Is there anything more inspirational or beautiful than a bright, shiny new offensive coordinator? Why, just look at ours: The stylish shades and headset; the grim but fatherly set to his jaw, mouth halfway between an encouraging smile and profanity-laced takedown of a 300-pound offensive lineman; the bold, confident hand gesture; the slightest of belly overhang, just enough to show this is a man who doesn't waste his time on vain pursuits in the gym but rather lives every waking moment breaking down game film and plotting the destruction of the next opponent. And, best of all, in his left hand a sheaf of papers, on which, no doubt, are the most masterful offensive plays ever devised, plays so brilliant that when they're executed, the masters on high -- Bryant, Lombardi, Rockne, Paterno (wait, is he dead yet?) -- will look down with great approval and say, "this one has The Force with him." Hope and change, baby; hope and change.

God, I think I might be in love.

Now, try not to f*** this up, Beck.

Oh yeah: And GBR!