, teammates noticed "T-Bone," as he's usually called, inheriting a different role.
He's not his father, but Tyler, like Brent, speaks in deep, authoritative tones. They both are capable of breaking into a cool smirk when a thought pleases them. They just as easily turn passionate.
Tyler, who played zero snaps versus Louisville, can explain exactly how the Tigers' run fits failed in a crushing home loss. He isn't afraid to offer corrections to his defensive teammates, ala "Derek" for his "right right" call.
He sounds like Brent sometimes when he does.
"Guys kind of joke around," safety R.J. Mickens said, "there goes Coach V."
Tyler's passion for the game has anything but cooled despite uneven playing time. He sounds like a future coach when he talks about preparing each day like he's playing in the Super Bowl.
"You can't have some sort of different intensity because you're not the guy now," Tyler said, "because, all of a sudden, you are the guy. Now, it's third-and-6, you're playing Virginia Tech, and you didn't prepare for it all week or all season."
His words proved prophetic two weeks later on the road at Pittsburgh.
Mickens was sidelined by injury, and Coach V took the field for 31 snaps. He helped the Tigers hold on for a 24-20 win.
"He thinks like a coach. He looks at the game like a coach. It's just he's still got eligibility and can play," Dabo Swinney said. "Even in practice when he's not in, he's always out there coaching."
There hasn't been a "Bored" video posted to Tyler's Instagram in over a year because he's anything but.
No time remains to play Batman or Continental Congressmen or a coach calling out Derek while his ring is tap-tap-tapping against the wall.
Coach V is a safety, a leader, comic relief. He'll play any role he can for Clemson.
"I'm a totally different person than I was my senior year of high school," Tyler said. "People have challenged me, and situations have challenged me, to grow or to crumble. I've been really close to crumbling.
"Just finding a way to push through and to keep going and find the good in situations, as bad as they might be. There's always going to be some good in it."