Sad it’s over but happy that it happened
When something special ends, that sentimental didn’t-wehave-it-so-good? mood that often accompanies a final scene can make revisiting the beginning of it all irresistible. Especially when you’re not entirely convinced that it had to end. And probably never will be.
That’s where I find myself a few days and multiple wild NFL playoff and coaching plot twists after Patriots owner Robert Kraft (and to some degree, presumably a large one, his son Jonathan) decided to fire Bill Belichick last week after 24 seasons, nine Super Bowl appearances, six Super Bowl victories, and two back-to-back ugly seasons to close his tenure.
Of course there was logic in firing Belichick. To call it four straight lousy seasons after the regrettable Tom Brady departure is to allow no wiggle room for a rebuild. Everything appeared to be trending in the proper direction in 2021, Year 2 of Post-Tom, when the Patriots won 10 games with rookie quarterback Mac Jones and Belichick was named NFL Executive of the Year. Yes, really.
But the last two seasons — particularly this mercifully concluded 4-13 debacle, when the defense was admirable but the offense performed as if it were made up of expansion-draft rejects — were a confusing mess.
It is plain ignorant to suggest Belichick is Just Another Coach without Brady; say, what were you watching when the games were on all those years? Coaching was not the issue with this team, or at least his coaching. But his weird staffing decisions, perplexing roster construction, and borderline neglect of the offense built a case that it was time to move on.
Still, the decision makes me queasy, and that’s partially because I can’t shake the sense that he’s gone because he refused to kiss the rings that he and Brady and dozens of other exceptional players won for ownership.
Successor Jerod Mayo, by all accounts, possesses a brilliant football mind and rare people skills. It would be easy to suggest that Belichick had the former in greater abundance than anyone in NFL history and was completely devoid of the latter, but have you noticed how many reporters in recent days have revealed moments when Belichick went out of his way to offer a word of insight or condolence?
The press conferences were performance art born from that specific kind of paranoia that plagues coaches. He wasn’t always a misanthrope, even if he effortlessly played one on TV.
Maybe Mayo will be next year’s DeMeco Ryans, the right coach at the right time for the Texans. Maybe he’s the new Nick Sirianni, who was one ticky-tack pass interference call from taking the Eagles to the finish line last year, and now has lost control of the wheel. We cannot tell how adept Mayo is or isn’t until we begin accumulating many Sundays’ worth of evidence.
Right now, this just seems weird. The weeks-long suspicion here that Belichick would have a relatively clear idea of what his future held even before “parting ways” with the Patriots seems to be gaining confirmation.
He has already interviewed with the Falcons, and presumably had the grace to never say the numbers “28” or “3.”
The Cowboys, with Jerry Jones’s perennial desperation to win a Super
Bowl without Jimmy Johnson (the Barry Switzer one should count as Johnson’s) reaching a peak, are the ideal destination. And those talent-rich, imploded Eagles need something. He has options, enticing ones.
Belichick is going to be some franchise’s new beginning, and that’s almost a cause for envy. A generation of Patriots fans doesn’t remember anyone else as coach. It will be odd to see him wearing another team’s logo on his hoodie. But he can still trade X’s and O’s with anyone. With a ready-made roster and some guidance in selecting the talent, he might just get another Super Bowl victory.
While he prepares to chase Don Shula elsewhere, I’m still drawn back to what was, when he was the Patriots’ new beginning.
Let’s be clear about something right away: Pete Carroll, who was dropkicked upstairs last week after 14 seasons as the Seahawks coach, was an exasperating pushover in his three seasons (1997-99) as Belichick’s predecessor.
The Patriots had plenty of talented players, many of whom — Ty Law, Willie McGinest, Tedy Bruschi, Troy Brown — would help form the core of the first phase of the dynasty. Bill Parcells had left the cupboard filled, but the Patriots got a little bit more undisciplined each year of Carroll’s tenure. He became a fine coach elsewhere. It did not happen here.
When Drew Bledsoe — who seemed too normal to give in to the obsession playing quarterback in the NFL demands — suffered his near-catastrophic injury in Week 2 of the 2001 season and Brady emerged, the Patriots became the savvier, more disciplined team. Their run that season — which included the winter wonderland “Snow Bowl” win over the Raiders, the silencing of the arrogant Steelers, and the game plan to top all game plans to rough up and take down the Rams in the Super Bowl — ranks as the second-most satisfying to the 2004 Red Sox in Boston sports history, and it’s closer than most would think.
Those games feel like yesterday. And yet they were so long ago that if you watch the footage on television now, it looks like it might as well be from 1973.
I’ve heard from many of you who are fine with Belichick’s departure. Some even believe it’s overdue, and I get that. This did get ugly.
But I’ll never say Bill Belichick was here too long. It’s sad that this era in Patriots football — which will never come close to being duplicated, here or anywhere — is officially over. But mostly, even while pondering its beginnings, I’m just filled with gratitude that we had it at all.