Belichick and Brady

by Michael Holley

  For the Patriots, traveling to Indianapolis for the Super Bowl made sense. While the best Super Bowl scenery was in New Orleans and San Diego and Pasadena, the game’s AFC participants were frequently Patriots or Colts. It was the fifth appearance for Brady and Belichick since 2001, and the host city’s team, the Colts, had been there twice in that span.

  Belichick was usually understated with Brady, publicly and privately. There was tremendous mutual respect between the two, but there were no long dinners and old stories over beers. They were partners at the office, recognizing each other as the best there is. Just before the Super Bowl began, they talked briefly on the field and there was a knowing wink of what was at stake. They slapped five, sideways, and Brady said, “Good luck. Let’s go get this thing, huh?”

  Brady and the rest of the team had “MHK” patches on their jerseys for Myra Hiatt Kraft. They all talked about how special it would be to win it in such a difficult year for the owner. But the game started poorly, with Brady getting a grounding penalty that led to a safety. The Giants added a touchdown to make it 9–0.

  This was where championship experience helped. Defensive tackle Vince Wilfork, playing in his third Super Bowl, stood on the sideline smiling. “It ain’t nothing but a football game,” he said. “That’s all it is: a football game.”

  It was 10–9 Patriots at the half, and they were getting the ball at the start of the third quarter. They had settled into their normal game, with one exception: Gronk. His left ankle was heavily taped, from the bottom of his shoe to high on the leg. He had to be out there because of the stakes, but this wasn’t the player the league saw all year. Giants linebacker Michael Boley told his teammates that in the third quarter. “Eighty-seven is a fucking decoy,” he told them. “He a decoy. You see how he tried to run that route? He’s gonna be outta here soon.”

  Yes and no. He wasn’t the same. But decoy or not, he was the best tight end in football and he’d help. Even on one leg. Four minutes into the third, it was Hernandez who put the Patriots in control. He scored on a twelve-yard pass from Brady, and the Patriots had reeled off 17 points for a 17–9 lead.

  But Giants coach Tom Coughlin’s teams always played Belichick’s tough. The two of them had been on Bill Parcells’s staff with the Giants in the late 1980s, and they were too wise to the other’s thinking to allow things to get out of hand. Neither of them was going to be outsmarted. And since they were partial to mentally tough grinders on their rosters, their players weren’t going to be overwhelmed by deficits.

  Sure enough, the Giants chipped away with two third-quarter field goals to make it 17–15 at the beginning of the fourth quarter. What happened next will long be debated in the Gillette Stadium cafeteria, on planes, in the locker room, or on vacation. It was another one that got away, another championship that was almost won.

  With just over four minutes to play and the Patriots still clinging to that 17–15 lead, they had the ball at the Giants’ forty-four-yard line. This was why all the talk about Brady and his receivers seeing the same things was so important. Wes Welker was in the slot, and the Giants were so confused on defense that they weren’t prepared to defend a huge passing window, right down the seam. If Welker saw it like Brady did, he’d have at least a huge first down that would help bleed the clock. He’d also have the Patriots in field goal range, for a 5-point lead, or a touchdown to put it away.

  Welker did see it. He ran down that seam and Brady lofted the ball to the five-foot-nine receiver. The ball wasn’t perfect, but it was soft and catchable. Besides, it was the Super Bowl. It’s not just great receivers who make those plays in the final game of the year; all receivers, with their hands on it, are expected to bring it down. Welker got two hands on it, the pigskin right on his gloves, and then he dropped it. Wilfork and several defensive linemen had their heads up in anticipation when the ball was thrown. They dropped their heads when the ball was dropped. It ain’t nothing but a football game… and the game could deliver one hell of a punch to the gut.

  “Whoa, that was the game,” referee John Parry said as he eyed the almost-winning catch.

  No kidding.

  The Patriots got no points out of their drive. When Eli Manning and the Giants got the ball, they were backed up at their own twelve-yard line. Welker’s play was one that he could routinely make. Manning, though, had a low-percentage opening to guide a ball to receiver Mario Manningham. It was a pass through a narrow slot, and you got the sense that the area was so tight that the only way Manning could have gotten the ball there more securely is by a machine. Perfect throw, perfect catch, with a toe tap on the sideline. It was good for thirty-eight yards, and Bill Belichick threw his challenge flag because he had to. But he knew. It was a catch.

  And a sick feeling. It was happening again, just as it had in November in the regular season against the Giants. Just as it had four years ago, in the desert, against the Giants. With one minute to play, it became official: The Giants had the lead, on a touchdown run by Ahmad Bradshaw, and they weren’t giving it back.

  They were Super Bowl champions again, over the Patriots.

  When Gisele Bündchen walked out of the stadium, she was taunted by fans. Not one for holding her tongue, she responded, “My husband cannot fucking throw the ball and catch it at the same time!” This loss was going to sting forever. At least the Patriots still had championship talent, and with a healthy Gronk and Hernandez, their future was bright. Or so it seemed.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  BROKEN TRUSTS

  By now, everyone in New England had heard and practically memorized what Tom Brady said about Wes Welker. The quarterback had absolved the receiver for The Drop. He said Welker was a great person and teammate. He said he wanted to keep throwing footballs to him for as long as he could. He said he loved him. Gracious words all around, leaving no space for second-guessing or resentment.

  But still. This was New England. The day after the Super Bowl, that play got hours and hours of nonstop, frothing analysis. The same thing happened the next day, and the day after that, too. Welker was from Oklahoma, but he had been in New England for five years. That was long enough to realize that there are errors in big games, and then there are errors in big games against teams from New York. Those are the worst of all. Even if New Englanders were wired to move on, which they weren’t, the New Yorkers would be there with smug reminders. Their jeering “eighteen and one” chant after the Super Bowl in the almost-perfect season was bad enough. Now there was this drop in their 21–17 Super Bowl win, which they used to prop up Eli Manning as a big-game quarterback and Tom Coughlin—He’s 2-0 against Belichick, you know—as a Hall of Fame coach.

  It just so happened that Welker was the biggest practical joker on the Patriots. His drop, after a season in which he caught an incredible 122 passes, was the worst payback of all. It also coincided with negotiation time. His contract was up and, in March 2012, he was looking for an extension. Instead, the Patriots announced that they were placing their franchise tag on him. He suggested that he might not sign, nor show up for minicamp in June. He didn’t get his commitment. What he received, on national TV, was a lesson in Patriots economics from Willie McGinest.

  McGinest was one of many ex-Patriots in the media. It was startling to hear their thoughtful and unfiltered opinions, after years of being intentionally bland and guarded as players. These days, they went on TV and radio and more than made up for lost time.

  “During my tenure in New England, no matter how big you were or who you were, nobody said that they weren’t coming to a mandatory minicamp. If you know anything about New England, understand that you’re expendable. Unless you’re Bill Belichick or Tom Brady, you’re expendable.”

  As strong as his words were, McGinest could have gone further. He could have mentioned that Welker was thirty-one, two years removed from a torn ACL, and on the same team as two tight ends, twenty-three and twenty-two years old, whom the Patriots wanted to sign to long contracts. As a player, McGinest didn’t
get too many challenges after he had spoken, but as a media member, he received a pointed tweet from Welker: “why did u ever leave the Pats and play for the Browns?” McGinest, who collected $12 million from Cleveland during the last contract of his football career, replied, “My point exactly. We’re all expendable at Patriot Place.”

  A few weeks later, there was another tweet from Welker: “I signed my tender today. I love the game and I love my teammates! Hopefully doing the right things gets the right results. #leapoffaith.”

  There was a lot for Bill Belichick to think about, and Welker’s contract was one of those things, but it wasn’t the top item on his list. The Super Bowl loss had confirmed that the offense just wasn’t the same without Rob Gronkowski. In postgame interviews, Gronk had claimed to be completely healthy and said he felt no pain from his high ankle sprain. That was obviously not true and, a week after the game, he’d undergone surgery on an ankle that had multiple ligament tears. He was expected to be completely healed by training camp, which would allow Josh McDaniels plenty of time to reimagine the Gronk–Aaron Hernandez offense.

  McGinest was right: Going from major player to replaced player was the inevitable progression, and it rarely happened on the player’s terms. One of those rare moments took place in May when left tackle Matt Light announced his retirement. It wasn’t an unexpected move, and it was part of the reason Belichick and top personnel man Nick Caserio decided to use last season’s first-round pick on left tackle Nate Solder. Light was going to be missed, not just for his ability to protect Brady’s blind side, but for his energy and wit.

  When Brady was part of a GQ magazine photo spread that included, remarkably, a picture of him holding a goat, Light and other linemen made copies. They taped it to their backs and made sure that Brady had to look at that outrageous picture of himself for each snap of practice. Once, Light was even bold enough to sneak into Belichick’s office and replace his computer mouse with a gag one; each time it was touched, it provided an electric shock. Belichick recalled, at Light’s retirement tribute, how that little stunt went horribly wrong and erased some notes that the coach had written.

  Light’s departure was significant for another reason: It meant that there was now one member of the team, Brady, with three Super Bowl rings. There were twenty-two of those three-ring guys, but they were scattered now. There was a better chance of seeing all those rings on TV than in Foxboro. McGinest could wear his on the NFL Network. Bruschi could wear his on ESPN. Troy Brown and Ty Law could display theirs locally since both were on Comcast SportsNet New England. Teammate Matt Chatham was across town with his at the New England Sports Network. The recruits who dreamed of playing in the Rose Bowl could see them on the fingers of Adrian Klemm, coaching at UCLA, and Mike Vrabel, coaching at Ohio State. Richard Seymour, the headliner of Light’s draft class, had his in Oakland. But not for long. He was planning to make the upcoming season his last one as well.

  Brady’s former teammates understood that there were several keys to longevity, and the fact that he continued to possess them and profess his love for them was impressive. Ty Law said he knew it was time to leave when he started to get easily injured and the fun of football started to feel like a wearisome job. Rosevelt Colvin acknowledged that he was worn down near the end of his career as well, tired “of the games and, honestly, you get to the point where you tune Bill out. And I think he’s a great guy. But he rides everyone, whether it’s [running backs coach] Ivan Fears, Josh [McDaniels], Charlie Weis, me, Tom. Mentally, it’s a lot to be out there.”

  Christian Fauria said it was Brady’s “work behind the curtain” that amazed him. The extra stretching. The disciplined sleep schedule, which usually had Brady in bed before nine p.m. The concentrated study on the upcoming opponent, players and coaches alike, then wiping the slate clean at the beginning of the next week and doing it again. The careful diet. The weight work.

  “Really, I just got sick of it all,” Fauria says. “But Tom is amazing. He’s religious about his routine.”

  For Seymour, it was a combination of several things, some of which Brady never had to be concerned about in New England.

  “I was starting to get worn thin. I had a couple of different head coaches, and a new general manager. There are lots of small routines that you get into, and one coach would know how to take care of you and another one wouldn’t. My wife and kids got tired of the travel, and I didn’t want to be on anybody’s schedule anymore. I didn’t have to if I didn’t want to.

  “I think I’m the exception to the rule. I left the game on my own terms. I don’t have regrets. Some guys have to keep playing and take deals that the teams say they have to take.”

  Brady was thirty-five years old and not even considering joining the retirement community on TV or in the stands. Part of the job was not just an ability to do it, but an infinite desire to do it. He had that, with an abundance in reserve. He didn’t need to do anything that the Patriots demanded, and he was the only player Belichick ever had who could say that. He never had to worry about getting a contract, just crafting one. He felt great about his arm strength, his overall health, his diet, and the stewarding abilities of Belichick and his staff when it came to building the roster and coaching it. When he restructured his contract in the spring, creating more than $7 million of cap space, the corresponding move seemed to be obvious: Brady was making space so the team could sign his buddy Welker.

  Right idea, wrong player. The new deal was going to Gronk and, like him, it made a statement. He was twenty-three, and his $55 million contract could keep him with the Patriots until age thirty-one. Brady often said that he wanted to keep playing football well into his forties, and if he was able to manage that, he’d still be throwing touchdown passes to Gronk.

  At the rate Belichick was going, he would still be coaching both of them. He once said that he didn’t plan to be the next Marv Levy, who coached Buffalo until he was seventy-two. But Belichick, who turned sixty in April 2012, sounded and looked energetic on the job. Off it, with his girlfriend of five years, Linda Holliday, he always had a smile on his face. Holliday threw an elaborate, Moroccan-themed surprise party for him at a Boston hotel on his sixtieth birthday. It was game-planned thoughtfully; even the servers were banned from smartphones, so some of the celebrity guests, such as the Bon Jovis, didn’t have to worry about unauthorized pictures. Bill Belichick at work could be intense, but socially, he knew how to have fun.

  Since Gronk was signed through 2019, the focus naturally shifted to his dynamic twin, Hernandez. In 2010, he had written his letter to the Patriots, essentially promising them that they wouldn’t find trouble with him. He challenged them to put language in his contract that would penalize him for failed drug tests, his way of telling them that they wouldn’t have to worry about the issues that scared off some teams in the draft process. Some of those issues were superficial, such as the tattoos that covered his arms. Some of them were more serious, such as the habitual marijuana use or his association with a few suspicious characters from his hometown. Those characters seemed to pop up in Gainesville a lot, and a couple of them appeared to be significantly older than a kid who arrived on campus at seventeen. They weren’t his relatives. Just older guys, ranging from their midtwenties to early thirties, who seemed to be hangers-on. At best, they were people who wanted to be around Hernandez when he made it big. At worst, well, they fulfilled the gangbanger stereotypes that many people didn’t want to verbalize, for fear of being labeled out of touch, bigoted, or racist.

  At a glance, Hernandez appeared to be doing everything he said he would. His signing bonus with the Patriots was $200,000, nearly $300,000 less than the player who was drafted in his slot the year before. The Patriots structured his contract so he would have to earn his money in workout and roster bonuses. Not a problem. He was there all the time, and he knew exactly where he was supposed to be on the field.

  Even some of the real issues that other scouts mentioned, what they perceived as Hernandez’s lo
w self-esteem, moodiness, and sullenness, were being dealt with. After his rookie year, Hernandez spoke openly and passionately about the need for mental health professionals in Latino communities. Hernandez, whose late father, Dennis, was Puerto Rican, teamed up with the Massachusetts School of Professional Psychology to raise awareness and funds for mental health in underserved communities. He unashamedly talked about his reliance on therapy as a teenager after his father’s death.

  The contrast was astonishing. In April 2010, his character was being questioned and there were stories about his drug use. In April 2011, he was the celebrity being lauded for helping out in the community. On a Friday afternoon, he spoke with 120 kids and their parents at the predominantly Latino Gardner Pilot Academy in the Allston section of Boston. That night, along with the mayor of Boston and three state senators and representatives, he attended a fund-raiser in Newton, Massachusetts, for mental health services.

  “There are a lot of young kids that don’t have that guardian or role model to talk to or that person that they can go to and just lay everything out,” he told the Boston Globe’s Greg Bedard. “Sometimes the psychologist, when you have no one around you, can be there for you and be that person you let your feelings out to, the person that you can talk to and can give you guidance in making the right decisions when you really don’t have the right people there to help you with those big decisions in life.”

  He was still making trips back to Connecticut, but that could be easily explained. His older brother, DJ, was the head football coach at a high school near their hometown. As for some of the shady characters who would travel from Bristol to Gainesville, the Patriots didn’t see much of them, although they were around.

  As the Patriots were just over a week away from training camp in mid-July 2012, New Englanders began to get excited about the team’s chances for the season.