Tuesday, 1:53 p.m.
His face is frozen in time, his mouth agape in the moment, his eyes narrow with fury.
Here, Jon Gruden never gets older. He is captured in mid-exultation, striding forward to pump his fist, extolling his team ever forward. In the statue that stands in the lobby of One Buc Place, he is still 38, and you still think of him as a guy who will coach forever.
For the Bucs, he is the last coach you ever trusted, the last coach to shower in confetti, the last coach to win a playoff game.
The last coach to matter.
And even now, by golly, you miss him.
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