Pat Shurmur sounds like a man who could use a friend.
"I don't go to restaurants much," Shurmur said when asked if he's recognized on the street.
"Jennifer's an outstanding cook," he deadpanned, scoring points with the wife.
Be real: Shurmur's bunkered away nightly trying to solve a distressing three-game skid led by a West Coast offense dripping out 14.6 points a game.
Perhaps Colt McCoy shows up late with orders of General Tso's and cans of Genny; perhaps they raid the stocked fridge Rob Ryan left behind -- three wins in mid-November is spartan territory any way you spin it.
Shurmur's lone hope is a turnaround along the shores of Lake Erie.
Anyone returning Cleveland to its dominant days of old will be dressed in gold clothing and trotted around town on a silver horse, never to pay for a steak again within 200 miles of the Flats' pale light.