If Jerry Jones was smart, he’d have called his pilot Monday morning and would’ve been eating his bacon and beans aboard his Gulfstream G-IV headed to Palm Beach International. He’d have had a black SUV waiting to drive him directly to Doug Pederson’s million-dollar fishing boat, which, by mid-morning, would’ve been back in its slip in Jupiter, cooler still empty of tarpon but its helm piloted by an available Super Bowl coach.
Jones would have given Pederson a cigar and a beer and then ushered him into the SUV, pushed him up the steps of the plane, landed in Dallas by happy hour, which they would have marked with cocktails in his helicopter on the way to The Star.