“It’s like you make a good batch, but then he just adds a drop of poison in there and it makes the whole thing bad." There's a reason these Bills fail in the final seconds. Here's Part II.
Miss Part I? Catch up here.
The P.S.A. should be shouted from a megaphone at the next NFL owners meeting. For those who own professional football teams, one longtime vet who spent several years with the Buffalo Bills shares two valuable pieces of advice.
His own self-declared public service announcement.
“No. 1: Try to learn football. A little bit.”
His voice gets louder.
“No. 2: Just because people are good playcallers does not mean they’re good leaders of an entire f--king organization.”
To him, the traditional ladder-climb from “position coach” to “coordinator” to “head coach” is flawed. He compares it to grabbing the soot-covered diesel mechanic from the garage and asking him to put on a sleek suit and tie to sell cars. The difference between mashing X’s and O’s together to stymie a high-powered offense and speaking to an entire team is massive. There’s no denying that Sean McDermott has been a fine defensive coach the last two decades, Philadelphia to Carolina to Buffalo. But as the head coach, he’s not merely a game-planner in a film bunker. He’s the singular voice an entire group of grown men follow on a day-to-day basis.
His intent — players repeat — is pure.
The coach who ended the Bills’ 17-year playoff drought realizes how badly locals are dying for their first Super Bowl. The quest consumes him.
“He never, ever, ever does a damn thing with any other intention than to empower and grow the Buffalo Bills franchise,” this ex-Bill said. “That’s a fact. Now, whether or not the shit’s going to work or whether or not the players are going to receive it well? That’s a different conversation. But it doesn’t come from an evil ‘Sean McDermott wants all the praise and all the credit.’ He genuinely wants every person in that organization to thrive and win a lot of games to the point of exhaustion.
“All he wants to do is help that team win. Now, that’s the truth.”
But that’s the tricky thing about intent. A player could intend to block the man in front of him after endless hours of preparation but, if he’s steamrolled? He’s cut. Out of a job. Ejected into civilization to find another job. Possibly with lifelong back pain and looming CTE. Pro football, this player made clear, is “production-based.” No different than when it’s time for a head coach to stand in front of the entire team and inspire with a carefully prepared speech.
McDermott takes this opportunity quite seriously.
This setting is not his forte.
Take the “Niagara Falls” speech. In December 2021, locals will recall the news of a woman deliberately driving into the waterway that spills into the falls. She drifted down the Niagara River before her vehicle was lodged against a rock about 50 yards from the brink. McDermott studied up and pieced together a speech. The coach explained how members from the Coast Guard did everything they could to save the woman. He built up the drama. Players held on tight for an inspiring apex, and… nothing. He said the woman died. End of story. The complete absence of a point had some players biting their tongues, trying their hardest not to laugh.
And those in attendance will never forget training camp of 2019. The memory alone elicits a scattershot of emotions. One player’s eyes widen into saucers, horrified. One almost falls over, clapping and laughing hysterically. One cuts the question off before it’s asked, as if pleading the fifth: “I ain’t talking about that.”
Seven sources confirmed this story.
They call it the “9/11 speech,” and it’s seared into their memory forever.
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