But what if I explained the move from his wife's perspective?

Chaotic scenes like that are repeated every year throughout the NFL and other leagues as head coaches, coordinators, assistants and staff members live with the same job insecurity and other occupational hazards. Of course, the lower you rank, the harder it is. Every head coach's wife will tell you that, because every head coach has been another's assistant ... or less.

No matter the reason or the financial benefit, moving is plain disruptive. Uprooting one's entire life and starting over again is exhausting. Yet, coaches' families are forced do it all the time.

Fine. Don't cry a river, but real, human stories are behind the catchy headlines, "Coach Hired!" or "Coach Fired!"

I did not talk to Mrs. Tony Dungy, but over the past few weeks I have talked to other coaches' wives. The members of this unofficial sorority shared great stories with me. Some were a touch sad; others were absolutely hysterical.

(Reminds me of an interview I did with Norv Turner's daughter years ago in Washington. I asked her what her dad did when he got home from practice. She said, "You mean work? He drops his brief case and looks in the fridge." Sounds like the average dad and husband to me.)

Back to the wives ... we talked first about the moves -- the many, many moves.

Former NFL head coach and offensive coordinator Kevin Gilbride's wife, Debbie, has been on the move since she said, "I do." Debbie spent the first half of her honeymoon at a coaches' convention in Washington, D.C., in 1975. She spent the second half driving back to Idaho, where Kevin was a graduate assistant. That was 18 years and 27 moves ago. (Twenty-seven moves! Can you even imagine packing the kitchen 27 times? Waiting for the cable man 27 times? Maybe not ... cable men weren't around when these football gypsies first hit the road.) The Gilbrides are finally building a dream house that they plan to grow old in together.

	“	It was like moving to the moon. The weather was one thing, but even the clothes were different. Everything was so preppy, and here we were in Hawaiian shirts! ”
		— Carol Vermeil on her family's adjustment to Philadelphia after moving from L.A.

Carol Vermeil thought she and Dick would be retired by now and living just outside Philadelphia. Only they live in Kansas City. When I reached Carol at home base, I told her she might be the only person I know who "winters" in Jersey.

She laughed. "That's how warped we are!"

Carol readily acknowledged she would have been happy if Dick had ended his career following the Rams' Super Bowl victory. "So we could do some of the things we had always talked about," she explained. I don't think living out their golden years in Missouri was exactly what they had discussed. But, "if Dick's not coaching, not teaching, then he is not happy," she continued.

Digger Phelps' former wife, Terry, would likely understand. In 1994, she wrote a brutally honest book called, "The Coach's Wife." In it, she describes what was their fifth move in a little more than a year ... between June 1970 and August 1971 ... "It took me all summer to pack. I couldn't complain in the light of Dick's palpable delight in getting the job of his dreams. He promptly disappeared to take up any unfinished recruiting and to participate in Notre Dame golf events."

Ah, that's the other part of making a move. The coach is already buried in official business. It's his wife who organizes and orchestrates the transition. "We do it all, except the job," Carol told me. Dick Vermeil's work routine is legendary, and Carol and I didn't revisit the subject, but she did tell me enough in saying this, "We (coach's wives) are like single parents. When the season is over, they (coaches) just come home and mess up the routine."

Some broken routines are easy to fix. One wife fessed up to getting call-waiting as her kids hit their teen years, just in case a better job offer was trying to reach her husband.

But how do they set a routine for themselves and their children when their lives are forever in flux?

	Carol Vermeil, right, thought she and her husband would have more time together after Dick's Rams won Super Bowl XXXIV.

I ask Debbie Gilbride where home is? "Well, Kevin and I say Connecticut. The girls (two daughters) would likely tell people that they are from Texas, since they went through high school while Kevin was with Houston. Our son considers Florida home. He finished high school when Kevin was with Jacksonville."

Actually, Debbie lived in Jacksonville for a year while Kevin was the head coach in San Diego, so their son could finish high school with his friends. The most important thing Debbie instilled in her kids is that "Home is wherever we are." Currently for the Gilbrides, that's Pittsburgh, where Kevin last worked in the NFL.

Not every family separates while one child finishes high school. The Vermeil's middle son, David, attended three high schools. "He's never said that it messed him up," Carol said.

A few wives told me privately they worry about their kids who seem unable to put down deep roots. "It's kind of sad," said one. "But sometimes saying 'goodbye' is too tough."

Terry Phelps writes of saying goodbye to the East Coast in her book. From the sound of it, her nails were scratching at the pavement off the rear bumper of the car. "When it was finally time to move to South Bend from New York, we piled in our station wagon ... I felt like a pioneer woman in her covered wagon as I watched the cornfields unfold along Route 80."

An adventurous attitude is critical to survival, said Carol Vermeil. "You just never know. You meet wonderful people. You could meet your best friend at the next stop. You just never know."

Carol speaks from experience. How did she know the Philadelphia area would become her adopted hometown? She still considers that move from sunny Southern California two decades ago her worst. "It was like moving to the moon. The weather was one thing, but even the clothes were different. Everything was so preppy, and here we were in Hawaiian shirts!"

Carol compared Dick with other executives, only unlike many other corporate wives, she has the support and friendship of wives in similar situations. The Kansas City coaches' wives have a Tuesday night get-together. "Chicks' night out," she called it. There's never an agenda. They talk some football, but mostly kids, families and some of the wives talk about their careers.

Yes, their careers.

Terry Phelps wrote, "Dick's most publicized dream -- to coach at Notre Dame -- was his dream, not mine. I had been raised neither Catholic nor Irish, and Notre Dame was not my mecca ..." But it became her home and future.

Terry went on to earn three degrees from Notre Dame, including a law degree. She was the first female "triple Domer." I asked Digger if he was proud of the book. Incredibly so, he said: "It was the first to tell the real story."

As it was happening, did he know how much she did on her own while in his shadow? "No," he admitted.

Throughout the Gilbrides' various stops, Debbie, a nurse, busied herself with their church. She said she never mentioned what Kevin did ... unless someone asked. "Who talks about what their husbands do all day?" she asked me. (I wasn't sure how to answer ... I don't talk about what my husband does ... but I do talk a lot about what their husbands do. Anyway ...)

Professional sports make for an interesting life. Not all women could hack standing behind a man who walks the sidelines. After my chats, I believe these giants of the game have complete equals covering their backs -- independent, take-charge women.

Trophy wives need not apply ... coaches' wives don't "do lunch." They would have you for it!

SportsCenter anchor Chris McKendry is a regular columnist for Page 2.