Bill Belichick as the head Tar Heel. Something’s gotta give.
The Chapel Hill hiring that no one saw coming is the football equivalent to one of those old black-and-white films of two locomotives crashing head on. Or some reality-stretching experiment set up by scientists, the immovable object and irresistible force pitted against one another in order to take a peek into the total unknown. When Lieutenant General Leslie Groves asks Robert Oppenheimer, “Are we saying there’s a chance that when we push that button, we destroy the world?”
The NFL GOAT and Rameses the Ram. When they clack their horns in the middle of an open tobacco field, which of their very weighty, very opposite football pasts will prevail by pushing over the other?
Can the greatness of the gridiron genius in the hoodie finally unlock the long-puzzling, long-elusive potential of Franklin Street football? Or will the bottomless tar pits of the Tar Heels’ football history consume Belichick like they have everyone who has preceded him, going back to the school’s first game, a 6-4 loss to Wake Forest in 1888.
Belichick, 72, is, by any measure, one of the greatest coaches in the history of football, believed by many to be the best to ever wet an NFL whistle. He owns eight Super Bowl rings, six as head coach, along with the NFL head coaching records for Super Bowl appearances (nine), playoff appearances (19, tied), playoff wins (31) and division titles (17). His 333 wins (including playoffs) trail only Don Shula. He is so revered that he has served as a confidant and mentor to the man considered the modern measuring stick for college football coaching greatness, Nick Saban.
But Belichick’s closest brush with college coaching was as a kid, when he attended practices and watched film alongside his father, Steve, a 33-year assistant coach at Navy. Belichick was born in Nashville in 1952, when his dad was on the staff at Vanderbilt. The next year, the family moved to Chapel Hill while Steve coached three seasons as North Carolina’s running backs coach. That’s it. No actual college coaching. Just watching.
Now, he is on to Cincinnati … er, sorry, back to Carolina. And when one pivots their eyes from the résumé of the coach to the résumé of the place where he shall now be the coach, another movie quote comes to mind, and it’s from a North Carolinian, Ricky Bobby: “Everything cool that was just said, you wrecked it.”
The reckless reality of UNC football is that the only rankings it has ever topped are when people compile their lists of “schools that should be great at football but aren’t.”
The Heels began playing football 136 years ago and have eight conference championships to show for it. Their last ACC ring came in 1980, when Lawrence Taylor was still dressed in Carolina blue. LT turns 66 in February. Since the ACC championship game came into being two decades ago, the Heels have made two appearances, in 2015 and 2022, and lost both times to Clemson.
They have participated in 38 bowl games but have lost 23 of them, including 11 of their last 14, and have run onto the field for a January bowl only seven times — and just once this century. Their greatest postseason triumph was probably the 1981 Gator Bowl, when they held off a rainy rally by Lou Holtz’s Arkansas Razorbacks. Then again, it might be their 2010 Music City Bowl win over Tennessee, not because of the final score but because that’s the game that led to clock runoff rules being instituted. What a legacy.
This is a program that produced Dre Bly, Julius Peppers, Greg Ellis, last year’s No. 3 NFL draft pick Drake Maye and one of the greatest old running backs to ever lace up the cleats, two-time Heisman Trophy runner-up Charlie “Choo Choo” Justice. But it is also a program that has produced only seven 10-win seasons, and only one since 1997.
The state of North Carolina is packed with high school football talent. The UNC brand is one that is genuinely global (thanks, MJ!). In recent years, the school has even made a long-needed course correction when it comes to football facilities and upgrades, with the christening of a nearly $50 million football HQ and the upfitting of always-beautiful-but-usually-sad Kenan Stadium. And yet, Belichick is the team’s third head coach in eight seasons.
In 2012, spicy Larry Fedora and his high-tempo offense were supposed to inject full-throttle energy into the program while also sprinting away from embarrassing, years-long improper benefits and academic fraud investigations. The Heels won 11 games in 2015 and were ranked 10th in the final CFP poll, but three years later Fedora was gone.
Fedora’s replacement was Mack Brown, back for a second stint (see: that 1997 success before he bolted for Texas), coming off the bench from ESPN. The arc of the Brown 2.0 era looks similar to Fedora’s, as it was for most of the coaches who came before him, a promising peak in the middle followed by an exit out the back door. From 2020 to 2023, Brown’s Heels were routinely climbing into the top 10 by midseason, but by December were routinely slipping out of the top 25 altogether.
Time after time, would-be saviors have been brought to Chapel Hill charged with waking the sleeping giant. Heck, the staff that Belichick’s father served on was led by George Barclay, the Heels’ first-ever first-team All-American, called home to put a spark into his alma mater’s team in 1953, the ACC’s inaugural season. He went 11-18-1 over three years, unable even to replicate his success at his previous stop, Washington & Lee.
Meanwhile, fans of Tar Heels football have been forced to watch every other team in the state have their own eras of success while they settled for another so-so season. East Carolina set NCAA offensive receiving records. Appalachian State won FCS titles and captured the imagination of America with wins at Michigan and Texas A&M. Wake Forest won the ACC in 2006. NC State has won 13 of its last 18 games against Carolina, including the last four. Last fall, Duke hosted “College Gameday.” Duke!
“The place has a ceiling. Just how it is,” a former UNC assistant coach said via text Wednesday morning as the world waited to see if Belichick was taking the job, adding after a long pause of typing dots: “Throw a Hail Mary. Why not? If it doesn’t work, no one will care. They just want to beat Duke.”
The last sentence of his text was punctuated by a basketball emoji.
Because of its brand, academic reputation and flagship status for the deep-pocketed state of North Carolina (sorry, Tobacco Road rivals, but it’s true), UNC is also viewed as the sleeping giant of conference realignment. While Florida State and Clemson make their public noise about the potential of moving elsewhere, the Heels are widely considered to be the most coveted ACC target for any league seeking its next cash-covered puzzle piece. A departure from the conference it helped create would be every bit the equivalent of Texas and Oklahoma bolting the Big 12 or USC breaking ranks with the Pac-12.
But with the greatest respect to Michael Jordan, Dean Smith and their fellow white trimmed jersey-wearing Heels, when it comes to redrawing maps and endorsing checks from restructured TV deals, it’s a football-gloved hand that wields the pen. And all of those other universities listed in the previous paragraph have won a hell of a lot more than a handful of Gator Bowls and earned way more than zero conference titles since the Carter Administration.
Perhaps that’s why UNC administrators are heaving this ball from midcourt. Why they have hired a coach with zero college experience. Why they have hired a man notoriously impatient with NFL rookies and put him in charge of a locker room full of 19-year-olds.
Who knows why the man we came to know in sleeveless red, white and blue will now dress in Carolina blue and argyle. What we do know is that everything and everyone that UNC has thrown at football before Bill Belichick hasn’t worked. And this might. But if bringing in a man who will one day have his own entire wing of the Pro Football Hall of Fame fails to rouse one the most puzzling meh programs in the 155-year history of the sport, then nothing ever will.
The GOAT versus the Ram. Something’s gotta give.
