Why I Loathe Bill Belichick

It’s not Bill Belichick’s three Super Bowl rings. Bill Walsh had three and, while I rooted against his 49ers as I would against any dynasty that does not belong to my team, hating the 49ers was never about Bill Walsh. It’s not Bill Belichick’s sour demeanor in post-game news conferences, either. Bill Parcells, Bellichick’s mentor, could be just as sour, and was more confrontational to boot, but it always seemed like it would be fun to play on Parcells’ side. And it’s not the fact that Belichick is credited with coaching genius, despite the fact that he never won a thing as a head coach until he paired up with Hall-Of Fame talent Tom Brady at quarterback.

It’s not any of that. I loathe Bill Belichick simply because of the obnoxious game day outfits that have become his signature, like Tom Landry’s fedora. Ahh, If only Belichick’s costumes had a shred of the elegance of Landry’s fedora. Belichick insists on prepping for the camera by donning a Patriots hoody sweatshirt. So far, no problem. The hoody might be a bit casual, but it could signal function over form, a coach too busy out-scheming his opponent, too busy taking care of business, to bother with how he looks. Or it might be a gesture of humility, Belichick’s way of saying that the role of NFL head football coach has taken on a bit too much gravity, and that he’s just a guy doing his job. But all of these benign possibilities are undone by what Belichick does with his sweatshirt: he cuts off the sleeves above the elbows. Belichick wears not his heart, but his ego on those cutoff sleeves; Bellichick’s is as studied a look as, for example, NBA coaching great Pat Riley’s slicked back hair and designer suits, if a bit counter-intuitively.

Let me be clear that I am not against having a little fun in what is often disparaged as the No Fun League. When Jerry Glanville was walking the Atlanta Falcons sideline dressed in black and leaving tickets at will-call for the late Elvis Presley, we ate it up because it was a natural outgrowth of Glanville’s wild-man persona, and, as such, fun. His team’s performance may have been mediocre, but Glanville’s antics served to put the spotlight on his team (quite an accomplishment in Atlanta, perhaps the worst major city sports town in America). Belichick’s affected thrift store look ironically does just the opposite. Belichick coaches what was up until very recently a dynasty; his teams are among the best to have ever taken the field in professional football. But Belichick’s shredded sweatshirts, just undignified enough to hold our attention a beat too long, make the Patriots remarkable run of success all about Belichick, which is exactly why he wears them. The sweatshirt screams “I’m Bill Belichick and I’m so good that I don’t even have to dress professionally like all the other poor schmucks who wish they were me.” Belichick’s cutoff sweatshirt is the pinnacle of preening.

Belichick’s version of Landry’s fedora? Bellichick donned a retro beanie with a pom-pom tassel and a logo of the Patriots old cartoon mascot for last Sunday’s playoff drubbing at the hands of the Baltimore Ravens. Such a childish chapeau crowning an accomplished leader of men seemed oddly out of place, until one realizes that the child’s cap fits Belichick just right. As children we all think we are the center of the universe. Belichick still does.