When Tom Brady entered the 2005 NFL season as lead quarterback for the New England Patriots, the defending Super Bowl champions, he was hailed as the best to ever play the position. And with good reason: he was the youngest quarterback to ever win a Super Bowl; the only quarterback in NFL history to win three Super Bowls before turning twenty-eight; the fourth player in history to win multiple Super Bowl MVP awards. He started the season with a 57–14 record, the best of any NFL quarterback since 1966.
Award-winning sports journalist Charles P. Pierce's Moving the Chains explains how Brady reached the top of his profession and how he stays there. It is a study in highly honed skills, discipline, and making the most of good fortune, and is shot through with ironiesa sixth-round draft pick turned superstar leading a football dynasty that was once so bedraggled it had to play a home game in Birmingham, Alabama, because no stadium around Boston would have it. It is also about an ordinary man and an ordinary team becoming extraordinary. Pierce interviewed Brady's friends, family, coaches, and teammates. He interviewed Brady (notably for Sports Illustrated's 2005 Sportsman of the Year cover article). And then he got the one thing he needed to truly take Brady's measure: 2005 turned out to be the toughest Patriots season in five years.
|Publisher:||Farrar, Straus and Giroux|
|Edition description:||First Edition|
|Product dimensions:||5.50(w) x 8.50(h) x 0.64(d)|
About the Author
On the staff of The Boston Globe Sunday Magazine and a regular panelist on NPR's It's Only a Game, Charles P. Pierce has written for, among others, Sports Illustrated, GQ, and Esquire. He is the author of two books.
Read an Excerpt
Moving the ChainsTom Brady and the Pursuit of Everything
By Pierce, Charles P.
Farrar, Straus and GirouxCopyright © 2006 Pierce, Charles P.
All right reserved.
Two Drives, Three Faces
The instructor was not optimistic. He was looking at a roomful of knuckleheads.
There were a couple of hockey players, and there were four or five baseball players--always the worst, a sense of entitlement on them as thick as pine tar on a bat. There were a handful of football players. There even were ten unsuspecting students unaffiliated with any of the university's teams. This was a composition class at the University of Michigan, but it was stratifying by attitude into an unruly homeroom from some god-awful high school in the land of Beavis and Butt-head.
The instructor wasn't theorizing from the faculty lounge, sherry and contempt dripping from his lips. Eight years earlier, he'd been one of them, a scholarship offensive lineman, a grunt in the service of Big Blue, a cog in an athletic combine that had entertained more than 40 million people since the first Wolverine team went 1–0–1 in 1879. He'd sat in classes like this. He had bullied the teachers. He had blown off the reading. He'd been a dumb jock. Looking back, he thought himself a thug.
Elwood Reid was a football apostate. He'd come to Michigan from the same high school in Cleveland that produced Elvis Grbac, a quarterback who'd thrown for 6,480 yards at Michigan and had helped win the 1993 Rose Bowl over Washington before moving on to a career in the NFL. Reid arrived in Ann Arbor bursting with words and ideas, and they'd proven to be stronger in him than the pull of a sport that seemed to have little use for either one. A sport that had left him, as he put it in a magazine piece years after leaving Michigan, "with this clear-cut of a body."
Ultimately, Reid would turn his years at Michigan into a novel, If I Don't Six. It was a roman for which no clef was necessary. Its hero, named Elwood Riley, is a freshman offensive lineman at Michigan with a jones for Marcus Aurelius. His gradual disillusionment with football is the story's arc.
"They don't show the bumps and bruises on television," the fictional Elwood Reid says at one point, "or the long practices, cortisone needles as big as tenpenny nails, the yelling, and hours of boring film meetings where you watch the same play a dozen times until the coach feels that when you go home and close your eyeballs, the play's going to be running on the back of your eyelids."
So Reid knew what he was looking at in his classroom full of knuckleheads. He was looking at a kind of fun-house mirror in time, where the years bent and showed him the reflection of the person football had tried to make of him. The person he'd never be.
Reid noticed the skinny quarterback right off. He didn't dress the way the other jocks did--a style that could generously be described as workout casual. The quarterback was polite. He was sincere. "He'd read the material that I didn't give a shit about in that class when I took it," Reid recalls.
What was even more interesting to Reid was the reaction of the other jocks in the class. He'd seen the really heartbreaking ones--the ones who established their own territory through a kind of armored ignorance. Not only did they not do the reading, but they were also conspicuously proud that they hadn't, and openly contemptuous of anyone who had. "They make fun of you," Reid muses. "That's the way they cull you from the herd."
The quarterback was different. He spoke differently. He even brought his books to class. Reid figured that the knuckleheads would eat him alive. He thought, at best, the quarterback would get himself a reputation around Ann Arbor as a kind of dropback Eddie Haskell. At worst, he'd get his ass kicked, literally and figuratively, for the rest of his college career.
For good and ill, football is a great leveler. In no other sport is the balance between personal achievement and collective accomplishment so exquisitely delicate. In no other sport is the conflict between the two so consistently volatile. In football, it's a dangerous business to stand out in the wrong way.
To Reid's surprise, even the most disruptive guys in the class did more than leave the quarterback alone. They seemed to look up to him. In fact, they seemed to look up to him more because he wasn't following their lead. "The pull of the pack is to act a certain way," Reid says. "And he wouldn't do it. He took things seriously, and he was very gracious, so I figured, here was a guy who was going to go through the [football] program and then go find a life for himself.
"I said to myself, look at this guy. I'm going to help this guy. I want to open his eyes. So I made sure he read all the essays. I was a little harder on him than I was on the other guys. I told him to pay attention in class, because that's the thing that I didn't do."
Five years later, in 2002, the skinny quarterback led the New England Patriots to a shocking win in the Super Bowl over the St. Louis Rams. Two years later, he did it again, this time over the Carolina Panthers. The next year, he did it a third time, defeating the Philadelphia Eagles. He became football's biggest star. He became celebrated for his ability to stand out at the top of his profession while maintaining an almost fundamentalist belief in being a teammate.
It was very strange to see played out on a vast stage the same thing that had happened in that classroom full of knuckleheads, thought Elwood Reid. It was very strange to see what had become of the kid who always brought his books to class and who never was given any shit about it, even from the people who--whether they knew it or not--already were dedicating their lives to giving shit to people about things like that. Because there was something about him that connected. Because there was something about this Brady character that was real.
"I remember that class," Tom Brady said, leaning against a fence one summer's day, as the New England Patriots rounded into the last weeks of training camp before the 2005 season. They had won two consecutive Super Bowls and were preparing to try to win their third, securing the team's place even more firmly as one of the greatest in the history of the National Football League, and Brady even more firmly in the ranks of the league's greatest quarterbacks.
Over the previous four years, Brady had been the Patriots' starting quarterback, and, in two of the three Super Bowls that they'd won, he'd been the Most Valuable Player. In that time, the team won twenty-one consecutive regular-season games, an NFL record. This success was all the more remarkable given the history of the Patriots, once so lost and bedraggled a franchise that they were forced to play a home game in Birmingham, Alabama, because no stadium around Boston would have them.
Now, though, the team drew thousands of people just to watch it train at its facility outside Gillette Stadium in Foxborough, an otherwise sleepy little town south of Boston, just about on the upper bicep where Massachusetts flexes itself into Cape Cod. They showed up, in the height of the high summer, more than 52,000 of them a week, to watch football practice, which, on its most exciting day, can fairly be said to make the main reading room of the Boston Public Library look like Mardi Gras.
They showed up, and the young girls screamed for Tom Brady the same way the fifty-year-old men did, except the pitch was higher. On the field, the team moved through its drills, grouped by position and then all together. Whenever a player, or a group of players, made a mistake, he had to run a lap around the entire field. When the various miscreants passed a grassy knoll that rises behind one end zone of the practice field, the fans sprawled thickly on the grass gave the passing screwups a standing ovation. Nothing the New England Patriots did was wrong, not even the things that were, well, wrong.
Unlike basketball, where people scrimmage, or baseball's spring training, which involves playing actual games, nobody who comes to football training camp actually sees anyone play a game of football. "When I was playing lacrosse in high school," the New England head coach, Bill Belichick, once recalled, "I couldn't wait for practice because I got to play lacrosse. Football practice isn't like that." Instead, football players train in crushing heat in order to perform in shattering cold. They toughen themselves for December in August. People come to training camp in order to see the players, not the game itself. It is a festival of individual attention before the season begins and the personalities of the players are subsumed by the team and by the grind.
Brady came over to the fence to discuss a book--this one, to be precise. Earlier this spring, he'd signed a six-year contract extension for $60 million. He'd hosted Saturday Night Live, where not only did he sing, but he also performed a skit in his underwear. He was dating a movie star. He was at the top of his profession. He was twenty-six years old.
He is a substantial presence, six-four and 225 pounds, almost 30 pounds heavier than when he sat in Elwood Reid's class at Michigan. (On page 156 of the 2005 Michigan football media guide, there is a picture of Brady, cocking his arm to throw. He appears to be wearing his big brother's jersey.) He favors the actor Matt Damon a little, but he has a Kirk Douglas cleft in his chin. More to the point, there is about him a genuine sense of the present. He has that gift for which the average politician would gladly sell the portion of his soul not yet sublet by lobbyists--the ability to make the person he is talking to feel as though the rest of the world has fallen away and there is only this one conversation happening anywhere. Asked a relatively simple question--"Do you mind having a book written about you?"--he didn't fall into easy cliché. His answer was subtle, and just worldly enough to be interesting.
"To tell you the truth," Brady said, "there's only one real problem I have with this. I don't know if I'm old enough for a book like this."
It's not a simple answer. It's an answer with some thought--and, therefore, some substance--behind it. It's an answer indicating that, despite his accomplishments, and despite all the extraneous celebrity sugar that's come his way, he will not be completed on anyone's terms but his own. In his answer, there's a glimpse of something restless in Tom Brady, something visceral that resists summing up, something that insists on the primacy and integrity of an individual journey. But it is an interesting answer. In fact, it is just interesting enough to make sure that the project moves forward. It's an answer that moves the chains.
Each chain is precisely ten yards long. There's an upright at either end. There is also a third upright with numbers on it. The uprights are called the "sticks." The officials who keep the uprights that are connected by a chain are called the "rod men." The official who keeps the other upright, which is called the "down indicator box," is called the "box man." Across the field are auxiliary chains and sticks, and auxiliary rod men and box men, so that players can look at either sideline and determine the state of play.
When a football team makes a first down, one rod man plants his stick in the ground parallel to where the ball has been placed. The other rod man extends the chain to indicate to the team (and the spectators) how far they have to go to another first down. Once a team passes that second stick, it gains a first down and the chains move. The object of any offense is to keep the chains moving.
It's within the movement of the chains that football finds its soul. It's within the movement of the chains that football players see most clearly how they are bound together. When an offense is moving the chains, it keeps its defense off the field, rested and ready, while exhausting the defense of the other team. When an offense is moving the chains, its success is easily defined in calibrated achievements, ten yards at a time, one after another after another again. Each player gains confidence--in himself and in what comes to be seen as an inexorable whole. This confidence can become an almost physical force--something Newtonian, like gravity or inertia: "An offense in motion tends to stay in motion, except when acted upon by an equal or opposite force, which is usually a linebacker with blood in his eye." In fact, an offense relentlessly moving the chains is often said to be going "downhill." The constant progress shortens the game. "Time of possession" is one of the most beloved statistics among football coaches. Moving the chains bends time itself to a team's will.
Tom Brady moves the chains. It's the first thing the New England Patriots and their coaches saw in him, back in 2000, when he was a sixth-round draft pick--and a fourth-string quarterback--directing the scout team with players who hadn't been around long enough yet to be considered castoffs. The scout team's job is to simulate the offense of the upcoming opponent. However, after practice, Brady and the scout team would practice the New England offense. He led, and they went with him. "They'd go through the plays, and, if somebody got something wrong, he'd correct them," recalls Belichick. "You could see them getting better. They moved on you."
Almost two years later, in the Superdome in New Orleans, playing with the starters in the biggest game of his life, at the end of a very strange football season, Tom Brady moved all the chains, literally and figuratively, transforming the Patriots and changing his life. By the end of the day, he had produced a remarkable upset that had marked a beleaguered franchise with an entirely new identity, one that resonated deeply with a country still freshly wounded, and Brady instantly personified all the change he'd helped to engineer. Along with his team, he stepped into strange new territory.
In the early evening of February 2, 2002, the Patriots were sitting on their own 17-yard line, tied at 17–17 with the heavily favored St. Louis Rams with 1:21 left in regulation time. Their defense, which had smacked the velocity out of the Ram offense all evening, was literally on its last legs, having just surrendered a touchdown on which at least one pursuing New England defender simply collapsed as though the air had gone out of him.
The smart play was to let the clock run and take a chance on winning in overtime. In fact, John Madden was recommending that very thing on national television while Brady, Belichick, and the offensive coordinator, Charlie Weis, huddled on the sideline. "It was a ten-second conversation," Weis recalls. "What we said is we would start the drive, and, if anything bad happened, we'd just run out the clock."
Belichick and Weis agreed that the Patriots should try to win the game immediately--in part because of the exhausted state of their defense, but mainly because they knew that, even if he didn't get the team a chance to win, Brady was not likely to make a mistake that would cost them the game.
The bare-bones play-by-play does not do justice to what happened next. Consider the play described as: "2-10 NE 41 (:29) T. Brady pass to T. Brown ran OB at SL 36 for 23 yards (D. McCleon, Little) Pass 14, Run 9." Brady hit receiver Troy Brown with a pass that Brown carried twenty-three yards down to the St. Louis 36-yard line before being forced out of bounds.
What's missing is the moment on the previous play that made this one possible. Brady read a blitz by a St. Louis linebacker and threw the ball away. ("T. Brady pass incomplete," says the official record.) What's missing is the fact that Brady noticed that St. Louis had rushed only three of their defensive linemen, dropping a defensive tackle into pass coverage, the way he'd seen them do it on all that film with which he'd seared his eyeballs over the previous week. What's missing is how he bought enough time for Brown to "clear" the unwieldy defensive tackle and get free, how Brady took a tiny, instinctive step up in the pocket to avoid an onrushing lineman whom he felt more than he saw, enabling him to find Brown for the completion.
"There are a lot of little things that go into it," says Bill Belichick, whose occasionally terse commentary can make the official play-by-play read like Finnegans Wake.
The movement is missing. There's no sense of constant forward motion, or of the burgeoning confidence that was its primary accelerant. Two plays later, with seven seconds left, Brady "spiked" the ball, deliberately tossing it to the ground in order to stop the clock so that New England would have time to kick the winning field goal. In this situation, most quarterbacks simply slam the ball to the turf and walk off the field.
However, on this occasion, Brady bounced the ball gently, caught it, and handed it to the official. ("T. Brady pass incomplete" reads the play-by-play sheet again.) Up in the luxury suites, Robert Kraft, the owner of the Patriots and the man who had redeemed the franchise from its history as one of the greatest screwball comedy acts in the history of professional sports, was stunned by the coolness of the gesture. On the next play, Adam Vinatieri came on and won the game for New England with a 48-yard field goal.
Excerpted from Moving the Chains: Tom Brady and the Pursuit of Everything by Charles P. Pierce. Copyright 2006 by Charles P. Pierce. Published in October 2006 by Farrar, Straus and Giroux, LLC. All rights reserved.
Excerpted from Moving the Chains by Pierce, Charles P. Copyright © 2006 by Pierce, Charles P.. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
INTRODUCTION - TWO DRIVES, THREE FACES,
PART I - THE PROBLEM WITH METAPHORS,
1 - ON THE AVENUE OF THE FLEAS,
2 - THE BIG HOUSE,
3 - AN INSTINCT FOR COMMUNION,
PART 2 - THE UNIVERSE OF QUARTERBACKS,
4 - THE CLOWN COLLEGE,
5 - OTHER VOICES, OTHER LOCKERS,
6 - THE CONGRESSMAN'S TAILGATE,
PART 3 - A TOUGH TIME TO GO SLEDDING,
7 - TREATMENT DAYS,
8 - BUNKER MAN,
9 - ENDGAMES,
NOTE ON SOURCES,
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
This is one of the best books I have read. You truely understand why Tom Brady is one of the Greatest QBs ever. I would also recommend reading Never Give Up, which Tedy Bruschi wrote.
Since Tom Brady was a little kid he always loved, sitting down every Sunday and watching Joe Montana play for the 49¿ers. His family would even wear 49¿ers jerseys to church on Sunday, so they could go directly to their tailgating party. After the game was over Tom, would go home and watch the game repeatedly seeing how Joe Montana was so good under pressure. Everyone thought Tom Brady would be a baseball prodigy. On the diamond, Tom was a right-handed power hitter, and a rocket-armed catcher. Tom had six athletic sisters to share the spotlight. Brady and his sisters attended the same high school as Barry Bonds. Tom could not ignore his first passion, football. During the summer, Tom would go work on his quarterback skills with USC¿s quarterback coach. When Tom decided where to go to college USC would not take him. After many visits, to many colleges Tom decided The Bighouse (Michigan University) was the right fit for him. The four years at Michigan added fuel to Tom¿s already burning passion. The coaching staff the recruited him left when Tom arrived, and now Tom had to acclimate himself to new head coach Lloyd Carr. Four years of being over-looked could not plague Tom Brady. His senior year he led Michigan to a BCS bowl bid victory. After that year he entered the NFL Draft and ended up being taken in the sixth round (some say he is the best 199th pick in the Draft ever) to the New England Patriots. The only question now is how would this young skinny overlooked quarterback fair in football¿s biggest stage? This book was a very good book because it took a dive into Tom Brady¿s past through his eyes. All the frustrations he has had beyond football had gone unnoticed until now. My only dislikes is that the author has a lot of unneeded information, and he uses many big words. Most guys would enjoy this book because it goes into what happens behind the scenes in the NFL. It shows just how hard it is to play every week in the NFL. Overall, This was a very good book.
This is up there with the best sports books I have ever read. It is not only about Tom Brady and the Patriots but about everyday life situations.
Wonderful book about Tom Brady, QB for the New England Patriots. Looks at his family and the influences they had on him. Follows him through high school and college. Tells the story of how he had to overcome adversity and work hard for everything. Looks at his accomplishments, but also at what makes him tick, and who he is. Explores the differences and similarities of the public persona and the real person. Also goes into much of his Patriot's experience.Very positive, quick read, well written.
So glad broncos won the super bowl
Mr. Pierce goes into very much detail describing Brady's family background , insight into what makes him tick both on and off the field . He also takes you behind the image of both of his family life and his personality that Brady himself has tried to keep to himself away from the media. I found this book very insightful and unknown stories about Tom Brady and how he became one of the best quarterbacks in the NFL.
Hope the pats win also a good book about tom
Tjus us a book for peoplw eho like the patriots i knoe i do please read this nook its awsome
I really like the patriots and i bought this book. It has everything about tom brady. This book is the best
Its skylar again i wanted to say ur rite i shoukd be my self but i want to say he like me and im waiting for his mov thanks for the advice :) also like i said good book
Tom brady baby!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I love this book because its a great book report book
I dont recimend this book. Tom Brady is not a good role model at all. All u could ever learn from this book is now to play foot ball or make a touch down. But Tim Tebow is a good role model he is a firm believer in God and shows it which is what we should all do. He shows good sports manship. When have u ever seen him get angery in a game? Our country needs God and Tim Tebow is our disiple
Tebow is better. Ik he lost butt his coaches dont give him a chance to throw it
I have never read this book. It stinks
Call me awesome this man is the best quaterback in the world. hope he wins the super bowl this year. By the way call me. BRENDAN VINE