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day—and talk
about football.
    Belichick was their driver on the way to the
office. He was also in charge of film breakdowns, meticulously charting each
play by down, formation, motion, and field position. His father, Steve, an
assistant football coach for the U.S. Naval Academy Midshipmen, always believed
that to be the best way to learn football. Belichick helped run the scout team
and assisted with special teams. The only thing he didn’t do was game plans. He
was so good at what he did that his salary was doubled after training
camp.
    So now he was up to $2,400 a year—before taxes. He didn’t
mind the scant salary. Anyway, watching his father had taught him how to handle
money. Steve Belichick didn’t believe in credit and never bought anything on
it. His philosophy was that you had the money or you didn’t. And when the elder Belichick had it, he bought a piece of Annapolis
land for $5,000 and built a $29,500 house on top of it. The Belichicks—Steve,
Jeanette, and Bill—moved into the house when Bill was six years old. Bill’s
money was fine during the Colts’ 10–4 regular season. But something had to
change after the play-offs, when Baltimore was eliminated by the dominant
Steelers, 28–10.
    There would be no Howard Johnson’s in the
off-season. Which also meant that Marchibroda’s car wouldn’t be there to drive.
Belichick was going to need a local apartment, a car, or both to keep the job.
Marchibroda wanted him to stay, but general manager Joe Thomas said the team
couldn’t come up with an apartment, a car, or more money. These were the new
Colts, owned by a man Baltimoreans would come to despise. His name was Robert
Irsay. The Colts had traded Johnny Unitas and Mike Curtis, they had begun
lobbying for a new stadium, and they couldn’t find a way to keep a promising
twenty-three-year-old coach on staff. Thomas even told Belichick to wait tables
in the off-season because there wasn’t much else a coach could do all winter
until the first days of spring.
    Thomas was wrong, of course, and a
head coach named Rick Forzano knew it. Belichick called the Detroit Lions
looking for a job, and Forzano offered this deal: $10,000 a year with a 1976
Thunderbird included. The kid needed a car? Well, the kid needed to work for
the team that was owned by the Fords. Belichick did some work as an advance
scout, coached tight ends, coached receivers, and spent a lot of time listening
to the Lions’ defensive coaches. Jerry Glanville was working with the
linebackers; Fritz Shurmur’s group was the defensive line; Jim Carr, “one of
the top defensive coordinators at that time,” was in the secondary; and Floyd Reese was assigned to the special-teamers.
The offense had Joe Bugel and Ken Shipp, who had coached Joe Namath and John
Riggins with the New York Jets.
    “An all-star staff,” Belichick
says.
    Some Detroit coaches would talk with Steve Belichick and
report, “Your kid is something special. He’s really unbelievable.” The father
would say then the same thing he says now: “Thanks. But he’s never been accused
of being a dummy.” Forzano didn’t get to witness the professional growth of
Belichick for long, though. The team started 1–3 in ’76, with all the losses to
NFC Central teams, and Tommy Hudspeth became the coach. The Lions finished with
back-to-back 6–8 seasons when Belichick was there. He was forced to leave his
job and his Thunderbird after the ’77 season.
    He was four months
away from his twenty-sixth birthday. He was unemployed. And he had been
recently married to his friend from Annapolis High, an attractive young woman
named Debby Clarke. Bill and Debby were married under the golden dome of the
Naval Academy’s chapel. They had their reception on campus as well, in the same
hall where their prom had been held. They spent 1978 in Denver before moving
back to the East Coast in 1979.
    “By the time I got through with
those four years, I felt I had been around the block on a lot of