Many years after his death Bill Shankly’s stark letter of resignation as Liverpool manager was published. Excluding names and addresses and the usual formalities, the body of the text ran to a 31-word sentence, without context or explanation.
“I would like to retire as manager of Liverpool Football Club as soon as possible,” it read, “and would be grateful if you would take the necessary steps for my pension to commence.”
Only weeks after Liverpool had won the 1974 FA Cup there had been no whisper of Shankly’s intention. The typed note, on light brown stationery, landed in the office of the Liverpool chairman like a meteorite. Letters had that power once.
Over the previous 15 years Shankly had dragged Liverpool from the old Second Division and laid the foundations of an empire. But he was only 60 years of age when he tendered his resignation, and he quickly regretted the decision.
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He was given the courtesy of leading out Liverpool at Wembley in the Charity Shield at the beginning of the following season, but Bob Paisley had been promoted from the boot room as the new manager by then and Shankly was struggling to let go. When preseason training started Shankly turned up at Melwood, Liverpool’s training facility, almost as if nothing had changed. The players still called him “boss,” out of habit and deference.
Eventually it was made clear to Shankly that he was no longer welcome at Melwood, triggering a coldness between him and the club that was never satisfactorily resolved in the remaining eight years of Shankly’s life. It was said that he pictured himself performing the upstairs role that Matt Busby had fashioned at Manchester United after he departed the dugout, but Liverpool didn’t share that vision. Maybe Liverpool had no stomach for the kind of meddling influence Busby had become at Old Trafford.
The error of judgment that Shankly made, though, was rare among leaders in sport: he finished too soon. The agency to leave on your own terms is only available to the most successful managers; everybody else is browbeaten by bad runs or dressing rooms they can no longer inspire. To time it perfectly, though, the sweet spot must be tiny: the bullseye on a dart board.
Staying too long is the common mistake. All of the great managers have the facility to spot a player in decline and act decisively, but when they look in the mirror they often can’t see so clearly. Bill Belichick is trapped by that failing now.
His hapless fall has been the most gripping subplot of the NFL season. Belichick has been the dominant coach in American football this century, and one of the greatest coaches of all time, but the New England Patriots have won just two of their 10 games and are sitting plumb bottom of the AFC East division.
After they were beaten 10-6 by the Indianapolis Colts in Germany eight days ago, there was speculation that the Patriots’ owner, Robert Kraft, would wield the axe, especially since the Patriots had a bye week. Instead, it looks like Belichick will be allowed to ride out the demolition derby until the end of the season.
That has nothing to do with sentiment, or gratitude for the six Superbowls that Belichick has delivered for the franchise. It is a business decision. The common belief is that Belichick will have job offers for next season, and that, in his 72nd year, he will still want to work. If the Patriots don’t sack him now, Kraft will be in line for compensation from Belichick’s next employers.
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The reversal in Belichick’s fortune has been spectacular since Tom Brady left Foxborough at the end of 2019. In that time the Patriots have won just 27 games and lost 33. It has been a banquet for the Belichick-deniers, only too happy to conclude that he would have won nothing in the first place without his Hall of Fame quarterback.
Such conclusions are crass. During their long peak Belichick and Brady had a symbiotic and mutually sustaining relationship, just like Alex Ferguson and Roy Keane did, and Brian Cody and Henry Shefflin. None of those relationships are in a good state now, but when they needed each other, they didn’t have eyes for anybody else.
By the time Belichick and Brady won their last Super Bowl together in 2019, they were no longer on speaking terms outside of team business, but they still knew what they could get from each other; that was enough.
Around the NFL there is no sympathy for Belichick. For many years he has been characterised as the most hated person in the league. Stretching back to the Spygate scandal of 2007, Belichick and the Patriots have been associated with a spectrum of disreputable behaviour, from sharp practice to outright cheating. Hard-headed brilliance, tactical ingenuity and smart regeneration of the playing roster existed on a parallel track, if you were inclined to be impressed.
As you can imagine, Belichick’s suffering has instigated a wave of Schadenfreude and cruel delight. He never courted anybody’s affection, inside the tent or outside it. Winning justified everything.
For Belichick now there is no easy way out. Brady went to Tampa Bay and won a valedictory Super Bowl, against the odds, and without his Svengali. Belichick stayed at Foxborough and the team rotted from the inside, like a piece of fruit.
He has been subjected to the wire-brush of revisionism, much of it opportunistic and disposable. He must feel it, though. He must think he needs to do something else now, something extraordinary, without Brady.
But how? And where? Building a new dynasty at Foxborough is not an option, and none of the teams who might find him an attractive proposition for next season will have the tools to win a Super Bowl straight off the bat, or anytime soon. Would it be enough to deliver a winning season for a losing franchise?
The general conclusion is that Belichick’s greatness is in his past. In a museum, behind glass. Did he miss the sweet spot to get out? That’s not how the great sportspeople think. Ferguson believed he could win more trophies without Keane; Cody believed he could win more All-Irelands after Shefflin. Belichick is certain that his greatness stands alone, independent of Brady.
For the last phase of his career, though, he will be scratching around for some kind of new validation. Another way to satisfy his greatness. Too late? You tell him.
