Over the last few weeks I’ve written some articles alluding to the slight case of doubt I've been feeling about some of Coach Belichick's decisions, and it’s not a mid-season anxiety attack or a nine-game itch. This has actually been an unfolding fruit-roll-up of nerves that has played out within me over several years. It’s not so much a matter of the two losses to the Steelers and the Giants, but it’s the two losses in conjunction with a blown Super Bowl and three seasons without a playoff win. Reflecting back to some of my articles-in-question, I found a common theme in my criticism of Bill, and it was a lack of urgency in his demeanor. Of course Bill’s Buster Keaton impersonation has sorta been his hallmark for a decade now, so that’s nothing new. In some ways, it's why we love him. But looking at it through the prism of disappointing seasons, it's somehow different. A nonchalant-by-nature coach who doesn’t panic has a knack for inspiring a sense of calm in his fans, but that same attribute can flip on a dime and just as easily convey a sense of apathy and instill a feeling of dread.
So that got me thinking about the ideal demeanor of a head coach. How should one act? Is there a proper etiquette? Or a specific attitude that inspires a greater confidence in his fans and players? Doc Rivers stands and Phil Jackson sits. Which do you prefer? Sean Payton doesn’t complain much and Tom Coughlin never stops complaining. Does any of this matter? Maybe not. Every coach I just named has a championship to his name, so clearly they’re all doing something correctly. But the discrepancies remain, and the fans are kinda forced to chug-along with the overly-animated or totally expressionless captains leading the train down the track. But losing can really alter the look of a good run. Something placid and sedated -- like Belichick’s face -- is completely inspiring when the Patriots are winning three Super Bowls. But when we lose to the Jets in the second round of the playoffs, it’s completely concerning. Hence, the coaching paradox.
A few weeks ago, when I was knee-deep in my blue Belichick funk and wishing he’d show some emotional urgency, something happened: Handshake-Gate. And thinking back to that over-hyped and talked-to-death story, I can recall how glad I was that Jim Schwartz wasn’t the head coach of my team, because his kind of emotional fragility isn’t the kind of leadership that belongs anywhere near the Patriots or the Celtics or the Bruins or the Red Sox. And I also remember thinking how annoying Jim Harbaugh was getting. I remember being equally as grateful for not having Harbaugh as a coach as I was for not having Schwartz. And that’s the revealing truth in the coaching paradox: stone-faced coaches seem brilliant when they’re winning and detached when they’re losing, and overly-emotional coaches seem passionate when they’re losing and irritating when they’re winning. It's a messy dilemma, and the Coach of the Year award simply goes to the guy who navigates this muddy path better than the other 31 fellas hacking through the same jungle.
In other words, this guy:
