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11 Things You Might Not Know About Bill Belichick

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When the New England Patriots step on to the field for their record ninth trip to the Super Bowl this Sunday, broadcasters will likely inundate you with facts and trivia about the players. But that doesn’t mean the people on the sidelines are any less interesting. Check out some information about notoriously tight-lipped Patriots coach Bill Belichick that you can share between nacho plates.

1. HIS COLLEGE EXPERIENCE WAS RIGHT OUT OF ANIMAL HOUSE.

Before graduating from Wesleyan University in 1975, Belichick was reportedly the polar opposite of his current reserved persona. Classmates recall that as president of the Chi Psi fraternity, the son of Navy’s football scout and future NFL Hall of Famer could usually be found in the vicinity of frat guys peeing on rival houses and blasting soda machines with a shotgun.

2. HE’S BEEN UNDER FBI PROTECTION.

Before moving to the Patriots, Belichick spent four years as head coach of the Cleveland Browns. When he cut popular quarterback Bernie Kosar from the roster, Belichick was so reviled by Cleveland fans that he began to receive death threats. So did Casey Coleman, an area broadcaster who defended Belichick’s decision. Both men got FBI protection until the furor died down.  

3. HE’S PALS WITH BON JOVI.

While not the personification of a rock fan, Belichick counts New Jersey musician Jon Bon Jovi among his closest friends. The two met when Belichick was working for the New York Giants in the early 1980s. The singer even brought a reticent Belichick and Patriots defensive coordinator Charlie Weis on stage for a song. "That happened one time and it was forgettable," the deadpan coach once said of the performance (which you can see above).

4. HE’S HAD A LOT OF NICKNAMES.

Since beginning his NFL coaching career in 1975 with the Baltimore Colts, Belichick has assumed several identities in the league. Stints in Detroit and Denver led to the nicknames “Boy Genius” and “Punk”; in New York, Bill Parcells called him “Doom and Gloom” for his aloof demeanor.

5. HE GOT HANDED THE LARGEST FINE FOR A COACH IN NFL HISTORY.

After a Patriots employee was caught videotaping defensive hand signals from the New York Jets in 2007, the NFL slapped Belichick with a $500,000 fine, the largest in league history and roughly 12 percent of the $4.2 million salary he reportedly earned that year.

6. HE WAS HEAD COACH OF THE JETS—FOR ONE DAY.

MALCOLM CLARKE/AFP/Getty Images

After leaving the Browns, Belichick was brought on as an assistant coach with the New York Jets with the contractual promise that he’d be promoted to head coach if head coach Bill Parcells left or was let go. When Parcells retired in 1999, the Jets named Belichick their new coach. The problem? He apparently wasn’t into the idea since the Jets appeared to be nominating him reluctantly. After just one day, Belichick resigned from the position and moved to the Patriots the following year.

7. HE WON'T ACCEPT YOUR FREE CARS.

As a high-profile sports figure, Belichick is often approached by car dealers with offers of free vehicles in the hopes his celebrity will provide them with greater visibility. While it’s hard to turn down free wheels, Belichick does: He buys his family’s cars only from Farrell Volvo in Southborough, Massachusetts, a dealership owned by his college friend, Jim Farrell.

8. YOU CAN SOMETIMES FIND HIM IN PRISON.

Belichick uses his off-season time to do humanitarian work, and he’s particularly interested in rehabilitation of our incarcerated population. Belichick has worked with former NFL great Jim Brown on the Amer-I-Can program, lending aid and support to prisoners as well as paying visits to gang members for talks on how to avoid violence.

9. HE REFUSES TO BE DEPICTED IN MADDEN VIDEO GAMES.

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Fans of the long-running Madden NFL video game series might be perplexed whenever they call up the Patriots head coach. It’s never Belichick, but an anonymous character named Josh Moore. (Sometimes, the more generic “NE Coach” is used.) For a game officially licensed, it’s a strange decision. While Belichick typically avoids queries as to why, one possible answer might be the fact that he hasn’t joined the NFL Coaches Association, which works with Electronic Arts to license coach likenesses.

10. HE HAS HIS OWN YODA.

The voice most frequently in Belichick’s headphones during games is longtime friend Ernie Adams, who met Belichick in 1970 and has been one of his closest confidantes ever since. Officially the Patriots “director of football research,” Adams suggests plays and adjustments to Belichick while making sports math calculations in the press box. Intensely private, very few pictures of Adams are known to exist.

11. HE ONCE SPIKED A TABLET.

Having been involved in football since watching his dad in the 1950s, Belichick isn’t one to abandon what works. After trying some tablets to arrange his plays and other data on the sidelines, Belichick was seen smashing one to the ground in October 2016. “As you probably noticed, I’m done with the tablets," he told media. "They're just too undependable for me. I'm going to stick with pictures, which several of our other coaches do, as well, because there just isn't enough consistency in the performance of the tablets. I just can't take it anymore."

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Fumbled: The Story of the United States Football League
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davi_deste via eBay

There were supposed to be 44 players marching to the field when the visiting Los Angeles Express played their final regular season game against the Orlando Renegades in June 1985.

Thirty-six of them showed up. The team couldn’t afford more.

“We didn’t even have money for tape,” Express quarterback Steve Young said in 1986. “Or ice.” The squad was so poor that Young played fullback during the game. They only had one, and he was injured.

Other teams had ridden school buses to practice, driven three hours for “home games,” or shared dressing room space with the local rodeo. In August 1986, the cash-strapped United States Football League called off the coming season. The league itself would soon vaporize entirely after gambling its future on an antitrust lawsuit against the National Football League. The USFL argued the NFL was monopolizing television time; the NFL countered that the USFL—once seen as a promising upstart—was being victimized by its own reckless expansion and the wild spending of team owners like Donald Trump.

They were both right.


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Spring football. That was David Dixon’s pitch. The New Orleans businessman and football advocate—he helped get the Saints in his state—was a fan of college ball and noticed that spring scrimmages at Tulane University led to a little more excitement in the air. With a fiscally responsible salary cap in place and a 12-team roster, he figured his idea could be profitable. Market research agreed: a hired broadcast research firm asserted 76 percent of fans would watch what Dixon had planned.

He had no intention of grappling with the NFL for viewers. That league’s season aired from September through January, leaving a football drought March through July. And in 1982, a players’ strike led to a shortened NFL season, making the idea of an alternative even more appealing to networks. Along with investors for each team region, Dixon got ABC and the recently-formed ESPN signed to broadcast deals worth a combined $35 million over two years.

When the Chicago Blitz faced the Washington Federals on the USFL’s opening day March 6, 1983, over 39,000 fans braved rain at RFK Stadium in Washington to see it. The Federals lost 28-7, foreshadowing their overall performance as one of the league’s worst. Owner Berl Bernhard would later complain the team played like “untrained gerbils.”

Anything more coordinated might have been too expensive. The USFL had instituted a strict $1.8 million salary cap that first year to avoid franchise overspending, but there were allowances made so each team could grab one or two standout rookies. In 1983, the big acquisition was Heisman Trophy winner Herschel Walker, who opted out of his senior year at Georgia to turn pro. Walker signed with the New Jersey Generals in a three-year, $5 million deal.

Jim Kelly and Steve Young followed. Stan White left the Detroit Lions. Marcus Dupree left college. The rosters were built up from scratch using NFL cast-offs or prospects from nearby colleges, where teams had rights to “territorial” drafts.

To draw a line in the sand, the USFL had advertising play up the differences between the NFL’s product and their own. Their slogan, “When Football Was Fun,” was a swipe at the NFL’s increasingly draconian rules regarding players having any personality. They also advised teams to run a series of marketable halftime attractions. The Denver Gold once offered a money-back guarantee for attendees who weren’t satisfied. During one Houston Gamblers game, boxer George Foreman officiated a wedding. Cars were given away at Tampa Bay Bandits games. The NFL, the upstart argued, stood for the No Fun League.

For a while, it appeared to be working. The Panthers, which had invaded the city occupied by the Detroit Lions, averaged 60,000 fans per game, higher than their NFL counterparts. ABC was pleased with steady ratings. The league was still conservative in their spending.

That would change—many would argue for the worse—with the arrival of Donald Trump.

Despite Walker’s abilities on the field, his New Jersey Generals ended the inaugural 1983 season at 6-12, one of the worst records in the league. The excitement having worn off, owner J. Walter Duncan decided to sell the team to real estate investor Trump for a reported $5-9 million.

A fixture of New York media who was putting the finishing touches on Trump Tower, Trump introduced two extremes to the USFL. His presence gave the league far more press attention than it had ever received, but his bombastic approach to business guaranteed he wouldn’t be satisfied with an informal salary cap. Trump spent and spent some more, recruiting players to improve the Generals. Another Heisman winner, quarterback Doug Flutie, was signed to a five-year, $7 million contract, the largest in pro football at the time. Trump even pursued Lawrence Taylor, then a player for the New York Giants, who signed a contract saying that, after his Giants contract expired, he’d join Trump’s team. The Giants wound up buying out the Taylor/Trump contract for $750,000 and quadrupled Taylor’s salary, and Trump wound up with pages of publicity.

Trump’s approach was effective: the Generals improved to 14-4 in their sophomore season. But it also had a domino effect. In order to compete with the elevated bar of talent, other team owners began spending more, too. In a race to defray costs, the USFL approved six expansion teams that paid a buy-in of $6 million each to the league.

It did little to patch the seams. Teams were so cash-strapped that simple amenities became luxuries. The Michigan Panthers dined on burnt spaghetti and took yellow school buses to training camp; players would race to cash checks knowing the last in line stood a chance of having one bounce. When losses became too great, teams began to merge with one another: The Washington Federals became the Orlando Renegades. By the 1985 season, the USFL was down to 14 teams. And because the ABC contract required the league to have teams in certain top TV markets, ABC started withholding checks.

Trump was unmoved. Since taking over the Generals, he had been petitioning behind the scenes for the other owners to pursue a shift to a fall season, where they would compete with the NFL head on. A few owners countered that fans had already voiced their preference for a spring schedule. Some thought it would be tantamount to league suicide.

Trump continued to push. By the end of the 1984 season, he had swayed opinion enough for the USFL to plan on one final spring block in 1985 before making the move to fall in 1986.

In order to make that transition, they would have to win a massive lawsuit against the NFL.

In the mid-1980s, three major networks meant that three major broadcast contracts would be up for grabs—and the NFL owned all three. To Trump and the USFL, this constituted a monopoly. They filed suit in October 1984. By the time it went to trial in May 1986, the league had shrunk from 18 teams to 14, hadn’t hosted a game since July 1985, kept only threadbare rosters, and was losing what existing television deals it had by migrating to smaller markets (a major part of the NFL’s case was that the real reason for the lawsuit, and the moves to smaller markets, was to make the league an attractive takeover prospect for the NFL). The ruling—which could have forced the NFL to drop one of the three network deals—would effectively become the deciding factor of whether the USFL would continue operations.

They came close. A New York jury deliberated for 31 hours over five days. After the verdict, jurors told press that half believed the NFL was guilty of being a monopoly and were prepared to offer the USFL up to $300 million in damages; the other half thought the USFL had been crippled by its own irresponsible expansion efforts. Neither side would budge.

To avoid a hung jury, it was decided they would find in favor of the USFL but only award damages in the amount of $1. One juror told the Los Angeles Times that she thought it would be an indication for the judge to calculate proper damages.

He didn’t. The USFL was awarded treble damages for $3 in total, an amount that grew slightly with interest after time for appeal. The NFL sent them a payment of $3.76. (Less famously, the NFL was also ordered to pay $5.5 million in legal fees.)

Rudy Shiffer, vice-president of the Memphis Showboats, summed up the USFL's fate shortly after the ruling was handed down. “We’re dead,” he said.

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Arizona Teen Becomes First Female to Earn a College Football Scholarship
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In recent years, women have made great strides in male-dominated sports. Currently in the NBA, Becky Hammon and Nancy Lieberman have proven their worth as assistant coaches for the San Antonio Spurs and Sacramento Kings, respectively, while Sarah Thomas made news as the first official female referee in the NFL in 2015. Now, an Arizona teenager named Becca Longo is joining their ranks.

On April 12, Longo, an 18-year-old kicker from Basha High School in Chandler, Arizona, signed a letter of intent to receive an athletic scholarship and play for the Division II football team at Adams State University in Alamosa, Colorado. She is the first woman to be on scholarship at a Division II school or higher—a fact Longo herself didn't even realize until her high school coach informed her at the signing ceremony.

Longo’s kicking prowess in high school was highlighted by her making 30 out of 33 extra point attempts during her senior season, which caught the attention of Adams’s head coach, Timm Rosenbach. She also sent the school a highlight reel and began following coach Rosenbach on Twitter to show him what she could do.

"She's kind of put herself out there to let everyone know she wants to do this," Rosenbach told CNN. "If she's able to compete at a level we think she's able to compete at, we should afford her that opportunity to do that."

Longo’s persistence led to a visit from Adams’s offensive coordinator, Josh Blankenship, who told the young kicker that the school was interested in her being on the team. But being on scholarship doesn’t mean a spot on the starting roster is guaranteed. The kicking spot is up for grabs, according to Rosenbach, and there are two other kickers who Longo will have to beat out for the job. But despite the pressure, Longo told ESPN, "I'm ready to compete. I don't really have any expectations beyond that."

In addition to the football team, Longo has also committed to play basketball at Adams State next year.

[h/t CBS]

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