BATON ROUGE, La. — Having attended two Les Miles press conferences, I would just as soon forgo a third.

It's nothing personal. It's business.

I'm in the information business. Miles disseminates information as though it were money.

I first noticed his reluctance to embrace questions at the SEC preseason football media days in late July. Looking back, I regard that as the "Loquacious Les Hour." Compared to Monday's press luncheon, he was downright insightful.

You're probably wondering, "What's the big deal? Aren't all football coaches secretive?"

Sure they are. They cover their mouths when talking on the sideline in a stadium full of 90,000 screaming fans. They think freedom of speech is one of the seven deadly sins.

If a lieutenant instructed a platoon of coaches to reveal only name, rank and serial number if captured, at least one squad leader would ask, "Why give them so much, sir?"

Miles would be that squad leader.

All coaches are secretive, but there are degrees of secrecy. Miles has a black belt in secrecy.

Moments after Miles said that Alley Broussard and E.J. Kuale would be the only Tigers unable to play Saturday because of injuries, he was asked about the physical well-being of defensive end Kirston Pittman.

"Kirston had a procedure on his ankle," Miles said. "We don't expect him back in the short-term."

"Is he out for the year?" a reporter asked.

"He may well be," Miles said.

I left the press luncheon wondering if someone should have asked about the status of quarterback JaMarcus Russell. Who knows? He might have had a procedure on his throwing hand.

Granted, injuries are a touchy subject with any coach. So are personnel.

Miles was asked if there might be any changes in a secondary that preferred to keeps its distance from Arizona State wide receivers in the season opener.

"There's an opportunity for a number of guys to see snaps there," he said. "I don't know if change is necessarily the word."

If I'm looking for a word, Les is the last guy I would ask. He doesn't even swing when you lob him softballs.

He mentioned that he had invited his high school line coach to attend Saturday's LSU-Tennessee game. Later, he was asked for his coach's name.

"John Sheldon," Miles said.

"Where's he from, Coach?"

"Ohio," Miles said.

"What town?"

"It's one of those areas between towns," he said.

That's akin to saying LSU's defensive backs were somewhere in Arizona when Arizona State quarterback Sam Keller was passing for a gazillion yards.

Perhaps I wouldn't be so conscious of Miles stinginess with information if I hadn't spent last week with another first-year SEC head football coach. Florida's Urban Meyer tosses out answers like grenades in a firefight.

About the performance of running back DeShawn Wynn in last week's 16-7 victory over UT: "He ran hard, but he's not a big-time running back yet."

About kicker Chris Hetland, who missed extra-point kicks in each of his first two games: "My 6-year-old can make extra-point kicks."

It makes you wonder what Meyer would have had to say if his defense had given up 31 points and 560 yards as LSU did against Arizona State. Probably something like, "My 6-year-old could cover as well as those cornerbacks."

That's not to say Meyer will be a rousing success and Miles an abject failure. Candor isn't synonymous with winning in coaching.

As I recall, Bear Bryant wasn't exactly glib. In fact, he elevated mumbling to an art form. The first time I interviewed him after a game, I couldn't have verified what language he was speaking.

Miles is different. He has potential.

At least, that's what I gleaned last month from a feature story by Scott Rabalais of The Baton Rogue Advocate.

In his profile of Miles, Rabalais first quoted Jack Sito, a childhood friend of Miles (who probably lived somewhere in Ohio): "He'd always be entertaining. We played baseball together in high school. If the bus was full, he'd start dancing. Then, he'd put his hands on the back of two seats and balanced one foot on the ceiling of the bus, just to get things going.

"Someone called it the triple tripod."

Sito also told Rabalais about a younger Miles' big dream.

"He told me, 'Jack, I want to be an entertainer,' " Sito said. " 'I want to be a Johnny Carson. I don't know how I'm going to do it, but I like Johnny Carson.' "

You don't get a Johnny-wannabe at Miles' press conferences. You don't get the triple tripod, either.

But maybe, far beneath the surface, a late-night, talk-show host is patiently awaiting his cue. And, at the appropriate time, Miles will introduce him.

Until then, I'll assume the coach had a procedure on his personality.