"The mad bit is right," blurts out Steve Menzies, the Manly legend who played alongside and was coached by the great man. "I'm not sure if the scientist part is right.  But, yes, he's an intense guy. He sleeps three hours a night."

Three hours a night? Menzies recalls the time years ago when the team bus was still on the road at 2am, and the alarm in Hasler's watch went off.

"Des, why is your alarm set for 2am?" asked a confused player.

"Yeah, well," rasped Hasler, "that's my alarm to wake me up and do some training."

I love Des Hasler stories such as these. In a game that has become far too serious, bogged down in terms such as "whole of game", "corporate governance" and "CJC-1295", Des Hasler stories are the only thing that's getting me through.

I love Des Hasler stories, even if Des Hasler won't talk to me. Even if he won't let me talk to anyone about Des Hasler.

"Sorry mate," one senior Bulldogs player said when I phoned him on Wednesday. "I can't go there. Not this week."

Then the Bulldogs media department reported every interview request put forward had been rejected. By the coach. Oh Dessie.

Few can throw their toys out of the cot like a reporter who's had their innocuous interview knocked back, especially when it's for the purposes of trying to illuminate how brilliant their coach is – especially after he pulled off the coaching masterstroke of the year in conjuring that win over the Storm in Melbourne with a side that has played like a NSW Cup side for months.

But when it comes to Des, it's fine. Siege mentality, flying under the radar, ripping the dressing-room door off its hinges and so on and such and such.

"He has his tactics and that's part of it," assures Menzies. "To do what he did, to take the Bulldogs from where they were and then for them to beat Melbourne like they did, it was pretty amazing. You don't just say, 'Come on, boys. Lift!' You have to bring the boys together and get them wanting to do it. There's a lot of preparation in getting them mentally prepared to do that."

Let's not delve too far into the mind of the mad scientist. Let's not find out why his Dogs will beat his old side of Manly. Let's just revel in the insanity.

"So, Des, it's your birthday today?" he was once asked at a press conference.

"No comment," he shot back.

When Hasler was a player, he and his Sea Eagles teammates were trudging up the tunnel at halftime at Brookvale Oval. Notorious for his frugality, Des stopped in his tracks as players huffed past. He'd spotted a 20-cent piece.

I have two favourite Des Hasler stories.

The first came about eight years ago. I'd reported Manly had lured a player from another club for about $240,000 per season. The contract didn't match the player's ability. Hasler and then Manly chief executive Grant Mayer called. They were on speakerphone and they had taken exception to the story. Sensing they were trying to intimidate me, I swore down the line. "Hey! Hey! Hey!" said Hasler. "There's no need for swear words."

A few days later, the TV coverage cut to Hasler in the coach's box, unloading f-bombs.

The second story conflicts heavily with the claim this week from Hasler's former teammate Max Krilich, who said the sickness at Manly right now could be blamed on their former coach Hasler, who left within a week of the 2011 premiership to join the Bulldogs. "Des left the club with a premiership and ran away as fast as he could because he knew this was all going to happen," Krilich told Fairfax Media. "So I think most of the blame lies with Des Hasler and he'd be laughing. That's the sort of bloke he is. He doesn't care about anything but Des Hasler."

Yes he does.

After the Bulldogs lost the 2012 grand final to the Storm, prop James Graham was forced to front the NRL judiciary for biting Billy Slater's ear. I'd written a few columns in the lead-up to the hearing, suggesting a heavy suspension should be delivered. Hasler spotted me in the foyer at League Central beforehand. He came up to me, and put his nose about two inches from mine.

"Andrew," he said, "I want you to listen very carefully to the evidence presented this evening."

Um, OK, Des. Shall do.

"Andrew," he said again, "I want you to listen very carefully to the evidence presented this evening."

Then I watched a dozen replays from as many camera angles of James Graham biting Billy Slater's ears. We all did. Not Des. He pulled me into a side room after the verdict came down.

"What do you think of that?" he asked after Graham had been rubbed out for 12 matches.

I said the judiciary panel hadn't missed his player. I won't repeat what Des said thereafter.

A Manly player once said to me that Hasler was like a "dictator". As Graham, Brett Stewart, Ben Barba or any score of players will tell you, he's also someone who will protect them to the end. Whether that devotion is misguided is a matter for you. He's also someone who can laugh with his players, even if he's eyeballing green reporters who have brazenly tried to inflame him with questions like, "So, is your side lacking confidence?"

Menzies remembers the day Hasler visited his school as a player in 1991, when he was part of the NSW State of Origin side. The lanky young kid noticed the Origin player's well-worn brown Doc Marten's shoes.

Fast-forward to 2004 and Hasler is coach. He has the same pair of shoes, all those years later. So Manly utility Nik Kosef gave him a brand new pair.

"Des kept those ones in the box," says Menzies. "He just kept wearing the old ones. We played North Queensland, and somehow, someone stole one of his shoes."

Hasler wasn't impressed. "Give it back," the coach told the playing group. "Come on, that's enough."

At training on Monday, one of the trainers handed him a letter in the middle of the field. It was a ransom note. A proper one, too, because the letters had been cut out from magazines and newspapers.

It read: "Des, we have your shoe. We want $200 put into the players' fund or you will never get it back."

Yeah good, Hasler thought.

"Nope," said Des. "I know it was one of you blokes, so I'm going to hammer on the training paddock you until I get my shoe back."

Another day, another ransom note.

"Des, we make the rules. Three hundred dollars or the shoe gets it."

Then Hasler pulled out a cut-up shoelace from the envelope.

"That's my shoelace!" he moaned.

Dessie never paid the money. The shoe was never returned. Fingers were pointed at Kosef, Menzies and John Hopoate.

"I cannot confirm or deny that I was involved," smiles Menzies.

Can't confirm or deny? He must've learnt that line from the coach.