CLEVELAND, Ohio — If it swims like a lame-duck coach, looks like a lame-duck coach, and quacks like a lame-duck coach, then your franchise is probably changing coaches soon.

And Browns coach Kevin Stefanski was quacking all over the place during Sunday’s 31-29 loss to the Tennessee Titans.

I believe Stefanski will soon fly south for the winter, and the Browns will search for his replacement. I harbor no joy in this prediction, and I’m still not sure Cleveland can find a better replacement for the two-time Coach of The Year (another column for another day).

But against Tennessee, the Browns looked like a team about to change coaches — and not just because of their record.

True, Cleveland just became the ninth team since 2023 to lose double-digit games over two consecutive seasons. And true, the first eight have all fired a coach during that span.

But the 2025 Browns, equipped with 13 rookies on their roster (two in the quarterback room, were never being judged wins and losses. They were being judged on the look of this season — optics, improvements, vibes.

And herein lies Stefanski’s first failure.

Browns punter Corey Bojorquez had barely dropped the ball he intended to kick when Titans linebacker James Williams pounced in the ball’s path with 8:30 to play Sunday. Nobody blocked Williams, and seemingly nobody makes more simple than the 2025 Browns.

Just last week, Cleveland muffed a punt; allowed a 60-yard punt return; and fielded a kickoff destined to land out of bounds, which started a Browns drive at the 5-yard line instead of the 40. Don’t forget the dropped snap on a 4th-down quarterback sneak, either. And don’t forget who was playing quarterback during the fumble: Rookie tight end Harold Fannin Jr.

Cleveland lost that game, like the Titans game, for plenty of other, talent-related reasons, too. But when the simple flaws stack like this, you start to wonder what needs changing.

Then you keep wondering, and wondering, and wondering. Because herein lies Stefanski’s second failure: He doesn’t answer your questions.

I said yours, not mine. The coach of the Cleveland Browns, like his boss, owes nothing to the people covering him. And if you ask around the beat, reporters will describe Stefanski as kind, engaging, even witty away from the cameras.

But when it’s time to go on the record — and time to address fans’ concerns — he intentionally clams up. No comment, nothing to see here. And this is an optics problem that compounds his team’s on-field mistakes.

Who cares about optics problems, you might ask? Billionaires do, especially when they’re selling something new (you know, like a new stadium).

Sunday’s blocked punt begged, pleaded and groveled for the question of why Cleveland hasn’t fired special teams coordinator Bubba Ventrone. For two straight weeks, Ventrone’s unit has committed crippling errors. For two straight weeks, reporters have asked Stefanski about Ventrone’s status. And for two straight weeks, Stefanski has brushed those concerns away with blanket statements.

“Yeah, I’m not going to get into that type of stuff,” Stefanski said Sunday. “We have to play better. We have to coach better. But that’s just bottom line.”

More like the company line. After two long years of struggle, Stefanski’s go-to accountability answer — “We’ll do better” — has grown stale, in part because he never tells you how the Browns failed or will improve.

Another example:

With 1:02 remaining on Sunday, the Browns shelved rookie quarterback Shedeur Sanders, who finished with 393 total yards and four total touchdowns, to run a trick play for the tie involving rookie running back Quinshon Judkins and undrafted receiver Gage Larvadain. Judkins ran right and looked at Larvadain looping the other way, but Judkins kept the ball, then ran 10 yards backward, then tried to throw across his body to Larvadain on the opposite hash (Remember, we’re grading on look).

Incomplete.

My guess: Judkins was supposed to pitch the ball to Larvadain on a reverse as they crossed paths (the lane looked clear for a conversion). But all I can do is guess.

“Not going to get into all the specifics,” Stefanski said of the two-point play. “But obviously did not go as we thought it would.”

“It’s a two-point play,” he said when asked why he took Sanders out for the deciding play. “Didn’t come through on our first two-point play, got to the second two-point play, we didn’t come through. But that’s on me.”

Two days later, we still have no explanation. I get keeping strategies secret, but you can toe the line between explaining your process and showing your playbook.

Example: Judkins often takes those direct snaps in short-yardage situations, and he often converts the yards to gain. The Titans knew this, so the Browns added a twist for Sunday’s game. Lure the defense toward Judkins; pitch the ball to Larvadain. In theory, you’ll keep Tennessee off balance. But it didn’t work.

Is that so much to explain?

Same idea: Why did the Browns go for their first two-point conversion with 4:27 remaining and down 14 points? Because they were playing to win instead of tie.

Stefanski wanted to cut the lead to six so Cleveland could win with an extra point on its next possession. And though the Browns failed to even snap the ball correctly on that play — again, how does it look — they still had a chance to tie with the second two-point play.

By the numbers, you’re likely to convert at least one of the two conversions. And if you convert the first one, you can win the game with one easy kick.

You might disagree with this theory. But at least, if the Browns said this, you would understand their intention.

Instead, they told us this.

“It’s a scenario that we talked about a lot,” Stefanski said Sunday. “That’s something that, when you’re down 14, feel good about the decision there – didn’t come through.”

You see the difference. You see the mistakes. You learn nothing from the explanations.

If a coach keeps his guard up while they’re winning — fine. They’re protecting strategic talking points. Their methods are working. Good interviews don’t win Super Bowls.

But once the same coach starts losing, pointed questions hold more weight. Non-answers convey that you lack a good one. And after 24 losses over two seasons, Stefanski’s optical inconvenience is starting to quack like an optical problem.

His team repeats mistakes. He doesn’t explain them. The team looks bad in the process.

And Billionaires don’t like bad optics.

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