by Ian O'Connor
Two teams that had employed Belichick, the Giants and the Jets, were also aware of New England’s taping, and of the ever-spreading rumors that scouting reports and play sheets were suddenly disappearing from the visitors’ locker room in Foxborough or were being pulled out of conference room trash cans in the visitors’ hotels. (Jimmy Johnson, a Belichick friend, admitted to instructing an intern to search trash cans when he coached.) NFL teams had come to see the Patriots’ stadium the way NBA teams—especially the Los Angeles Lakers—used to see the old Boston Garden, where Red Auerbach was often accused of conducting some interesting plumbing and heating experiments in the enemy locker room. If nothing else, the Auerbachian effect on NFL teams worrying about Cold War tactics in Foxborough—real or imagined—likely showed up on the field. Any time spent chasing ghosts was time not spent preparing for Brady and the New England defense.
Herm Edwards, who coached the Jets from 2001 through 2005, was told by team officials that the Patriots were certainly filming him during games. “When you go to New England, I’m always on the 50-yard line, right?” Edwards said. “And I was like ‘OK, if you think they’re doing that, guys, we’ll shuttle players in and out. That’s easy.’” Before a game with the Patriots started, Edwards waved at a would-be Patriots camera across the field after the playing of the national anthem. “I don’t know if they were filming me or not,” he said. “But OK, I’d wave. And if you got me, OK, wave. But some coaches were paranoid about that. I wasn’t.
“I knew this: You never left anything anywhere,” Edwards continued. “Any building in the league, not just theirs. I always told the players, ‘Make sure before you go out on the field, don’t leave anything in this locker room that has anything to do with the game plan.’ But you hear all this stuff with the Patriots. I never got involved in all that stuff. I just coached. Just coach your frickin’ team.
“It was no different than when you went to go play the Raiders. If you had a walk-through on a Saturday at their place, shit, let me tell you something. You had guys up on the hills. It was ‘Hey, man, you make sure . . . that there wasn’t someone in the building filming you.’ This was the Raiders, so that’s what you thought. For me, it was laughable . . . But I think [Belichick’s] been good in the sense of you have to be buttoned up. You’ve got to know ‘Hey, man, there’s something coming that you’d better be ready for, and when it comes, you’d better be able to adjust.’”
Westhoff, the Jets’ special teams coach, said New York had issues with headphones malfunctioning in Foxborough at inopportune times during games—a common Gillette Stadium complaint made by visiting teams. Like Edwards, Westhoff was forever reminding the Jets under his watch to tuck away all notes and game plans before taking the field for warm-ups. The special teams coach delivered that reminder in every NFL stadium. “But always in New England,” he said. “You’d better not leave it anywhere, but you really don’t ever leave it there . . . All that miscellaneous bullshit, to me it’s exactly that. They were a good, well-prepared football team . . . I respected everything they did. But they are doing this crap, what the hell for? To give Ernie Adams something to do? It’s ridiculous. If they were doing that, Spygate, that’s a bigger advantage than anybody knows. If they’re filming and dissecting what the coordinator is doing, a signal, wow, that’s a big advantage. A gigantic one.”
Before Spygate broke, the Giants had played New England in six preseason games and one regular-season game since their former assistant, Belichick, took over the Patriots, and the organizations had a certain respect and fondness for each other. Plenty of good football people had spent time working for both franchises, and deep down, in a place he couldn’t reveal for public consumption, Belichick still thought of himself as a Giant. He admired the owning Mara family, adored nearly everything about Giants Stadium, and respected the franchise’s historical standing in the league.
But the Giants also knew that Belichick wouldn’t be filming their coaches for the sentimental value of a this-is-your-life video. Ernie Accorsi was about to start his final season as Giants GM in the late summer of 2006 when he was told that a New England video staffer had likely filmed Giants coaches in their final preseason game. “I was impressed they thought we were good enough to do that to,” Accorsi said. “I was told he was doing it because he suspected we might be playing them [in the Super Bowl]. Somebody said something to Ray Anderson, who was in that VP-of-football-ops job, and he had said something to me. So I don’t know if they were looking into it that night, but I’d heard it.”
Six days later, Ray Anderson wrote the league letter to all teams reminding them that videotaping an opponent’s signals on the sidelines is not permitted. “I didn’t realize taping a coach’s signals was illegal,” Accorsi said. He wasn’t the only member of the Giants’ front office unaware of that rule; in fact, there were plenty of NFL executives, coaches, scouts, and players who weren’t sure what was and wasn’t allowed when it came to the century-old sporting tradition of stealing signs. And that’s where Belichick and Adams seized opportunities, in the gray areas separating perception and reality.
The Giants had direct intel on the Patriots’ videotaping operation, according to one team official who didn’t think the illegal filming amounted to a big deal. The same official was more concerned about the possibility of a Patriots operative swiping something out of the Giants’ locker room in Foxborough. “We were very conscious of that,” the official said. “So we absolutely don’t leave any practice scripts or game plans around the locker room. A lot of times you go there and the headset on the sideline goes out during the game, and we can’t even communicate with people in the press box. We were getting air traffic control. We were hearing everything except what we were supposed to hear, and we weren’t the only ones.”
In January 2006, Jacksonville head coach Jack Del Rio said his team’s coach-to-quarterback communication system had “mysteriously malfunctioned the entire first half” of a 28–3 playoff loss in Foxborough that saw Jaguars quarterback Byron Leftwich hit with two delay-of-game penalties in that first half. One longtime official from another team that faced New England in the postseason said that walking into Gillette Stadium felt very much like walking into a trap. “I can’t remember the last time you ever went into a room up there and felt it was a secure area,” the official said. “When you walk into the building, you assume not everything is aboveboard. I can’t remember when I didn’t feel that way about that place. You just know when dealing with that outfit, and I’m not even calling it cheating. You know if there’s a way to push the envelope to the absolute edge, that’s what they’re going to do.
“You also know the coach is an extremely intelligent, innovative guy in terms of his football sense,” this official continued. “You never underestimate that opponent. You’re talking about a smart guy willing to do anything to achieve the ultimate objective: to win. He’ll push the envelope and ask questions later. He’s not going to ask questions up front. He’ll rely on his own instincts and intelligence and then later say, ‘This is the rule. This is how I interpreted it.’ . . . Your antennae go up more in certain places, and they don’t go up any more than they do in New England. They just don’t . . . You make sure you don’t leave anything behind there, that’s for sure.”
Peyton Manning was so fearful that Patriots operatives might’ve bugged the Indianapolis Colts’ locker room in Foxborough that he moved all conversations about strategy into the hallway—a seemingly extreme precaution that his coach, Tony Dungy, said was at least partly shaped by his quarterback’s conversations with former Patriots players. An executive with another AFC team said he didn’t believe New England ever planted a listening device in enemy territory at Gillette Stadium, but that his team was forever on guard when it played the Patriots in their building. “We take precautions,” the executive said. “We do it at a lot of away games. We try to bring as many of our own people as possible. You hear a lot of stories over the years [with the Patriots]. If your te
am is out for pregame, people could look through playbooks and play sheets for the first 20 plays of games . . . Yes, our antenna is up more in Foxborough than anywhere else.” The executive said that the rumor that concerned him most involved a Patriots staffer entering the visitors’ locker room and using the nearest copy machine to “copy the opposing team’s first 20 plays on offense. And then in the game, Belichick, he’s calling out what you do. ‘Here comes a reverse. Here’s a screen.’ How he gets the plays, I don’t know.”
For all the fears, rumors, stories, and concerns, no Patriots employee was ever publicly identified by the league as having been caught entering another team’s locker room to steal or copy game-related information, an act that would likely require the cooperation of stadium security personnel stationed at the doors. (The league didn’t respond to a request for confirmation that no Patriots employee had ever been privately disciplined or reprimanded for stealing or copying information from an opponent.) New England was caught illegally videotaping opposing coaches in 2006, ignored the written warnings from the league and the verbal warnings from Mangini’s Jets, and in September 2007 finally drew the wrath of the NFL and Commissioner Roger Goodell, who had succeeded Paul Tagliabue a year earlier. Goodell had already established himself as a law-and-order sheriff with a new personal conduct policy designed to come down hard on players who ran afoul of the law and embarrassed the league, including Atlanta Falcons superstar Michael Vick, who was suspended for his role in a dogfighting ring.
Spygate wasn’t the same kind of case. No felonies were committed, and no prison time was imposed. This was about the integrity of the competition, and whether the Patriots had cheated on their way to becoming the sport’s most successful franchise. Mangini had told people in the Jets’ organization that the Spygate operation was conducted by “a closely held circle of people,” that the Patriots were “really careful with their signal callers,” and that low-level staffers reported straight to Adams when they were done filming. Mangini knew enough about the videotaping, and he’d just hired as his quarterbacks coach Brian Daboll, a Belichick aide since 2000 who was upset after being bypassed by fellow wonderboy Josh McDaniels, New England’s offensive coordinator, whom Daboll had helped bring into the organization. Mangini also had on staff Steve Scarnecchia, son of Patriots assistant Dante Scarnecchia and a New England video staffer from 2001 to 2004, and Jay Mandolesi, who had been a New England video intern.
So, yes, the Jets were ready for the Patriots to cheat on that fateful day. “We were definitely looking for them to do it,” one team official said. Mangini used multiple signal callers, including coaches sending out dummy calls, and got blown out anyway. But when Matt Estrella was caught filming from the sideline, Belichick immediately became the day’s biggest loser. League officials essentially told the home team to stay out of it, that this wasn’t just another Jets–Patriots dustup, and to let them handle the investigation. Surprised that Belichick had exposed his program against such ominous risk/reward odds, Mangini and the Jets said next to nothing about that investigation and moved on to their next opponent, the Baltimore Ravens.
Three days after the game, Belichick released a statement that said, “Although it remains a league matter, I want to apologize to everyone who has been affected, most of all ownership, staff, and players. Following the league’s decision, I will have further comment.” He then appeared at his usual Wednesday news conference and, after being blitzed by Spygate questions, pleaded for the gathered reporters to ask about his upcoming game with San Diego. He answered questions on the Chargers for ten or 15 minutes and batted away another Spygate query before the session ended.
The following day, after only four days of deliberations, Goodell announced that he was fining Belichick $500,000 (the maximum under the league’s constitution, and a considerable chunk out of his reported $4.2 million salary), fining the team an additional $250,000, and taking away the Patriots’ 2008 first-round draft choice if they made the playoffs, or their second- and third-round picks if they did not. Belichick’s fine was the largest for a coach in NFL history, and the decision marked the first time a team had been sanctioned for videotaping signals and the first time a team’s top draft pick was seized as part of a penalty.
“I specifically considered whether to impose a suspension on Coach Belichick,” Goodell wrote in his letter to the Patriots. “I have determined not to do so, largely because I believe that the discipline I am imposing of a maximum fine and forfeiture of a first-round draft choice, or multiple draft choices, is in fact more significant and long-lasting, and therefore more effective, than a suspension.”
Goodell concluded that Robert Kraft had no knowledge of the systematic cheating, and that the illegal taping had been stopped sufficiently early in the Jets game that it had no impact on the result. “This episode,” the commissioner wrote, “represents a calculated and deliberate attempt to avoid longstanding rules designed to encourage fair play and promote honest competition on the playing field.”
In response, Belichick released a statement saying he accepted “full responsibility for the actions” that led to the ruling and apologizing to the Kraft family, the fans, and everyone associated with the Patriots “for the embarrassment, distraction and penalty my mistake caused.” Belichick reminded everyone in his statement that Goodell had acknowledged in his ruling that New England’s sideline filming “had no impact on the outcome of last week’s game. We have never used sideline video to obtain a competitive advantage while the game was in progress.
“Part of my job as head coach is to ensure that our football operations are conducted in compliance of the league rules and all accepted interpretations of them. My interpretation of a rule in the constitution and bylaws was incorrect.”
Belichick said he would not offer additional comment on the ruling, and that was OK. Players and coaches who had been vanquished by the Patriots were speaking for him. Goodell didn’t penalize New England for cheating in previous seasons, nor did he say he had evidence implicating the Patriots in past transgressions. But there wasn’t anyone outside Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Maine, Vermont, Rhode Island, and Connecticut who believed this was a one-time offense. “They cheated; there should be an asterisk,” said Steelers linebacker Joey Porter. Reno Mahe, a running back and special teamer on the Philadelphia team that lost a Super Bowl to New England after the 2004 season, said, “I think they should forfeit, man. We won the Super Bowl.” Though Eagles safety Brian Dawkins, six-time Pro Bowler, didn’t go quite that far, he did wonder aloud if his team had been duped out of a ring. “It’s troublesome,” Dawkins said. “There are obviously going to be questions about what happened. Yeah, it would bother me. The things they were able to do against us in that second half . . . I was giving them a whole bunch of credit for making halftime adjustments.”
Philadelphia’s defensive coordinator, Jim Johnson, among the best in the business, had attacked the Patriots with a series of blitzes, and the Patriots handled those blitzes with the greatest of ease. With the Eagles holding a 7–0 lead in the second quarter and with New England backed up to its own 13, Johnson ordered up back-to-back blitzes that were answered by Brady screen passes to Corey Dillon. The first screen was good for 13 yards and a first down, and the second was good for 16 yards, a first down, and a Joe Buck description on Fox as “a perfect call.” People on the Philadelphia sideline grew suspicious as New England kept answering blitzes with screens. “There’s no question they had our defensive signals,” said one Eagles official, who didn’t know if the signals were deciphered legally or otherwise. Steve Spagnuolo, linebackers coach, later said that Johnson firmly believed New England had decoded his team’s signals and that two signal callers instead of one was a necessity when facing the Patriots.
Just about every former and current NFL coach copped to stealing signals, and to inspiring their counterparts across the field to cover their mouths with their play charts when giving a directive. Years later, Hall of Fame cornerback
Deion Sanders would accuse Tony Dungy, a statesman of the game, of serial sign stealing, and Dungy didn’t deny it. He said sign stealing had been going on in baseball since as far back as the 1800s, and that it was an accepted and natural part of sports. Sideline videotaping for the purpose of swiping signs? That was the illegal part, and, though many believed that other NFL teams participated in unlawful filming into the 2000s, it was widely thought that New England was the only franchise to continue the practice after the NFL’s two written warnings.
So Dungy, no fan of Belichick’s, likened the Patriots to record-breaking slugger Barry Bonds, who was hounded by steroid suspicions. The Steelers, who had lost two AFC title games at home to New England, were about as angry over the revelations as any NFL team. Receiver Hines Ward said he was certain the Patriots had cheated in their AFC Championship Game victory in Pittsburgh following the 2001 season. “They were calling our stuff out,” Ward said.
In the first quarter of Pittsburgh’s second AFC title-game loss to New England at Heinz Field, the Steelers went for it on a fourth-and-one at the Patriots’ 39. Jerome “the Bus” Bettis, Pittsburgh’s 252-pound back, took the handoff and ran smack into the brick wall that was the New England defense, fumbling as he fell short of a first down. At least one Patriot defender on the field thought Belichick must’ve had advance intel on the Steelers’ play, as the coach had a message relayed to his noseguard that he wanted him to shoot the gap left, to the center’s right—precisely where Bettis was heading, behind the Steelers’ guard who had pulled from the left. “How did he fucking know?” the Patriot said. “He called the perfect thing.” On the very next snap, Brady hit Deion Branch for a 60-yard touchdown.
Everyone who had ever lost a big game to Belichick’s Patriots was asking serious questions. Jacksonville defensive end Paul Spicer, a postseason loser to New England after the 2005 season, suggested that the NFL treat the Patriots the way the NCAA treats rule-breaking schools and put them on probation “and kick them out of the playoffs.” The Rams (who lost to the Patriots in Super Bowl XXXVI) and the Panthers (Super Bowl XXXVIII) were upset and wondering if they’d been had. Ricky Proehl played for both teams and scored the tying fourth-quarter touchdowns in both Super Bowls. The St. Louis loss was more devastating than the Carolina loss, because the Rams were heavily favored and would’ve gone down as one of the great teams in league history. Proehl wasn’t sure if he was cheated out of that distinction, but the Patriots did have staffers witness (but not videotape) the Rams’ Saturday walk-through and did play a near-flawless game. “Definitely there were times we were like ‘God, they really are in our huddle,’” Proehl said. “They had the perfect defense for where they needed to be. Where we would throw it, they were there.”
