by Ron Jaworski
You can see the Midwestern version of the defense in Green Bay, where current defensive coordinator Dom Capers has dusted off many of his “Blitzburgh” schemes and used them with the Packers. “You could look at one of my old Steelers games, compare it with what I’m doing now, and see a lot of similarities,” he acknowledged. “I’m basically using [cornerback] Charles Woodson exactly the way I used Rod Woodson in the nineties. Both of them are nearly alike in size, speed, football instincts, and blitzing capabilities.” Charles Woodson (no relation to Rod) came to Green Bay in 2006 after eight seasons as an Oakland Raider, and made the Pro Bowl in 2008 and 2009.
On-field talent is the X factor—the difference between the system’s success and failure—according to Merril Hoge. “The Zone blitz doesn’t work against everyone. Some teams run three wides, spread you out, and make you come from further distances. But if you have a safety like Troy Polamalu, it can still work. He does stuff you’ve never seen from any safety in the history of the game. He can drop back, then reverse field and run a blitz where the opponent loses track of where he was. Troy has allowed LeBeau to go to another level with the Zone-blitz concept.”
Dick knows he has a one-of-a-kind player in Polamalu, and Troy feels the same way about his coach. “What makes LeBeau a great coordinator is that even after all his years in the NFL, he still listens to his players,” he praised. “You can say to him, ‘Coach, let’s try this, let’s do that.’ He’ll respond in one of two ways: either, ‘I don’t think that will work and this is why it won’t work.’ Or he’ll say, ‘That’s a good idea, that could work, let’s give it a try.’ How could you not want to play for a coach like that?”
That may be Dick LeBeau’s greatest virtue. He is seventy-three years old and has been in the NFL for more than a half century as he enters the 2010 season. And yet he’s still eager to try new ideas, to come up with yet another fresh concept to confuse his competitors. “I guess in some ways it’s kind of like music,” LeBeau mused. “There’s probably a finite number of ways which you can arrange notes, right? But here we are, thousands of years into human history, and we haven’t reached the end yet. Every year, there are thousands of songs written, and thousands of new combinations of notes. So I guess there’s some limit to what we can do on defense. But we haven’t reached it yet.”
Sunday No. 7
SUPER BOWL XXXVI
ST LOUIS RAMS VS. NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS
Louisiana Superdome, New Orleans, Louisiana —February 3, 2002
our weeks into the 1976 season, the Detroit Lions were floundering. After falling to 1-3, head coach Rick Forzano abruptly resigned, leaving football permanently to go into private business. Interim coach Tommy Hudspeth didn’t have much time to ease into his new job, because Detroit’s next opponent was the New England Patriots. The Pats were the hottest team in the NFL at the time, having beaten the defending world champion Steelers and the eventual ‘76 world champion Raiders in successive weeks. Now they were headed to the Motor City, and the Lions looked as if they’d be New England’s next victim. Oddsmakers quickly installed the Patriots as three-touchdown favorites.
Six months earlier, the Lions had hired a young man barely a year out of college to help coach their special teams, receivers, and tight ends. His name was Bill Belichick. “New England had just beaten the Raiders by thirty-one points playing a lot of Cover-Three in their 3-4 defense,” Bill recalled. “We had two really good tight ends with the Lions: David Hill and Charlie Sanders, who’s now in the Pro Football Hall of Fame. Back then in the conventional pro set, it was very hard to get three receivers out to the weak side, because to do that, you’d have to release both backs. Against a 3-4, you just couldn’t get them out quick enough. But if you switched to a balanced two-tight-end, two-receiver set, then you already have a guy at the line of scrimmage that can get to the weak side of coverage very quickly. So we decided to run this against the Patriots that week.”
New England was completely baffled by Detroit’s unexpected new formation. The Lions pounded the Patriots for nearly 200 rushing yards, and their tight ends accounted for three of Detroit’s four touchdowns. New England suffered its worst loss of the season, 30-10. “Ultimately, Bill Parcells was at New England, along with other coaches like Ray Perkins and Fritz Shurmur,” said Belichick. “And from that game on, every New England system since then has referred to that formation as ‘Detroit.’ Other coaches in the Parcells lineage—Ron Erhardt, Charlie Weis, myself—we still call that grouping Detroit. I’m not saying that formation was never run before, but as the years went on after ‘76, it became more popular. And today it’s probably the lead personnel grouping in the league.”
Belichick was only twenty-four years old when he put together this winning strategy. Thirty-five years later, he’s still doing pretty much the same thing as the longest-tenured, and, arguably, most successful head coach in the National Football League.
ill Belichick is the NFL’s lightning rod. For much of this past decade, he has been the focus of football conversation. Just mentioning his name brings out every emotional response imaginable. Some people love the guy, others can’t stand him, nobody’s neutral. You can applaud him for his sustained on-field success, while also disapproving of the infamous “Spygate” incident, when the Patriots filmed opponents under circumstances that violated league rules. Belichick was admired for leading his team to a league record 16-0 during the 2007 regular season, but he was widely second-guessed for an unorthodox fourth-down gamble in a November 2009 game against the Colts. You’ll remember New England attempted to protect their slim lead and keep the ball out of Peyton Manning’s hands by throwing on fourth and short while still deep in Patriots territory. When that conversion failed, Manning and the Colts navigated the short field to score the winning touchdown. On one point, however, nearly everyone agrees: Within the coaching fraternity, he’s the smartest guy in the room, and has been for some time.
Bill has showcased his creativity countless times during four decades of NFL coaching, but to my mind, his masterpiece is Super Bowl XXXVI in 2002. That night he took a Patriots team consisting largely of castoffs and kids and beat the highly favored St. Louis Rams. It was the biggest championship upset since Joe Namath and the Jets shocked Baltimore in Super Bowl III.
So far, every chapter title in this book has referenced both the coach and the signature strategy he introduced. The problem in this case is that Belichick’s contribution is a game plan—and other than my creative former coach Sid Gillman, I haven’t heard of too many coaches tagging their game plans with memorable nicknames. But this one should have one, and since no historian or coach has thought of a catchy title for Bill’s blueprint, I made one up myself. I think it’s warranted.
Against the record-setting Rams offense, Belichick mapped out tactics so radical that, even as I watched the game, I couldn’t fully appreciate what I saw. It wasn’t until after comprehensive film study that I truly understood what he’d done. He drew up schemes that had never been tried in an NFL game and had his players ignore long-accepted defensive concepts. Somehow Belichick made it all work. In all my years in the NFL, this was the best-conceived game plan I had ever seen. And its unexpected success in the NFL’s biggest game gave other coaches the green light to break the barriers of long-held football conventions.
My name for Bill’s creation is the Bull’s-Eye game plan. Why? Well, let’s begin with the definition of the word, as cited in Webster’s dictionary. Bull’s-Eye: “the center of a target” or “something central or crucial.” In thirty-five years as a player and analyst, I had never seen a defense focus so much energy on disrupting the actions of a single player. You might think, Heck, that’s not so rare. Isn’t the quarterback a defense’s main target in most games anyway? To some degree, yes, but the Rams’ Kurt Warner was not the guy being zeroed in on by New England.
It was star running back Marshall Faulk, who in 2001 had surpassed 1,000 yards for the seventh time in his first eight seasons. In
the Super Bowl, he took a physical beating that must have left him sore for a month. Not just in running situations or third-down plays but just about every play, no matter where he was on the field. I never saw anything like it. There’d be a defensive end who couldn’t care less about rushing the quarterback—he’d totally ignore Warner, sprint right to Faulk, and knock him on his ass. Marshall took hits from everybody: corners, linebackers, even defensive tackles. He was like a piñata at a kid’s birthday party, because to Belichick, Faulk was where the candy was.
The Rams’ head coach in Super Bowl XXXVI was Mike Martz, and he had good reason to make Faulk the centerpiece of his offense. According to Martz, “Marshall was the glue for everything we did. He basically redefined his position, widening what you could expect a running back to do. Not just where he ran the ball, but also in blocking and pass routes. He was more than willing to participate in all these areas; he had such a passion for football. Marshall also had better understanding of the game than any back I ever coached. He was intuitive, just knew where everybody was, and the split-second decisions he made were brilliant.” Former Rams assistant coach Al Saunders agreed. “How many tailbacks in this league are smart guys? Not that many. Marshall Faulk was so sharp—he wanted to learn everything there was to know. You could ask him to do anything, move him anywhere, and he loved it.”
My former Eagles teammate Wilbert Montgomery was Marshall’s position coach in St. Louis and watched the guy every day in practice as well as on Sundays. Wilbert told me that Faulk could run the ball with equal ability out of any formation the Rams set up, including three-and four-wide sets. Naturally, this was a big help in slowing down an opponent’s pass rush, because no runner of his era was more effective on draw plays. Tee off too hard chasing the quarterback, and Marshall would run it up the gut for a bundle. Wilbert also marveled at Faulk’s pass-catching skills. He could line up consistently as a wide-out; not just because he had good hands, but also because he ran routes as well as most NFL receivers. Traps, screens, quick outs, Go patterns—you name it. Faulk could do everything. He was the focus of the Rams offense, and that made him the “bull’s-eye” for the Patriots’ defense. Belichick was determined to stop him, even if it meant that some of his defenders would be forced to ignore their traditional responsibilities.
et me say right off the bat that I’m a huge Mike Martz fan. First and foremost, he believes in an aggressive passing game, which is what I love. Some of his critics think he relies on it too much; that to compete you also need the straightforward “man-on-a-man-on-a man” physicality of the running game. I agree up to a point, but when it comes to offensive design and approach for today’s NFL, Mike is on the money. If you have the right skill players in his system, it’s unstoppable. With Faulk, wide receivers Isaac Bruce and Torry Holt, and other stars, he certainly had those athletes with his Rams teams from 1999 through the mid-2000s.
Mike grew up in San Diego, and as a kid rarely missed watching Sid Gillman’s Chargers at Balboa Stadium or on TV. Eventually he played and then coached at local Mesa Junior College during the same time that Don Coryell was running his program at San Diego State. Martz soaked up Coryell’s concepts like a sponge. This was the way offensive football was supposed to be, Mike believed. He cribbed ideas from both Gillman and Coryell as he moved up the college coaching ladder at stops such as Fresno State, the University of Minnesota and Arizona State.
Mike’s fundamental passing beliefs became pretty much the same as Coryell’s: aggressive calls, moving quickly downfield, relying on precise timing and rhythm between passer and receiver. Mike’s mantra has always been “The ball is coming out fast, so run clean routes to beat your man. Be where you’re supposed to be, when you’re supposed to be there. Don’t fool the quarterback.”
After four years as an assistant with the Rams, Mike was hired in 1997 as Redskins quarterbacks coach under Norv Turner. Like Martz, Turner was also a true believer in the Air Coryell system, having won a pair of Super Bowls with it as the Cowboys’ offensive coordinator in the early nineties. During his three years in Washington, Mike had an epiphany. He was crazy about his third-down play package, but game situations limited how often it could be used. Mike didn’t like those restrictions and went to Norv with a suggestion. “Since we both love these plays so much,” Martz asked, “why can’t we run them whenever we want? Why wait till third down?” As a fellow disciple of Coryell, Turner agreed.
“So what happened,” said Martz, “was that we decided to run these third-and-long plays regardless of down and distance or field position. To us it simply didn’t matter anymore. This kept defenses guessing—they couldn’t zero in on our tendencies, personnel packages, or formations, because they’d always have to be ready for the big pass.”
Martz brought this mind-set with him to St. Louis when he became the Rams’ offensive coordinator in 1999. That same year, under Dick Vermeil, Mike orchestrated “the Greatest Show on Turf,” borrowing liberally from the Coryell playbook to create an attack that led the league in points and yardage. “There are two critical elements to Don’s system that I made the foundation of the Rams’ offense,” said Martz. “First, you build an offensive line that can pass protect without needing consistent help from the tight end or backs. Then you must have a runner who’s a viable threat in normal down-and-distance situations.
“There’s a significant difference between having to throw on early downs and wanting to throw on early downs. There’s also a distinction between running a lot and running well. With this system, you can establish the run without running a lot.” This kind of thinking played perfectly to the strengths of a Marshall Faulk. Put him in with a Kurt Warner, who could stand in the pocket under pressure and deliver to Bruce and Holt, and you’ve got yourself a championship offense. And, of course, that’s just what happened. The Rams made it to the big game, then knocked off the Titans, giving my former team its first world championship since 1951.
Vermeil retired after winning Super Bowl XXXIV, and Mike was handpicked to take over. St. Louis made the playoffs in 2000, then did even better the next year. The ‘01 Rams won a league-high fourteen games behind one of the most dominating offenses in the game’s history. Their quarterback, Kurt Warner, had to wait until he was twenty-seven to finally break into the league in 1998. All he did in his third full season was to lead the NFL in completions (375) and pass-completion percentage (68.7 percent), TD passes (36), average passing yardage per game (301.9), and passer rating (101.4). And his 4,830 total yards in the air—700 more yards than runner-up Peyton Manning of Indianapolis—was second only to Dan Marino’s epic 1984 season in the annals of the game. (In 2008, New Orleans Saints QB Drew Brees bumped Warner to third place on the all-time single-season list.)
It was easy to see why St. Louis rolled into Super Bowl XXXVI as 14-point favorites. Only a year earlier Bill Belichick’s maiden New England season had ended in a 5-11 disaster. Just past the midpoint of 2001, the Patriots’ record sat at .500, the offense was led by a rookie quarterback named Tom Brady, and a third of the roster consisted of first-year players and waiver-wire pickups. The Pats got to the playoffs by winning their last six games but rarely overwhelmed their opponents during that stretch. Winter weather and a controversial referee’s decision as to whether quarterback Tom Brady had fumbled the ball late in the fourth quarter had given them a playoff win many people felt they did not deserve over Oakland in the infamous “Tuck Rule Game.” Even New England’s championsip game victory over Pittsburgh was closely contested, with the Patriots staving off a Steelers second half comeback to win by a touchdown.
On paper, I didn’t see the Patriots matching up very well with St. Louis. You go man-for-man across the board, and it should have been lights out in the Rams’ favor. I truly thought the game would be a blowout. But as we’ve all since learned, you can never count out any team coached by Bill Belichick. He caused me problems when I played against him, and he has never ceased to impress me with his creativity since I became
a football broadcaster.
By now, Belichick’s career path is well known, even to casual fans. He’s been around the game all his life, as the son of Steve Belichick, a former NFL player and college assistant at the U.S. Naval Academy. Bill played football at Wesleyan University, and after graduating in 1975, he turned to an old family friend for his first NFL job. “Don Shula and my dad went back a long way,” Belichick recalled. “They both played college football in Ohio and had a relationship going back to the 1940s. When I talked to Coach Shula, I knew the Dolphins didn’t have anybody doing film breakdowns on the staff, and I offered my services to him. I asked, ‘Could I break down game film for you? I’d just like to learn your system and understand your organization.’ He told me, ‘I’m sure you’d do a great job, but I prefer my assistants do it so they’ll learn those little details themselves, and not try to pass it off on somebody else.’ I respected that. I think when you don’t handle the details yourself, then sometimes things slip through the cracks and you miss something. Since then, I’ve always tried to keep that in the back of my mind. Even though we do have people handle those breakdowns for us now, I still try to be detail conscious myself, so that the ‘little things’ don’t end up becoming ‘big things’ you miss.”