 INTRODUCTION
Two years ago I sat in Bill Belichick's office and talked with him about
an idea I had for a book. I told the head coach of the New England Patriots
that I was interested in examining several aspects of NFL culture through
the eyes of his organization. It would be a book that would give readers an
access pass to places from which they are usually forbidden. They would be
able to see candid glimpses of a team, from ownership to coaching to
playing. They would sit in meeting rooms, watch games from the coaches'
box, learn about scouting, and ultimately better understand the cerebral man
who is often called the best coach in the National Football League.
Belichick listened to the proposal and rubbed his forehead. Not wanting
to hear his answer then, I kept talking.
I was a general sports columnist for the Boston Globe at the time,
so I wanted to assure him that such a project would require a one-year leave
from the paper: It would be impossible for me to immerse myself in the NFL
for most of the day and continue to write a column in the remaining hours.
The coach needed to be convinced, for example, that his private
conversations with head trainer Jim Whalen would not wind up as part of my
sports discussions in print or on the air. I told him that I wouldn't do any
media work while the Patriots were in season.
After I finished my pitch, Belichick sat in the chair, with his right
foot touching the floor and his left heel on the edge of the seat. He was
quiet for what seemed like five minutes.
"I'll have to talk with Robert about it," he said finally, referring to
team owner Robert Kraft. "But it sounds good to me."
It wasn't exactly what I had expected to hear; I was sure he was going to
say "No, thanks."
Belichick talked with Kraft, and I was given permission to shadow the
team. What followed was one of the most educational, entertaining, and
humbling years of my life. I was able to sit in corners and observe the
think tank that is football operations in Foxboro, Massachusetts. I quickly
noticed that under Belichick the Patriots have one of the most unusual
workplaces in America. It is difficult to find the office slacker who turns
instant messaging into a full-time job. Belichick has surrounded himself
with smart, competent people who are encouraged to be original thinkers—so
original that if their analyses are different from those of the boss, they
are encouraged to disagree with him. Belichick has no problem listening to
any counterargument—provided that it can be supported with some type of
evidence.
As I sat in those corners, trying to blend in and
take notes at the same time, I kept waiting for someone to ask me to leave that out of the book. There was usually an explicit description in a
meeting, and a few times there were energetic exchanges between coaches. But
the tap on the shoulder never came from anyone in the organization. I was
sure it was going to come in January 2003, when an agitated Belichick began
talking about his defensive backs in a player evaluation meeting. He had
expected more out of a unit that included Lawyer Milloy, Tebucky Jones, and
Victor Green. He saw their performance one way—not good—and defensive backs
coach Eric Mangini was on the other side of the argument. With voices
raised, they both defended their positions. Mangini insisted that Green was
one of the best playmakers on the team, and Belichick said he was too slow.
They went back and forth until Belichick asked Josh McDaniels, who was a
coaching assistant at the time, to go to the computer system. He wanted
McDaniels to retrieve some plays "from the Buffalo game."
The exchange between Belichick and Mangini lasted
for about ten minutes. And then it was over. There is very little carryover
in Foxboro. You say what needs to be said, and then you move on. I had
become accustomed to the intense football operations culture, and it had
become accustomed to me. That was obvious when Belichick introduced a new
quarterbacks coach, John Hufnagel, to the staff in 2003.
"John, you've met everyone here, right?" Belichick
said.
"Yes," Hufnagel replied. "Everyone but the gentleman
in the corner."
He was talking about me. After my presence caused
some early awkward moments, I had become part of the wallpaper: "Oh, him?" a
couple of the coaches laughed. "That's just Michael."
After the Patriots finished the 2002 season with a
9–7 record, a few players and coaches were almost apologetic about what
would become of the book. They knew that the story of a nonplay-off team,
one season removed from winning Super Bowl XXXVI, wouldn't excite many
publishers. I told them that I was going to continue to work on it, and that
everything could be salvaged if the Patriots could find a way to win Super
Bowl XXXVIII. Even though it wasn't part of the initial plan, Belichick
never cut off my access as the 2002 season became the 2003 season. Every
once in a while he would ask, "How's the book?" and I would answer with a
sigh.
That changed in October 2003, when the Patriots won
their first of fifteen consecutive games. Indeed, they capped the season
with a win over the Carolina Panthers in Super Bowl XXXVIII. "Well,"
Belichick said then. "I don't have to ask you about the book now. It looks
like you have it."
Boston 2004 |
