Imagine, the name on your business card reads "Jason Garrett, Head Coach, Dallas Cowboys". You've had your run of the mill now for a good while now. You've been the rare prodigal coach, despite a paper-thin resume, compared to other unaccomplished head coaches before you. Incredibly, you actually got hired and paid handsomely just to be the offensive coordinator BEFORE the last head coach was hired.....how dadgum ego-strokingly cool is that! Kiss your bad self. Now, you man the position held in posterity for your eventual annointment. Two years in, it's been a rocky, anguished road behind that stoic face you put forth in public time and again. You're making over the roster without "making over the roster". You're rebuilding the culture without "rebuilding the culture". You're managing the whims and follies of a half-cocked, aging, paranoid man whose means and scruples know little bounds. You know what the problems are. Rebuilding a secondary was a good idea, just like drafting an offensive tackle and a finding a runner was a year before. Just like ridding the team of declining players with names your General Manager loved because he recognized their names in the newspaper. You've tip-toed lightly, carefully, respectfully. And you know this isn't finished. Perhaps you're not the best playcaller - it's possible, even for an Ivy Leaguer - but who really knows for sure? What plays work with a front line made of paper mache? Your quarterback is your best ally and worst enemy, because he gives your knucklehead owner/GM the idea that this offense should be better than it realistically is. You need a little more time, but two 8-8s later, all hell is breaking loose. Jerry done went and hired the Godfather of a new defense, so your input on that side of the ball is certainly squelched. Maybe you were for it, but it's not hitting Twitter that way. New faces that you won't select will be roaming the halls on that side of the hall soon. That's a done deal. OK, fine, you say. Better him than the all-talk-and-no-defense yahoo that was over there last year. Tired of the cutesy playsheets and televised f-bombs flying after lucky drops on third down anyway. Better for the defensive personnel on hand, particularly when draft picks and focus needs to be spent on the offensive line soon. But, again, you didn't really make that hire, and the owner is making sure everybody knows it. And now, rumors are swirling of a new offensive coordinator. A new playcaller. A new tight ends coach, which will unseat not just one of your coaches, but your brother at that. Heavy changes are coming, and you think you're going to be involved, but you're not entirely sure. You're likely fighting to keep your troops in tact and the changes in house the best you can. Let Callahan call the plays, perhaps, so you can keep it as YOUR staff and YOUR offense essentially. Whatever staff tweaks will be your doing, and the upcoming draft and offseason will reflect the needs of an offense sorely lacking fat guys with good feet that move people. This way, YOU are still presiding over the sideline as the current and future leader of this football operation. But you can hear pots and pans flying around behind the closed door at the end of the hall. Something's going on. The madman is full throttle on an offseason binge, and he's listening to everybody and nobody at the same time. Your buddy, Stephen, just shrugs his shoulders and looks at you with empty eyes. This is not new to him, but he feels your pain. He said "uncomfortable." This is getting more than uncomfortable; it's starting to piss you off. Is he trying to run you off? Has he lost all faith in you? Does he understand anything about the needs of this team he put together for you to unravel and rebuild? Did he even remember to wear underwear this morning? Is anybody listening to you at all? Do you even want to be here anymore?