I first noticed it during the Buffalo game in week two, when Joe Philbin elected to run the clock out at the end of the first half with ample time, and three timeouts remaining.
I saw it, took note of it, and stored it for a later date. I hoped it was just me; that it was something I would laugh about at the end of the season. I wished, so badly, that it was nothing more than mere paranoia.
After Sunday's debacle of a fourth quarter, I've come to the grim realization that what I saw last month was just the beginning.
From the sidelines, to the field, a major rift is growing within these Miami Dolphins. One that, if not addressed, like, now, could send this franchise into a disastrous tailspin. One that Joe Philbin won't survive. One that Ryan Tannehill won't survive. And one that, fair or not, Dennis Hickey won't survive either.
Trust. It's a pivotal emotion that must be airtight in the National Football League. It has to exist in all facets of the game, from the coaches down to the players, in order for a team to be successful. The head coach has to trust his players, and, equally so, the players must trust their coaches.
Right now, as we near the midway point of the 2014 season, the Miami Dolphins resemble a broken ship, stranded at sea. The engines are failing, the crew is losing control, and the only thing keeping them from drifting back to irrelevance is an anchor that's holding on for dear life.
If that anchor fails, if it breaks away, then the ship is lost forever. The chances of recovery are sim to none at that point.
The anchor holding down this team is dangling. It's hanging on by a thread that's ripping more and more with each heartbreaking loss.
Right now, nobody trusts anybody. And it was never more apparent than on Sunday.
It started in the first quarter, when Joe Philbin elected to go for it on fourth down in a 7-3 game at the time. I didn't mind the call, in fact, I liked it. Touchdowns beat the Green Bay Packers, not field goals. In order to beat the best, you have to be aggressive, plain and simple.
What I didn't like, was the play call. Lining up from the shotgun, when you have one yard to go, and calling the same play you just called rarely works. But that's not my point here. Go back and watch the replay. Watch Mike Wallace's reaction in the background. Watch him throw his hands in the air, put his head down, and walk back to the sidelines.
Does that look like someone who trusts his coaches? Keep in mind, Wallace is a winner, he's played in, and won, a Super Bowl. He knows what trust is.
He doesn't have it.
Fast forward to the final forty seconds of the first half, when the Dolphins had the ball inside the Green Bay 45 yard line, facing a fourth and three.
Joe Philbin elected to punt the football. Cameras would then catch him and defensive coordinator Kevin Coyle arguing on the sideline, presumably over his decision to not go for it. The problem here was simple:
Joe Philbin didn't trust Ryan Tannehill and his offense to get the first down, and, effectively, didn't trust his defense to keep Aaron Rodgers out of field goal range.
Kevin Coyle comes from a winning team in Cincinnati. Like Wallace, he knows how to win, he's been there before.
He knows what trust is, and he, maybe just for those few seconds, didn't have it.
Now to the final four minutes of the football game. The infamous final offensive drive that will, unfortunately, forever live in Dolphins lore.
Like earlier, I didn't mind the aggressive play call on first down. When you're going against a star you need to give a star effort. Bill Yoast, anyone?
However, when Joe Philbin, as he later admitted, overruled Bill Lazor and chose to run on third and nine, trust, once again, was lacking. Trust in Ryan Tannehill. Trust in the offensive line. Trust in everybody.
The ensuing Green Bay drive was the final nail in Miami's 2-3 coffin. And, like so many times before, trust was a rare commodity.
Joe Philbin called not one, but two timeouts on the final drive. The first came on a fourth and ten, when the Miami defense had Aaron Rodgers pinned in a corner. Instead of trusting his defense, which had just sacked Rodgers for the fourth time in the game, to regroup and make one final stop, Philbin called timeout.
The only problem here? While Philbin gave his guys a chance to regroup, he also gave Rodgers and the Green Bay offense a chance to as well.
18 yards. First down.
The second time out came a few plays later, with six ticks left on the clock. I don't mind this timeout, the idea behind it was solid: See their formation, call timeout, come out with a counter formation. Joe Philbin wasn't the first to do this, and he certainly will not be the last.
The only problem was, when Miami came back out, and lined up against the same Green Bay formation that they just saw, they were ill prepared for it, as evidence when Philip Wheeler, Miami's worst coverage linebacker, gave up an all too easy touchdown to seal the football game.
After the game, Wheeler questioned the call, and when you have arguably the weakest player on your defense questioning a call, you have a big problem.
Not all of this goes on Joe Philbin, and Kevin Coyle, and Bill Lazor. Not by a long shot.
If Ryan Tannehill hadn't resembled a JV quarterback in the first half, my guess is Philbin would have gone for it on fourth down in the first half, and thrown on third down in the second half.
That's not on Philbin. That's on Tannehill.
If Philip Wheeler was a better linebacker he would have been the hero, instead of the goat. He's not. Put as simply as possible, he's just not.
That's not on Coyle, that's on Wheeler.
However, there comes a point when coaches must realize what they have in a player, and be smart enough to know when, and where, to use him. When that doesn't happen, and when it hasn't happened for three seasons now, players stop trusting you.
And when players stop trusting their coaches, you lose the locker room. That's exactly what's happening right now in Miami.
The anchor is slipping away. The boat has begun to drift.
It's time for Joe Philbin, and his crew, to either fix it or be lost forever.
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