Bill Belichick Didn’t Make the Hall of Fame on the First Ballot, and That Tells You Everything About the HoF.

TJ Pander, KLZ Radio – So we’re doing this now? We’re really doing this?  You know there’s a murderer in the HoF?

Multiple reports say Bill Belichick didn’t make the Pro Football Hall of Fame on his first ballot. Not “some assistant coach with a couple good seasons.” Not “a nice story.” Bill Belichick. Six rings as a head coach. Eight total Super Bowl wins if you count his coordinator rings. The guy who turned a regional franchise into a two-decade problem the rest of the league couldn’t solve and trained the best-of-the-best in players, positions, coaches, front officers, and ball boys (probably).

And if you’re the kind of person who thinks the Hall of Fame is the final word on greatness—like it’s some sacred, unimpeachable tribunal—this is your reminder that it’s not. It’s a room. With people in it. Voting. With preferences. Grudges. Narratives. Politics. And apparently the power to look at the second most winning coach in NFL history and say, “Eh… let’s make him wait.”

If there’s balance in the Hall of Fame’s process to nominate coaches, players, or stadium janitors for that matter, there has to be a hierarchy built on what any sport is about: WINNING.

We’ve slid WOKE into just about everything, including the NFL.  I stopped watching a long time ago, only coming back recently after cautiously peeking behind the curtain to see if it’s back to being about winning, and no longer about degrading our nation, calling out racism, or whatever other nonsense septum-pierced feminists with purple hair and daddy issues says.  This is a MAN’S space (OK maybe not “man’s” but a manly demeanor – I know plenty of women who love football, and they say the same thing: the politics in football is dumb and unnecessary, and that it should be about who can strategize their way up a field ten yards at a time.)

First, let’s get the baseline straight: Belichick’s résumé is not “borderline”

Here’s the part that should be undisputed even if you can’t stand the Patriots, never liked his press conferences, and still get irrationally angry when you hear the words “situational football.”

• Six Super Bowl titles as a head coach.
• Eight total Super Bowl championships including his two as defensive coordinator with the Giants.
• Second all-time in total wins (including playoffs), behind only Don Shula.
• The most postseason head coaching wins in league history.
• Named to the NFL 100th Anniversary All-Time Team (meaning: yes, the league itself already stamped the “all-time” label on him).

That’s not a “debate.” That’s not a “case.” That’s a receipt.

Belichick isn’t the guy you argue into Canton. He’s the guy you argue about where to put the statue.

So how do you not get in?

The reporting says he didn’t reach the threshold needed—40 of 50 votes—for induction as a coach, despite being the sole coach finalist.

Let’s translate that into plain English:

They didn’t say he’s not a Hall of Famer. They said he’s not a Hall of Famer right now.
That little distinction is what makes this so petty, the political idiots in Canton just don’t LIKE him.

It’s the sports version of withholding a tip because the waiter didn’t smile enough.

The real story is what this reveals about the Hall itself

The Hall of Fame is supposed to be about greatness. Not vibes. Not optics. Not whether the guy made you feel warm inside during a postgame interview.  Sports is LITERALLY win or lose – it’s why it should be above politics, political messaging (Kaepernick), or anything else that isn’t winning or losing. It’s really that simple.

And yet, the same reports that say Belichick fell short (of votes from ninnies who don’t respect the sport) also point to what we all know is lurking under the table: old controversies like Spygate and Deflategate, and the lingering appetite to “punish” him with a delay.

One of the more surreal elements in the coverage is the idea—attributed in reporting and then partially disputed—that voters were being urged to make him wait a year. Whether that’s exactly how it happened behind closed doors or not, the fact that it’s even plausible tells you how this works.

“We’re not denying you the Hall. We’re just going to put you in time-out first because we hold the power and you’re an authority figure.”

That’s not a Hall of Fame. That’s a Hall of Feelings built on immaturity and cliques.

“But he benefited from Brady.” Okay—and?

Here’s the argument that always shows up right on schedule: “Belichick had Tom Brady.”

True. And Tom Brady had Bill Belichick. That’s what dynasties are. The league isn’t a solo sport. Greatness in football is an ecosystem: front office, coaching, roster building, game planning, adjustments, culture, and yes—the quarterback.

If you want to play the “remove one variable” game, you can do that with just about anybody:

• Take away Montana—what’s Walsh?
• Take away Bradshaw—what’s Noll?
• Take away Aikman—what’s Jimmy?
• Take away Mahomes—what’s Reid?

This isn’t a scandalous thought or revolutionary, it’s the basic structure of professional football. Hell, it’s the basic structure of leadership in general!

And the “Brady” argument is especially weak when you remember Belichick’s defensive legacy, his coordinator rings, and how consistently his teams were prepared for postseason football. (He didn’t accidentally become the winningest postseason head coach of all time. That requires repeatedly solving problems that everyone else failed to solve.) Heck, even Mike Vrabel, a sometimes talked about defensive end who is now the coach just made the Super Bowl, you think Belichick didn’t influence Vrabel to become what he is today?

If you’re waiting to “send a message,” what message is that, exactly?

Let’s say the voters really did want to send a message.

Here’s the issue: the message doesn’t land on Belichick. It lands on the Hall of Fame and makes it look stupid, and more like a club that has nothing to do with football than it ever has.

Because the second you start using induction timing as a moral scoreboard, you’ve admitted the Hall isn’t about football greatness. It’s about whether the committee feels like you’ve done enough penance to deserve the jacket. It’s about WOKENESS.

That’s not how a Hall of Fame should work. Either the career is Hall-worthy or it isn’t, based on the record, wins and losses.

If the career is Hall-worthy but you’re delaying it to make a point, then the Hall is no longer a museum of greatness. It’s a rotating jury box.

What makes this “snub” feel so ridiculous is the scale

This isn’t a case where a voter could say, “I just didn’t see it.”

You saw it.

You saw:

• Six Lombardis.
• Twenty years of the AFC basically being forced to route through Foxborough.
• A coach whose teams became synonymous with weekly adjustment, game plan discipline, and postseason execution.

That’s the difference between “good” and “historic.” Belichick’s career isn’t an argument—it’s a time period.  Folks who deny that are living in a nonexistent dream world.

And yes, I know: “He’ll get in eventually.” That’s not the point.

I can already hear the calm, reasonable rebuttal:

“Relax, he’ll get in next year.”

Sure. Probably. The same reporting that says he missed on the first ballot also implies the door isn’t closed—just delayed.

But here’s the thing: if the system can delay Bill Belichick, it can delay anybody. And once you admit that, you’ve admitted the Hall is not the final authority people want it to be.

If the Hall of Fame can look at the second most winning coach in NFL history and say, “Not yet,” then the Hall’s credibility isn’t an ironclad standard—it’s a mood.

And a mood is not a legacy.

The only conclusion that makes sense

Here’s my bottom line:

The Pro Football Hall of Fame is supposed to enshrine greatness. Not manage reputations. Not settle old scores. Not stage a yearly morality play with bronze busts as props. And it’s not about teaching one of the most prolific coaches in NFL history a “lesson”.  That’s idiotic. 

If Bill Belichick—the second most winning coach in NFL history—can be excluded on the first ballot, then the Hall isn’t a measure of greatness.

It’s a committee’s opinion, dressed up as permanence. Mob rule in a corporate suit. A high school clique where if you don’t dance you don’t get into the group.

And that means the Hall of Fame is only as valuable as the seriousness of the people voting.

Because if that room can’t get Belichick right on day one, then it is not what it has stood for for so long, it’s yet another woke, mob-ruled, sissy organization that thinks that “fighting racism”, or the political plight of the transgender South African dung beetle has something to do with the game of football.

The standard is the games. The rings. The wins. The era he defined. The hall of fame means nothing.

Canton can catch up when it’s ready to do that, in the mean time we’ll celebrate one of the best leaders to stand the sidelines and coach boys into men, winning the highest honors for a period of time that was unsustainable for 99% of players, teams and coaches.