No one on the Rutgers men’s lacrosse team looked like he wanted to take the field for practice on this January afternoon — except for maybe one of the long-stick midfielders, a junior with a grey hoodie under his pads and long blonde hair flowing out of the back of his helmet. Snow covered their turf practice field, which stood in the shadow of the football stadium at sunset.
Coach Jim Stagnitta called for ground-ball drills. And, there was that one long-stick midfielder who seemed more eager to get started than the others: Steve Belichick. Steve, a hard worker who wasn’t the most skilled or athletic player, might as well have been a ground-ball specialist, according to his teammates.
“He’s going to take your head off, if it comes to it,” former Rutgers midfielder Gerhard Buehning said. “You always had to be ready.”
The ground-ball drill was about two things: communication and heart. Often, he’d be working with fellow midfielder and best friend Chris Mattes against one, two or three offensive players. They’d call out who had the man and who had the ball. If Steve had the man, he would then deliver a hit that would make players avoid him in the next round of the drills.
“You would never want to go against Steve in those drills,” Mattes said. “It wasn’t just that uncontrolled chaos. … He wasn’t just that guy that goes into the drill with his head cut off. He had a plan and a purpose.”
Buehning admitted to circling the Belichick name in his mind when Bill’s son arrived at Rutgers as a recruit. Buehning was one year older and curious about which players might try to steal his playing time. With Steve, Buehning had additional questions.
“You obviously see the last name and you’re like, ‘Wow, I know who that is,’” Buehning said. “Everyone had their opinions coming in about what he was going to be like.”
Steve landed the locker next to Buehning. They became fast friends.
“You could immediately tell he wasn’t one of those who thought his (expletive) didn’t stink, to be frank. You could tell right away — he was more of a salt-of-the-earth kind of guy,” Buehning said. “He always was trying to earn the respect of everybody else through his actions, and not really being like, ‘I’m Bill Belichick’s son. Get out of my way.'”
So in ground ball drills, Steve would get his teammates out of the way and it drew them closer to him. He would plan trips to Famous Dave’s Barbecue, and he would make sure everyone — freshmen and seniors, starters and backups — got an invite. Steve didn’t need a spotlight and wasn’t outspoken — he didn’t need to be seen. He earned the respect of his coaches and teammates, and brought value in his own way: team bonding, film study, an advanced knowledge of defensive schemes and a workmanlike approach on the field. By his junior season, he had earned solid playing time, too. He has made a habit of proving he belonged — especially when there was skepticism. And when your name is Belichick, there’s always skepticism.
“He had the intangibles, and he was going to work hard to prove he could do this,” Stagnitta said. “He had a greater understanding of preparation and what a good teammate looks like. He came from a background of success, and he knew what it took to get there. From that standpoint, his pedigree had something to do with (his recruitment). It was what we thought and what he felt would give him an advantage over the deficiencies that he might have had.”
Being Bill Belichick’s son
Steve wasn’t a coveted lacrosse recruit, but his pedigree helped him land a spot at Rutgers. That’s the story of Steve’s life; he has long benefited from – and struggled with – Bill’s legacy. Today, not even a decade removed from those lacrosse drills, Steve is in the mix to become the Patriots’ defensive coordinator at age 33. How much of his meteoric rise has to do with his surname versus his own merit and work ethic is impossible to untangle. Bill might be the greatest coach in NFL history, and he’s definitely one of the most closely guarded. He did not respond to requests for an interview for this story. Steve, in his limited interaction with the media, is equally reticent to disclose much more than the most generic descriptions of his duties since joining the organization in 2012, after one season as a long-snapper on the Rutgers football team. That said, he’s a fountain of information to those who know him well.
“Maybe you’ll be watching tape or doing something in a staff meeting, and he’ll just lean over and whisper something to you, and it’s so insightful, and you kind of have to think, ‘Man, how come I didn’t see that earlier?’ He doesn’t want any credit,” said New York Giants head coach Joe Judge, who previously served as Patriots special teams coordinator. “Steve’s one of the best guys personnel-wise in understanding how to use guys’ strengths. He’ll stick his head in your office, and maybe he’ll notice what a certain guy is doing and say, ‘Have you thought about using so-and-so on kickoff?’ And he’ll cite (that player’s) skill set on defense and show how it might work on special teams.”
Steve’s role appeared to be significant in 2019, but again, the Patriots don’t disclose his duties beyond the title of safeties coach. The team isn’t ever going to disclose which coach is the red-zone coordinator or the third-down game-planner. But typically, the Patriots make it clear who works as the coordinators — and, in turn, play-callers — in the annual media guide. In 2019, Bill Belichick obscured who was calling plays and running the defense. But it seemed as though Steve received a promotion. And if Steve was a crucial member of the defensive coaching staff with a declining Tom Brady, he’s likely to be even more important without the future Hall of Fame quarterback, who will be a Tampa Bay Buccaneer next season. In 2019, Steve was running meetings with the entire secondary – cornerbacks and safeties – and he was wearing the headset and carrying the play sheet on the sideline during games. You could see, as clear as his mullet, that Steve had more responsibilities than he did in 2018 when Brian Flores was running the defense (also without the title of defensive coordinator).
Belichick has trusted young coaches with significant roles before, such as Josh McDaniels and Judge. But both of them played college football and spent time coaching elsewhere. Steve’s lone football experience besides working for the Patriots came with Greg Schiano, a close friend of his father’s. So questions and doubts about his qualifications have long followed Steve, and the family’s reserved nature means Steve remains mostly a mystery to Patriots fans. His sister, Amanda Belichick, declined to be interviewed for this story. Steve’s brother Brian, a Patriots coaching assistant, and his mother, Debby Clark, could not be reached to discuss the story, either.
Those close to Steve describe a man who has worked tirelessly to earn his way, even though his last name opens doors. “He’s a guy that works 20 hours of the day and 350 days of the year,” Judge said. Being Bill’s son has afforded him 32 years of exposure to the one of the greatest coaches of all time. “He was interested in things that coaches are interested in more than players are,” Stagnitta said, referencing film study and schematic strategy. Being Bill’s son also put Steve on Stagnitta’s recruiting radar. They all met at an intercollegiate lacrosse banquet where Bill was speaking. The people that we spoke to about Steve, including Stagnitta and those on and off the Patriots’ staff, reiterated over and over that Bill was the last man to give his son a pass — and that Steve was the last person to accept it.
“I think it’s tougher for Steve in a lot of ways, because he’s always got to prove that he’s earned it,” Judge said. “Over time, if you can’t demonstrate that you belong in that building, you’re the sore thumb sticking out. And he’s showed time and time again that he’s prepared, he’s very good with the players, he’s got the great, global view of the game, he does a good job schematically. You have to demonstrate value in front of everyone all the time. That’s the thing about that building — and our profession in general — there’s no hiding.”
Steve would hardly be the first coach to enjoy successes, in part, because of his father. It’s relatively common in the NFL. Notably, Kyle Shanahan guided the San Francisco 49ers to the Super Bowl last season — he is the son of Mike Shanahan, who coached the Denver Broncos to two Super Bowl victories. Kyle drove his own path for most of his career, with just four years on his father’s staff. Steve hasn’t. He told me in 2017 that he’ll only ever work for one head coach: his dad. He has said he wants to be his own man. But that feels impossible while he works in New England, where he’ll be viewed primarily as Bill’s son.
Even when speaking with Steve, it’s impossible to get Bill out of your mind. Steve looks a little like him. Most of all, they sound almost identical.
“I’m just me,” Steve said when prodded yet again by the media earlier this year about the fact that he and his father sound so much alike. It’s clearly not something he seems to like being reminded about. Steve admitted his father’s legacy is “the biggest thing” he struggles with.
“It’s hard living in the shadow, but I just try to be myself. I can’t control what you think. I can’t control what anybody else thinks or whose shadow I’m living in or why I got this job,” Steve said. “I just try and go about my business. It’s hard to ignore sometimes. I think I’m just doing myself a disservice if I start thinking about that stuff. I just try and do my thing. I know that that’s going to be coming. It’s going to be coming my whole life. I can’t really run from it.”
He won’t run. He’ll stay with his dad. Steve seems content being a safeties coach — and a son. In a way, they’re catching up on lost time.
From football chores to a Patriots roster without Tom Brady
Steve was born in New Jersey two months after Bill won his first Super Bowl as defensive coordinator for the New York Giants. Steve was 6 when Bill became head coach of the Cleveland Browns, and Steve was a teenager by the time his father took over the Patriots. No matter what job Bill had, it kept him away from home.
“Growing up with your dad as a football coach, you don’t see him as much as you would like to, so it was a total flip of the script,” Steve said. “I went from not seeing him, like once or twice a week, to seeing him too many hours of the day. It took a little adjusting, but I couldn’t be happier to learn from somebody like him.”
Bill seems to feel the same way. He told Sirius XM Radio that it was “really special” to work with his sons, Steve and Brian.
“It’s just — you miss so much as a father because of your schedule and the games that you’re involved with in the NFL, then the kids (are) in school and playing sports and doing stuff, and you just can’t be there for all of it,” Bill said. “Kind of feels like you make up a little bit for it by being able to be involved with them on a little bit later in life level.”
Nevertheless, Bill is tough on his sons. Those around the Belichick family said Bill has thrown additional disadvantages in Steve’s career path to ensure he earned his accomplishments. Though no one specified what obstacles Belichick has placed in Steve’s path.
There’s no doubt Bill prepared Steve for coaching in a way few fathers could. Steve’s chores included football projects — but it wasn’t a chore. He loved it. His work with the Patriots basically started in training camp when he was an eighth-grader. The “Do Your Job” mentality applies to the Belichick family — not just the football organization. With three Belichicks working in New England (Bill, Steve and Brian), the Patriots are a family business. Football is family. There’s no real way to separate one from the other. And coaching comes naturally. Belichick’s daughter, Amanda, is the women’s lacrosse coach at Holy Cross.
“My dad is my role model,” Steve said. “He’s my idol.”
The coaching legacy goes beyond Bill. Stephen Belichick, Steve’s grandfather, spent 34 years as an assistant at the Naval Academy and wrote a book on scouting (“Football Scouting Methods”). Stephen played a key role in Steve’s education of football. And unlike stories about his father, Steve will jump at the opportunity to talk about Stephen. Steve spent hours, for example, repping the long snap with his grandfather in the backyard. And it would come in handy for Steve’s fifth year at Rutgers when he served as the football team’s backup for a season.
“He used to make me long snap in the summers,” Steve told reporters at media night ahead of Super Bowl LI. “Just the two of us for hours, and that’s not one of those drills that you want to be doing for hours. That’s not like running routes and catching passes. It’s shooting balls between your legs and getting light-headed.”
Their lessons wouldn’t stop there. Steve and Stephen would watch football on television, but Stephen didn’t like the television analysis — a trait that seemed to carry down to Bill — so they’d watch games without volume. Of course, that didn’t mean there was silence. Stephen kept Steve engaged with players and concepts to monitor. Stephen was imploring Steve to pay attention to the details; every snap taught a lesson.
By college, Steve was taking after Stephen. He’d sit in his room, shared with Mattes, in what the Rutgers lacrosse players called “The Moon Tower.” For a long while, Mattes would watch and listen. Occasionally, others were allowed in to watch with Steve, who was almost prescient while watching the game.
“Basically, it was what (CBS broadcast analyst) Tony Romo does now,” Buehning said. “He’d be calling the play before it happens. He would see stuff, coverages, and obviously none of us saw it, but you hear him say it.”
That’s when Steve’s college friends grew certain he wanted to be a coach. No one ever really discussed it. It was as inevitable as the Patriots winning the AFC East.
“A lot of times, I was just sitting there. He can’t kick me out of the room,” Mattes said. “But I knew I wasn’t going to talk about — he’ll talk if he wants to talk. … He wouldn’t watch as a fan — he would analyze it. He would watch it, but watch it with a bigger purpose.”
Steve wasn’t involved with the Rutgers football program at this point, nor was he technically involved with the Patriots. He was a quasi-intern during the summers when he’d help at training camp. Still, that’s an oddity in coaching, a career path which typically starts with a college or NFL playing career. But he would drive up for every home game, even with a busy lacrosse and school schedule. Mattes would often accompany him on those drives, and too-often they were overnighters, with Steve and Mattes zipping from Rutgers to Gillette Stadium and back to Rutgers in time for class or practice on Monday after watching the Sunday night game.
Steve grew particularly close with Mattes, a Giants fan, even with Steve’s Rutgers tenure colliding with the Patriots’ two losses to New York in the Super Bowl. A huge portion of the Rutgers lacrosse team was from New Jersey, which meant they were also Giants fans. They did their best to avoid the tension. Mattes said: “We were fans. That’s family.”
“We never said a word to him about those Super Bowls, because, ‘Who cares?’” Mattes said. “It was personal. It was way more personal for him and how much it meant for him. And for us, I think deep down we were rooting for the Patriots, because of how much it meant to him and his family. And there’s a livelihood there.”
In Steve’s fifth year of college, football came clearer into focus. Rutgers football coach Greg Schiano, who Belichick briefly hired as the Patriots’ defensive coordinator, rostered Steve on the Scarlet Knights. He served as the backup long-snapper — even while recovering from a thumb surgery from lacrosse. It’s a little ambiguous about what Steve did that year. When gathering the truth about a Belichick, there is a sense that, at times, no one can get their stories straight. Rutgers teammates Duron Harmon and Devin McCourty have claimed Steve was just another player, but Steve clearly had a role as a quasi-coaching assistant. He was completing tasks that a graduate assistant might train to do, by breaking down film and identifying signals from the sideline during games. He joined the team for just a few months, and wasted no time earning the respect of his peers and superiors. After film sessions with his grandpa and football chores with his dad, Steve had little issue with his work at Rutgers.
“He was doing everything a coach was doing at that time. He was doing what most college students couldn’t do,” said Bob Fraser, a current Rutgers and former Patriots coaching assistant. “How he was able to break down and analyze what the opponent was doing at that young of an age — it was incredible.”
Steve’s unique position created at least one comically uncomfortable situation. The backup long-snapper was allowed to scold his head coach on the sideline during a game, according to Fraser. Schiano, known as a harsh disciplinarian and, frankly, an intimidating presence, was recycling the same hand signals for a call to his players on the field. So Steve walked over to Schiano and smacked him on the arms.
“You need to change up the call,” Steve said to Schiano. Schiano’s hand signals were no longer subtle or secret — he was telegraphing the play to his opponent. Steve noticed that Schiano hadn’t realized what he was doing.
“If you know coach (Schiano), he’s a pretty intense guy,” Fraser said. “So there’s not a whole lot of people who would go up to him and say, ‘Hey coach, you’ve got to change up that call. You’ve used it more than once.’ And that’s the type of guy (Steve) is. That’s the type of leader he is. That’s the type of respect that he commands from the people around him.”
Steve began to show Schiano, Fraser and the rest of the coaching staff what he’d learned from exposure to his father. As Steve proved capable, Schiano built out his workload.
After the Rutgers season, Steve got an interview for his dream job: coaching assistant for the New England Patriots. Steve wouldn’t disclose what was asked and said during that interview. But he found himself doing the Patriots’ grunt work, with film breakdowns. Tedious film breakdowns. Long hours. Little pay.
For seasons, Steve pushed paperwork across his desk and watched from the box during games. He remembered growing frustrated. His ambition was to be on the field with players — his players — as a positional coach. In 2016, Bill promoted Steve to safeties coach, where Steve had a distinct advantage. He would be coaching Harmon and McCourty, both of whom had been Steve’s teammates at Rutgers. They were veterans in New England’s system, and likely helped put Steve at ease in the transition. Since his promotion, Steve has applied a no-nonsense approach.
“Just give the players good information, and make sure it’s right,” Steve said when asked to describe his coaching style. “Don’t try and fill up space and fill up time with bull—-. Just get to the point. Make sure you know what you’re talking about, and give them quality information, because they’re smart enough to use it, if you give them the right tools.”
It sounds a lot like his father’s approach on paper. In the meeting room with his safeties, however, Steve applies a different approach than Bill.
“Steve’s very positive. No matter what, Steve always is going to see the good side of a bad game,” McCourty said. “I think sometimes you see Bill do that, but for the most part, Bill’s going to harp on and crush us on the things that we didn’t do well in a win or a loss. I think that’s really different, even from the organization as a whole from the football side. Steve, he believes in being very positive on things. … That’s his style. That’s what he believes in.”
Good cop: Steve. Bad cop: Bill.
And because Steve is tight with the players, he keeps Bill informed on the vibe in the locker room, a place where a 67-year-old might feel disconnected. Steve is apparently an exception to New England’s rule on coaching stoicism.
Steve’s not just coaching his players. He’s also coaching his peers. In his only year on the Patriots’ staff in 2019, Fraser found himself depending on the young man who was once a backup long snapper. Their roles flipped.
“I’ve learned so much off of him this year. It’s been unbelievable,” Fraser said. “It’s made me such a better coach. I’m just so grateful that I’ve been able to spend so much time with him.”
But of course, we don’t know exactly what Steve has grown into. Safeties coach? For sure. Defensive coordinator? Not by title. Play-caller? For now, no one will say. Perhaps Bill fears the assumptions of nepotism that might come with his son’s promotion or the pressure that comes with the spotlight at a young age. Bill’s methods with Steve aren’t unprecedented. Bill did the same thing with Josh McDaniels when he first took over as play-caller in 2005 at age 30. It’s clear Steve was at least relaying plays in 2019, which means it’s quite possible he was also calling them. The Patriots are also providing Steve with oversight and support, particularly from linebackers coach Jerod Mayo, who may also be in the mix for the defensive coordinator title in 2020 – if the Patriots have one.
It’s clear that while Steve’s role has increased, he’s getting the help he needs. In the Patriots’ stunning Week 17 loss to the Miami Dolphins, Steve spoke into his headset while flanked by Mayo and defensive line coach Bret Bielema. Mayo and Steve, in particular, have been in constant communication on the sideline this season. Bill, meanwhile, was 20 yards away observing the defense at the line of scrimmage and listening to the coaching chatter over his headset.
Later in the game, Bill wandered over to Steve for a look at a tablet, perhaps showing an offensive look that was stumping the Patriots defense. They both saw something — or Steve was double-checking something with his dad.
They yelled into each other’s ears, as Outkast’s “Hey Ya!” blasted over the speakers at Gillette Stadium. Their conversation was probably like listening to a recording of Bill (or Steve) talking to himself. Steve then took a knee to discuss the revelation with his safeties group and a curious Stephon Gilmore, the team’s top cornerback. On the following three defensive snaps, the Dolphins gained just 1 yard and went three-and-out.
Did Bill give Steve a game-changing tidbit? Or did Steve identify it on his own?
There’s no way of knowing who is due credit and blame for the Patriots’ season, which is probably just how Bill wants it. The Patriots’ defense finished the regular season allowing the fewest yards and points in the NFL. New England’s yards allowed per play was tied for lowest in the league. The Patriots forced the fifth-most fumbles (26) and managed the most interceptions (25). In their lone playoff game, the Patriots’ defense allowed 14 offensive points to a Titans team that had averaged 30.4 points per game since starting Ryan Tannehill. Still, Bill’s review of Steve would be enough to sink a restaurant debut or a movie premiere. “I thought the entire team competed, gave their best,” Bill said. “Sometimes it was good enough; sometimes it wasn’t.”
Steve will be 33 when the Patriots’ 2020 season begins. Perhaps by then, New England will have named its next defensive coordinator. After all, Josh McDaniels was 30 years old when he was first named offensive coordinator. Judge was 34 when he took over as the Patriots’ special teams coordinator.
“(Steve) is ready to do whatever he decides to do in this profession,” Fraser said. “If he wants to run a defense for somebody else, if he wants to be a head coach for somebody, he’d be able to do that. He’d be able to do whatever he wants to do. Now, you’d have to ask him what his goals are.”
But that’s the thing: He won’t say exactly what he wants next. He just wants to work to stay tight with his father. Ultimately, Steve seems to be at peace with the burdens of the Belichick name. The physical comparisons — the mannerisms, the voice — are tiresome, but Steve has signed up for this. He wants to be near his father, and he probably wants to be acknowledged for having a similarly brilliant football mind. With the Patriots moving into the post-Tom Brady era, Steve may have no choice but to prove he does. That probably won’t allow Steve the opportunity to do what he has said he so badly wants: be Steve Belichick with no attachments. But it allows him two things: football and family, not that there’s much of a difference.
[vertical-gallery id=82083]