The conversation took place in the parking lot outside of the Rutgers football headquarters, at the peak of the program’s relevance a decade ago. Greg Schiano had just won a battle to expand his stadium with a $100-million price tag, but as always, he wanted more, more, more.

“We have to keep getting better, and hopefully we get another (season-ticket) waiting list cooking, and another deck on top of this thing, and eventually you can’t see because it’s dark in there in the daytime,” he told me back in 2009. “That’s what we’re looking for.”

I’ll be honest: I thought the men in the white coats were going to come and take him away. Another deck? Rutgers hadn’t filled the new one. He was thinking about building Death Valley in Piscataway when the fans just wanted him to win a Big East title.

He was a little crazy. It was also his job to think big. So don’t be surprised at the news this week that Schiano, in his meeting with Rutgers officials about returning to his old gig, demanded what one observer called “a football palace.” He is the one who dragged this program, kicking and screaming, to a respectable level that made its invitation to the Big Ten even possible.

But, this time, his demand isn’t that unreasonable. He wants what Maryland just built for its football team, or what Northwestern just built, or what Nebraska is about to build. He wants a football-only facility that -- when top high school players walk through the door -- provides the “wow” factor that allows Rutgers to recruit on a national level.

The Hale Center is ... fine. But it certainly isn’t that.

So, on the 150th anniversary of the day that made Rutgers the birthplace of college football, the university has reached another seminal moment. Is it all in on its pursuit of gridiron glory? Or is it going to throw up its hands and tell a beaten down fan base, “Hey, sorry, we tried?”

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I don’t think Rutgers has a choice, but then again, I don’t have to write the check. The athletic department is already hemorrhaging money and has poured $115 million -- some of it borrowed against its future Big Ten earnings -- into the RWJ Barnabas Health Athletic Performance Center. The facility gives the wrestling, gymnastics and two basketball teams a home that rivals anything in the Big Ten.

It was during a tour this fall, as I stood in a 11,850-square-foot training area for the gymnastics team with two foam pits, Olympic caliber equipment and enough stationary bikes for a Tour de France team, the thought hit me: Football is going to want something like this. Like, yesterday.

Well, yesterday has arrived. Maryland spent $200 million to turn its old basketball arena, Cole Field House, into a training palace. Illinois dropped $80 million on its “football performance center,” complete with everything from a players’ lounge to a bowling alley. Northwestern spent $260 million on its football palace, one with breathtaking views of Lake Michigan.

“C’mon, man, you’re supposed to practice football in that thing?” SB Nation wrote in describing the latter. “I’d rather set up a table at midfield and have a nice, five-course meal while the golden-hour light filters through the windows.”

You’ll note that I’m picking the schools I list here carefully. These are not powerhouses like Michigan and Ohio State. These are the other Big Ten afterthoughts, the programs trying to claw their way into the national conversation every season. These are the teams that Rutgers needs to start beating just to get back to a level of respectability again.

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“I want to go to the Rose Bowl,” athletic director Patrick Hobbs said when he announced he was firing Chris Ash after just four games this season. Well, try selling that vision with a 30-year-old team headquarters when North-freaking-western has the Taj Mahal.

Hobbs and Greg Brown, the men conducting this coaching search, are backed into a corner. If they say no to Schiano, they’ll turn to former Tennessee and Cincinnati coach Butch Jones. That sort of feels like teasing your kids about a two-week vacation in Maui and instead delivering a weekend in Pittsburgh.

And, well, if Jones -- or any coach with championship dreams -- starts winning here, you know what he’s going to want? Better facilities. Rutgers entered this world with its eyes wide open. It has discovered the hard way what charging into the Big Ten with an AAC-level commitment has meant for the football team each Saturday in the fall.

Schiano wants Rutgers to give him the moon to take his old job back. He’s probably a little crazy. That doesn’t mean he isn’t right.

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Steve Politi may be reached at spoliti@njadvancemedia.com. Follow him on Twitter @StevePoliti. Find NJ.com on Facebook.