AIRO -- It takes five seconds. By the time he opens the passenger door, swings out his legs and stands up, the kids swarm. Some are as young as grade schoolers, others are teenagers. One boy wears a blue NAPA hat. Another a black Superman T-shirt. All the girls have their heads wrapped in colorful scarves.

The kids are likely here at the famed Pyramids of Giza on a school field trip. But on this sun-filled morning, the main attraction isn't the Sphinx or the Great Pyramid. Instead, it's a determined-looking American, a bald man wearing dark blue jeans and a plain gray T-shirt with beads of sweat soaking through the fabric. It's Bob Bradley.

Since accepting the job as manager of the Egyptian national team last September, the former U.S. coach, a man who had been ridiculed stateside for being too boring and too robotic, has become an A-list celebrity in soccer-crazed Egypt. His commitment to his new country and his response to its post-revolution challenges have endeared him to a population that wrestles every day with the concept of leadership. Now, the man can barely step outside his Cairo apartment without someone begging for a photo.

"There are days where I take 500 pictures, 1,000 pictures," Bradley says. "But what are you going to do? It's just it's just their world."

ESPN The Magazine Bob Bradley arrived in Egypt between a revolution and a riot. He found his way by leaning on the country's biggest star, Mohammed Aboutrika. Read Wayne Drehs' story, "The Crucible in Cairo," in ESPN The Magazine. Here's a preview: THE BOY IS DYING. He lies on his back on squares of sparkling white tile in the Al Ahly locker room, fighting for every last second. Mohamed Aboutrika, the most beloved player in Egyptian soccer, rushes to him, kneels down and takes the boy in his arms. A postgame riot has brought the two together. The chaos on this February night in Port Said began moments after the match between Cairo's Al Ahly and its rival, Al Masry, as fans set upon one another with rocks, broken bottles and knives. When the stadium lights mysteriously flickered off, the riot police chose to stand by. The result will be the most gruesome tragedy in Egyptian soccer history: 74 dead. A thousand-plus injured. Millions outraged. Some of the wounded rush to the Al Ahly locker room for help. It soon resembles a MASH unit: Injured and dying are everywhere, at players' lockers and in the hall. The dead lie on the floor amid duffel bags and dirty socks. At the center of it all is Aboutrika. Al Ahly is Egypt's version of the Yankees; Aboutrika is Derek Jeter, an aging superstar who commands respect, a hero to fans. The dying boy on the sparkling white tile is one of them. He wants to see Aboutrika, touch him, so the player leans closer as the astonished boy says, "Captain." Read "The Crucible in Cairo."

Ross Dettman for ESPN.com

Bradley wouldn't typically hang out at the most popular tourist destination in this or any other country. But today, he's doing it for a specific reason.

In February, Bradley watched on television as 74 fans were killed and thousands more injured after a postmatch riot in the Egyptian Premier League. The horrific scene in Port Said was broadcast around the world. It left me wondering why Bradley was in Egypt, and what life was like in such a tumultuous post-revolution world. We talked by phone, and he insisted things weren't nearly as chaotic as they seemed. He spoke about the warmth of the Egyptian people, and invited me to come to Egypt and see for myself. From the moment I landed in the Middle East, Bradley raved about the pyramids. How my jaw would drop. My eyes would widen. How it would be unlike anything I'd ever seen. If I'm going to understand and appreciate Egypt, he said, the pyramids are a must. Just to make sure I don't miss them, he takes me there himself. When our tour begins, Bradley stops our guide midsentence and turns to me. "You getting some of the history here?" he asks. "This is pretty incredible stuff."

But bringing me here comes with consequences. Everyone wants a piece of the man they hope will take their country to its third World Cup in 80 years. Outside the Great Pyramid, grown men call to him atop camels. Others fill his hands with free souvenirs, which he later gives to me insisting I take them home to my daughter. And here by the Sphinx, it's that throng of school children who can't stop staring. Every kid wants his or her own 1-on-1 photo. Bradley tries to accommodate as many as he can. But he's tight on time. In every picture with a boy, click, he puts his arm around their shoulder. In every picture with a girl, click, he keeps his hands to himself. As one child poses for a picture, the boy says, "Cheeeeeeese."

"They love that here," Bradley adds.

As Bradley walks closer to the Sphinx, the pack grows. We've been at the pyramids for nearly two hours. Someone decides it's time to go. Bradley poses for a few more pictures and then endlessly repeats the Arabic phrase for thank you. "Shokron," he says. An assistant coach and an Egyptian Soccer Federation PR man usher him to his waiting car. When the door closes, he takes a deep breath. Then he chuckles.

"It's wild around here, isn't it?" he says.

Bradley then realizes he's bleeding from a tiny cut on the side of his head. He has no idea how it happened. He guesses one of the kids must have bumped him while holding a cell phone. As the car begins to pull away, Bradley touches the nick with his fingers to survey the damage. It's not a big deal. "Lindsay will get a laugh out of this," he says of his wife. Outside the car, kids cup their hands around their faces and press up against the glass to see inside the car. A boy yells to Bradley.

"Thank you, thank you," the boy says in English. "Thank you, my friend."

And just like that, Bradley is gone.