PHILADELPHIA -- David Hawkins sleeps in his sweats. That way, when his alarm clock blasts him out of bed at 5 a.m., all he has to do is brush his teeth and jog to the gym.

The darkness is depressing enough, but it feels much too cold for an October morning. The sign says 44 degrees, but the wind is wicked. The street outside Temple University's Liacouras Center is deserted, except for the occasional passing car or pedestrian.

Inside, the bright lights are blinding. By 5:20, most of the Temple Owls are already suited up and shooting around, sporting maroon and black reversible tank tops. A couple of managers stand by on the sidelines, along with assistant coach Dan Leibovitz.

	“	It's our tradition now. (5 a.m.) doesn't catch anyone by surprise. You gotta want to play for Temple. ”
		— Nate Blackwell, Temple assistant coach

"Balls in," Leibovitz shouts at 5:35. Everyone stops shooting, and lines up in rows for stretching, starting with neck rolls. All the players are accounted for -- that's almost always the case. Every member of the team lives with at least one teammate, and there's an upperclassman in every room. If someone doesn't show up, a manager is sent to knock on his door.

But, predictably, guys do oversleep and show up late from time to time. "If you beat Coach in, you're still gonna get it, but it might not be that bad," says senior forward Alex Wesby. "But if you don't beat Coach in, forget it, you gonna get hell."

Coach, a.k.a. John Chaney, hasn't arrived yet -- he lets his assistants run the first hour of practice, when the focus is conditioning. At 5:42, Leibovitz instructs the players to begin defensive slides, zig-zagging up and down the court. After that, he splits the team up by class, and has each group run four "suicide" sprints apiece. Junior guard Brian Polk lines up with the sophomores by mistake.

The team takes its first water break at 5:49, then begins going over its 1-3-1 zone defense. At 6:05, Leibovitz divides the team in two, giving each unit 10 consecutive possessions to practice a particular offensive set. Almost every shot clangs off the rim.

Assistant coach Nate Blackwell strolls in with a coffee and a bag from Dunkin Donuts at 6:18. The atmosphere immediately grows more intense, with Blackwell barking at the players from the get-go. After another water break at 6:26, Blackwell addresses the team. "I owe you guys an apology," says Blackwell. "My alarm clock f----- up. I set it for 4:30 p.m.!"

Blackwell's been an assistant at Temple for six years, and played for the Owls in the mid-80s -- in fact, he was the first player Chaney ever recruited to Temple. His body is accustomed by now to waking up early, even without an alarm. But he can recall times when players were so tired they actually nodded off during practice. "Coach won't actually hit them with the ball, but he'll throw it at them and buzz it right by their heads," Blackwell says. "Coach has a saying: Nothing comes to a sleeper but a nightmare."

Speaking of nightmares, at 6:44 a man resembling the grim reaper walks in, dressed in a black rain slicker, black T-shirt and black sweatpants. Coach has arrived. Chaney begins observing the players running the offensive sets. But before long, the profanities are flying in his hoarse, high-pitched voice.

One player has "bad ass ears." Another threw a "bad ass pass." Chaney seems to pick on his best players, especially Hawkins, a junior guard, and sophomore swingman Nile Murry. "He gets on everybody eventually," says Hawkins. "But right now, he doesn't want to scare the freshmen away. By the time the first game comes, everyone gets the same treatment."

Chaney, now 70, has been treating his teams to crack-of-dawn practices for practically his entire Hall-of-Fame coaching career. When he was a substitute teacher and coach of the cadet team (one step below JV) at Overbook High School in West Philadelphia, early mornings were the only time he could get the gym. Everywhere he's been since, from high schools to D-II Cheyney State to Temple, he's run things the same way, for different reasons.

"I've always worked with youngsters who very often are inner city kids, kids who come from tough situations," says Chaney. "It's always been my contention that you have to start somewhere, by raising the bar for kids and making sure they understand that it's not an easy trip that they're on."

Practicing every morning at 5:30 certainly isn't easy. Once the regular season starts, the players get a break -- practice doesn't begin until 6. Plus they go from 9-12 on weekends. "It's our tradition now," says Blackwell. "It doesn't catch anyone by surprise. You gotta want to play for Temple."

Chaney doesn't structure or script his practices down to the last detail like many other college coaches. But he does pay close attention to every last element of the game. He spends a large chunk of this practice going over the players' positioning around the paint when someone is taking a foul shot.

In general, Chaney usually stops a play before a shot is taken, lecturing the players on their latest mistake. He's not too concerned with shooting anyway. When the team scrimmages, he has managers keep a chart, tracking several statistics for each player -- none of which are scoring. For instance, taking a charge gets you plus-2, while a turnover equals minus-3. "No one can teach you everything the other team does," Chaney tells his team. "We want to make them change according to what we play, and overcome our own mistakes to win."

But there are lighter moments as well. His players may not be able to stay up for Letterman or Leno -- Hawkins says he's usually in bed by 10 -- but they are rewarded by Chaney, the funniest man in America before 7 in the morning. That is, unless they're his target, as senior forward Greg Jefferson was this morning when caught in the wrong position on defense. "Are you drunk?" Chaney screams. "Damn, ever since you cut your hair off you've been really stupid!"

Everyone else chuckles. But the laughing ends minutes later when Chaney surprises them all with a pop quiz. "Who's capable of telling me every offense we ran last year?" Chaney asks. The answer? Silence, followed by some barely audible mumbles.

At 8:02, the team huddles up at center court. On cue they chant the same word, three times in succession: "Together." Then some hit the showers, while others stay on the court shooting around, smiling a little more then they were three hours ago.

"I like it better this way, to be honest," says Hawkins. "You get practice out of the way before class, so when you're done with class, you can enjoy the rest of your day."

Just don't forget to set your alarm.

Kieran Darcy writes for ESPNMag.com. He can be reached at kieran.d.darcy@espn3.com.