Belichick and Brady

by Michael Holley

  It had been his football mission for years, the ideal that kept wriggling away. He thought he had it in 1995, when he was prepared to take Penn State’s Kyle Brady, six feet seven inches and 280 pounds, with Cleveland’s first-round pick, number ten overall. But the tight end went off the board, unexpectedly, one pick ahead of them to the Jets, and Belichick was upset enough to indignantly trade out of the top ten in exchange for a future first. There wasn’t anyone in that spot that he’d wanted more than Kyle Brady. That draft became even more miserable when he saw a player he liked in the third round, Curtis Martin, but Bill Parcells got to him first—ironically when the Tuna coached New England.

  Seven years later, he came back to the concept. He moved up in the 2002 draft for six-foot-four-inch, 260-pound Daniel Graham. He thought he was getting a multifaceted catching and blocking weapon who could be utilized in several formations. But Graham wasn’t as effective with all the formation roaming, preferring instead to occupy a traditional tight end’s spot. And although Graham was an otherworldly blocker, one who quietly dominated during the Patriots’ Super Bowl win over the Panthers, Belichick didn’t move up eleven spots in the first round for superior blocking to be the primary payoff.

  Two years later, in 2004, it was Benjamin Watson’s turn. He was fast, strong, and exceptionally bright. He was six foot three, 255 pounds, and he could be paired with Graham to create middle-of-the-field mismatches with linebackers and safeties. He was good and the idea was good, but that’s all it was. Good, whispered. He was looking for that guy, someone who could walk into the franchise description of what a tight end should be and perhaps redefine the position.

  Fifteen years after Kyle Brady was taken away from him, he was still seeking the hybrid difference-maker. It became such a fixation that when Kyle Brady was a thirty-five-year-old free agent in 2007, Belichick leapt at the opportunity to sign him. Graham was in Denver now, Watson was off to join Eric Mangini with the Browns, and Chris Baker, who had been on the team in 2009, wasn’t asked to return. That left a hole that Belichick was going to begin to fill with someone like Crumpler, a blocker who wouldn’t demand the ball and someone who could mentor the rookies.

  “A tight end for the New England Patriots must have good functional Football Intelligence,” Belichick’s writing team stated in 2000. “He must learn the run offense like a lineman and he must learn the pass offense like a receiver. He must have the toughness to block a DE 1 on 1 (this is a common matchup). He must have good quickness. Most of his game is played against LBs in a short area. He must play with suddenness, getting off the line—getting in and out of cuts—getting open quickly and getting into blocks to secure the edge.”

  One month away from the draft, with the Patriots holding the twenty-second pick in the first round, the consensus top tight end in the draft was Jermaine Gresham from Oklahoma. In one season as a starter, the six-foot-five-inch Gresham set a school record with fourteen touchdown receptions. He was told at the scouting combine in Indianapolis that he was the best tight end in the draft, to which he replied, “I don’t think I’m the best. I’ve got room for improvement.”

  Gresham sounded nothing like the number two tight end, a six-foot-six, 265-pound entertainer from Arizona named Rob Gronkowski. He had become known as a touchdown-maker in his brief college career, accumulating sixteen in eighteen games. He missed his entire junior year with surgery to repair a herniated disc and nerve damage. That did nothing to quell his energy, confidence, and humor. He had been draped with nicknames since high school, where he used to be called “Dangerous” due to his tendency to accept all dares, including riding his bicycle off ramps. In Tucson, he was “Drago,” “Robby,” “Big Rob,” and finally “Gronk.” He was forced to run laps once in practice when, after he and a teammate talked trash the entire time, Gronk ended it with a big catch and a spike… off his teammate’s helmet.

  “I believe I have great hands,” Gronk said at the combine. “I’ll catch anything in my path. I would say I’m the top tight end in the draft because I bring the whole package. I’m ready to take on the big D-ends. I’m ready to go out there and catch some passes.”

  This appeared to be Belichick’s year. Besides Gresham and Gronk, there were a half-dozen tight ends worthy of being drafted in the early rounds, including Jimmy Graham, a basketball player who was new to football; Dennis Pitta; Ed Dickson; Clay Harbor; Tony Moeaki; and Aaron Hernandez, a University of Florida junior who grew up in Connecticut wearing Drew Bledsoe jerseys and rooting for the Patriots.

  Belichick was a draft junkie, probably because it combined so many of his skills into a singular event. The draft rewarded you for homework, strategy, bargain shopping, interviewing techniques, and player evaluation. The hard work began months before the actual event with the scouts and their all-day, cross-checking shifts in conference rooms. There were also the trial balloons that many teams sent out, trying to throw the rest of the league off the scent of the players they truly wanted.

  The selling for Belichick began at the owners’ meetings in late March when he raved about Hernandez’s quarterback, Tim Tebow. He said the quarterback was probably capable of doing anything asked of him, such as “playing nose tackle if you asked him to play nose.” Belichick already had a quarterback and, for that matter, a newly signed nose tackle. That didn’t stop the speculation of how he could possibly use Tebow on the Patriots. He had commented on the quarterback’s overhauled throwing motion, and how improved that motion appeared to be when Tebow and his teammates worked out for scouts at the Florida campus in Gainesville.

  Selling became trolling the next week when the notoriously private Belichick ventured to the North End, one of the busiest neighborhoods in Boston, to have dinner with Tebow and Nick Caserio. For those who weren’t certain it was Tebow, the quarterback took away all the mystery when he stood outside the restaurant on Hanover Street, the main drag in the North End, holding a football. Belichick could sense that there was rising interest in two players, Tebow and Oklahoma State receiver Dez Bryant, and the Patriots met with both of them.

  The truth was that the Patriots were interested in a few Florida players who were not named Tebow, and Hernandez was among them. At twenty, he was one of the youngest players in the draft. His 4.6-second forty-yard dash, on a soggy field at Florida’s pro day, made him intriguing as well. He had been the nation’s top-rated tight end in high school in Bristol, Connecticut.

  It was four years later, but people in Connecticut still excitedly talked about the incredible game in which Aaron had 376 receiving yards on just nine catches. He ran beautifully, a former running back who moved to tight end because he could, not because he had to. He was good enough to play anywhere, and when he had the ball in the open field, trying to tackle him was like chasing down a blur.

  It was the same story at Florida, particularly his final season, when he won the John Mackey Award as the nation’s top tight end. Question was, if he was that good, if he ran that well, if he was the top tight end in high school and college, why was no one mentioning him as a first-rounder? Or even a second?

  There were some euphemisms used, such as “immature,” “character issue,” and “something’s not quite right,” but for most teams the character issue was the private information that they had: He had been suspended one game for marijuana use and, early in his college career, he had been the aggressor in a bar fight. For roughly one-quarter of the league, Hernandez was enough of a concern that he was taken off their draft boards. Everyone else looked at the talent and age, remained hopeful that sliding in the draft would humble him, and weighed whether a team with strong leadership could redirect an undeniably skilled pass-catcher.

  He didn’t seem to be a match for the Patriots, and it wasn’t just because collective immaturity had been a problem for them in 2009. The bigger obstacle was their scouting manual, under the category of Major Factors. Most Patriots fans had bachelor’s degrees in Team-Building By Belichick after studying the team for a decade, so the r
egion was trained to cringe when it heard about a talented player with behavioral concerns. There were always exceptions, such as Corey Dillon and Randy Moss, but they were rare.

  “Major Factors are behavioral, physical and mental aspects of a player that we, the New England Patriots, put at a premium. These factors will be included in every report, at every position and remain static regardless of position.”

  The first item under Major Factors was “Personal/Behavior.” According to the description, scouts were to consider, “What is the player’s core character, work habits, and level of integrity? We must press hard for the answers to these questions. We cannot let up easily on this line of questioning. We need accuracy and truthfulness.” What followed were nine questions:

  • Has he been in any trouble on the field or off the field?

  • Is he ready to act like an adult?

  • Are we going to need to keep an eye on this player?

  • Would you let this player spend time with your family (children)?

  • Can he handle tough coaching?

  • How does he respond to pressure situations?

  • Does he love football?

  • How important is football to him?

  • Can he handle coming to football as a job every day?

  The Patriots had spent a lot of time at Florida over the years, and Belichick had become friendly with Gators coach Urban Meyer. If there were questions about a player’s game and/or character, the Patriots believed they could get valuable insight from the Florida staff. Hernandez and his agents were tipped that New England had questions about him, so his agents drafted a letter that he signed. Typical of pre-draft savvy and spin, Hernandez began his letter to Caserio acknowledging an issue while never admitting to having it:

  Dear Mr. Caserio,

  I am writing in regards to some of the feedback I am receiving from my agents, Florida coaches, and other personnel. These sources have indicated that NFL teams have questions about my alleged use of marijuana. I personally answered these questions during the pre-draft process, but understand that NFL teams want to conduct thorough due diligence before making the significant financial investment inherent in a high draft pick. I have no issue with these questions being asked, but thought that it made the most sense to communicate with you directly regarding this issue so you would not have to rely upon second-hand information.

  While not admitting to marijuana use, Hernandez went on to mention a solution:

  I thought that the best way to answer your questions and your concerns was to make a very simple proposition. If you draft me as a member of the New England Patriots, I will willfully submit to a bi-weekly drug test throughout my rookie season (8 drug tests during the 2010 regular season). In addition, I will tie any guaranteed portion of my 2010 compensation to these drug tests and reimburse the team a pro-rata amount for any failed drug test… My point is simple—if I fail a drug test, I do not deserve that portion of the money.

  I realize that this offer is somewhat unorthodox, but it is also the only way I could think of to let you know how serious I am about reaching my potential in the NFL. My coaches have told you that nobody on our Florida team worked harder than me in terms of workouts, practices or games. You have your own evaluation as to the type of impact I can have on your offense. The only X-factor, according to the reports I have heard, is concerns about my use of recreational drugs. To address that concern, I am literally putting my money where my mouth is and taking the financial risk away from the team and putting it directly on my back where it belongs.

  In closing, I ask you to trust me when I say you have absolutely nothing to worry about when it comes to me and the use of recreational drugs. I have set very high goals for myself in the NFL and am focused 100% on achieving those goals.

  On the first day of the draft, Belichick and Caserio had things set up perfectly at number twenty-two. Tebow and Bryant were mystery players, and if some team was inclined to make a move on them, it was likely going to happen in the early twenties where the Patriots were positioned. The player Belichick and Caserio wanted in the first round was Devin McCourty of Rutgers, whom some teams had graded as a second-rounder. The Patriots had not, which was explained six weeks earlier by Belichick friend and draft expert Mike Mayock: “He might be the best special-teams player in the whole draft. From a return perspective, gunner, jammer, making tackles. You get quite a package if you draft Devin McCourty.”

  There was no doubt the Patriots were going to draft him. The way they interpreted the board, he’d be available to them anywhere in round one. So when their pick approached, they received a phone call from Josh McDaniels and Denver. The Broncos wanted to come up two spots to select wide receiver Demaryius Thomas. The Patriots were happy to move back and acquire a fourth-round pick for their shuffle. And just as they settled into number twenty-four, the Cowboys called for the pick. They wanted Bryant and were offering the Patriots a third-rounder to move down three slots. Not a problem. Two trades, a third- and fourth-rounder acquired, five draft slots lost, and still in position to draft the player they had wanted all along.

  The first round had just a couple of surprises. Gresham went in the first round, slightly higher than projected, to Cincinnati at twenty-one. McDaniels drafted Tebow at twenty-five, a controversial choice for a player whom some viewed as a sufficiently hyped college quarterback and nothing else.

  Gronkowski and Hernandez were available on day two, and the Patriots wanted both of them. They owned overall pick number forty-four, and no tight end had been selected since Gresham at twenty-one. As the selections got into the high thirties, the Patriots had a bit of a draft panic attack. They feared that the Ravens, holding the pick in front of them and in need of a tight end, would swoop in and take Gronk. Belichick and Caserio made a deal with the Raiders, forty-four for forty-two, so they could block Baltimore. It was a case of overanalysis because Baltimore wasn’t planning to draft its tight end in the second round. Belichick and Caserio had gone two for two in targeted players.

  “I think the kid’s a first-round tight end that the New England Patriots just stole at pick number forty-two,” Mayock told his NFL Network audience.

  As Mayock spoke, the big kid in the gray pin-striped suit hugged his friends and family and bounded toward the stage and enveloped commissioner Roger Goodell in a hug. He wore a white Patriots baseball cap and curiously had the team’s helmet in his hand. After he had shaken hands and posed with Goodell, Gronkowski huddled with his family and everyone chanted, “Gronk, Gronk, Gronk…” He put the helmet on then and started doing a dance. He took the helmet off. He high-fived, half hugged, and mussed up hair. He said it was the happiest day of his life, even though anyone could see that without any words or explanation.

  Two rounds later, the Patriots were in position for more stealing with the fourth-rounder they had acquired from the Broncos. Graham, the power-forward-turned-tight-end, had gone at number ninety-five to New Orleans. Eighteen picks later, the Patriots had the choice of either bringing Hernandez back to New England or going with combine warrior Dennis Pitta of Brigham Young University. Pitta had bench-pressed 225 pounds more times, twenty-seven, than any other tight end in Indianapolis. He’d also aced shuttle runs and cone drills. The ceiling for Hernandez was considerably higher, because if he could just settle down, he and Gronk would be one of the best tight end duos in the league.

  The Patriots went with Hernandez, believing that his issues were not dissimilar to other wayward young men in their late teens and early twenties. It was an ambitious projection, colored by Hernandez’s supreme talent. He was fully capable of charming them in draft interviews, especially if they weren’t diligent about their reminder to press hard for questions. There was something much deeper than the familiar college-kid-just-experimenting tale. But on the Saturday afternoon that Hernandez was drafted, those issues weren’t top of mind for anyone. The Patriots had acquired a first-team All-American and prestigious award winner in the fourth round.
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  Shortly after the completion of the draft, Boston Globe reporter Albert Breer broke a story that didn’t win him many friends in the Patriots offices or among New England fans. Yet the story began to get closer to the problem, and it was truer than anyone, especially Hernandez, wanted to admit.

  “According to sources with three NFL teams,” Breer wrote, “the Florida product’s precipitous fall was because of multiple failed drug tests for marijuana as a collegian.” Breer quoted a team executive who said of Hernandez, “He had multiple positive tests, so he either had issues or he’s dumb. One or two tests? Fine. But four, five, six? Come on, now you’ve got an addiction. He’s not a bad kid. He just has an issue.”

  Based on Hernandez’s adaptation to the Patriots’ offense in training camp, the executive’s either/or was answered. He was not dumb. He picked up the offense quickly, and he refused to be pushed around.

  “Both he and Gronk had an incredible work ethic,” says Crumpler, who had kept his word from March 2010 and dropped forty pounds. “Aaron Hernandez understood the offense as well as anyone in that room. And he never turned down a rep in practice. I remember one time Aaron tried to block down on [330-pound] Vince Wilfork. He liked a challenge.”

  Crumpler had been around too long to confuse ease on the field with ease in life. He was a dozen years older than Hernandez, so the two didn’t have much in common besides knowing how to get open as tight ends. Crumpler was at the end of his career, and Hernandez was at the beginning of his, one where he hoped to match and exceed the four Pro Bowls that Crumpler had.

  While the veteran didn’t sense that anything illegal was going on with the rookie, he constantly went up to him and offered, “If you need help with anything, and I mean anything, just let me know.”

  But there was nothing. Hernandez would be the silly face in the background waving and smiling to Crumpler’s three daughters, whom he saw daily because their father Skyped from the locker room. Crumpler’s oldest daughter called Hernandez “Mister Aaron.” He became angry with Crumpler just once in camp and the preseason, and it had to do with hair. Crumpler was the barber for the rookie haircut tradition, and Hernandez didn’t like the thought of being buzzed. He became amenable to it when Crumpler decided to shave cornrows into his hair; he loved that look.