I have never seen a man who looks more consistently unhappy than Tom Thibodeau. He looks like every single day he wakes up and his wife divorces him. He looks like the nameless heaviness in his chest in the morning came in to work in his stead. He looks like a man with very specific memory loss who spends every single moment rediscovering that his favorite flavor of ice cream has not only been discontinued forever, but discovered to have mostly contained lead.