The Belichick-Kraft Farewell Press Conference Was the Ultimate Glass Case of Emotion

How unusual is it for a partnership to break up with a jointly held, public farewell? It's unheard of. As unheard of as two Alphas, two giants in their respective fields of endeavor (such as business and football) not only peacefully coexisting for 24 years, but triumphing. 

These breakups are invariably messy affairs. And it seems the more successful the collaboration was, the messier it gets. Think Jerry Jones and Jimmy Johnson. Mr. Kraft and Bill Parcells. Hall & Oates. Inevitably egos get in the way. Power struggles ensue. Bad blood flows. The two sides fight over who gets the credit. Catty, unflattering things get anonymously leaked to members of the press who are friendly to whichever side of the conflict. These things get ugly, fast. 

But not in this case. This was a couple deciding, to use RKK's word, "amicably." Keeping it respectful, for the sake of us kids. A friendly parting of the ways. With fond remembrances for all the good times. Which, as they said, were better than anyone but those two ever imagined was possible. 

Thankfully, Belichick cut the tension with that "We haven't seen this many cameras since we signed Tebow" icebreaker. I needed that. Then he thanked everybody in the organization, from ownership right on down to the catering staff. Then of course the fans, as his voice broke:

I've been to funerals where I didn't cry. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't sob in that moment like I just had tear gas canisters fired through my window. 

Then came the grand finale. Rockets red glare, bombs bursting in air. When Mr. Kraft broke away for a moment from his written notes for this exchange:

RKK: “I think we’re the only ones who had those expectations. I think it’s safe to say we exceeded them.” 

BB: [Ear to ear grin] “We did.” 

You most certainly did.

Michael Dwyer. Shutterstock Images.

Let me just end here with something I posted earlier on X, but have kept off of here until now. Two personal stories that most of my friends and family know, but I'm not sure I've ever told on Barstool.

My first full day as a WEEI employee was on a "Patriots Monday" in November of 2014. As they always did, the members of the show met at the studio underneath Gillette Stadium. My producer and co-hosts filled my head with how to approach Belichick. "Don't try to joke around with him; he'll shut you down. Don't try to act like you know football; he'll make you look stupid," etc. (Gee, thanks for helping me relax. I'll see if I can fit my questions into that narrow window between the things he'll use to destroy me.) We were on the air when he walked in, sat down, put on the headset and said, "Dale. Michael. Good to see you. And Jerry … It's an HONOR to finally meet you." First day on the job. First time we'd met. He completely disarmed me and from then on could not have been more gracious to a total novice still trying to find his voice on terrestrial radio. I'll never forget it. 

Second was the following season. When I first got copies of From Darkness to Dynasty, we were back at Gillette for training camp. My devoted Irish Rose suggested I give Bill a copy. There was a good chance it would be super awkward if I did, but I brought one anyway, with the idea I'd feel out the situation and see if the opportunity presented itself. Belichick came in studio after  a hard practice and was in no mood. Basically it was him at his monosyllabic best. To the point he dryly joked about how he wasn't giving us anything to work with. (I never minded. Seriously, as long as he was focused on getting his team to win, I didn't care how he answered our stupid, useless questions.) When the segment was over, in my head I quoted Brady's "I didn't come this far just to come this far, and handed him a copy of the book. "Spoiler," I said. "You're in it! And at the end, you win the Super Bowl." And his whole demeanor changed. He smiled and congratulated me. Said it was an accomplishment and thanked me for the copy. Then he left to go do the daily press conference he was running late for.  Two full minutes later, maybe more, he came back in. "If you don't mind," he said. "Can I ask you to sign this for me?" Then apologized because he had to run off to the presser, so asked if I could sign it and bring it back the following week. Which I was grateful for, since my hands had that palsy shake of a kid playing an old man in a school play. When we met again, he opened it live on the air and read what I wrote, "Coach Belichick, Thank you for saving my football team. - Your pal, Jerry Thornton. And he turned and laughed. I know that he's got a football book collection the size of the Library of Alexandria. And the fact one of my goofy, lowest common denominator books is among them, maybe holding up a wobbly table or whatever, is one of my proudest achievements. 

So on that personal note, I want to thank him publicly for all he's done for a struggling artist. It was an HONOR to meet you, Bill.