The Best New England Patriots Before the Belichick Era

Plus, Whitey Bulger and the Fastest Game in the World

Before Brady, before the hoodie, before six Lombardis… there was still some Patriots history worth remembering.

When people talk about the New England Patriots, the conversation almost always starts in 2001, as if the franchise was born from Tom Brady’s tuck rule fumble. But the Patriots existed for four decades before Bill Belichick ever stepped foot in Foxborough. The truth? It wasn’t all mediocrity. Scattered through the pre-Belichick years are players who were as good as anyone in the league at their positions, and teams that flirted with greatness—even if the rings never came.

Let’s rewind to the days of the red uniforms, Pat Patriot snapping the football on the helmet, and a home field that doubled as a wind tunnel.

Steve Grogan – The Gutsy Gunslinger

Before Brady, there was Grogan—a quarterback who may not have been a Hall of Famer, but who embodied toughness in a way that made him beloved in New England. Drafted in 1975, Grogan started 135 games over 16 seasons, often with a neck brace and more tape on his body than a mummy.

His style was a mix of fearless passing and surprising mobility; in 1976, he ran for 12 touchdowns, a single-season QB rushing record that stood until Cam Newton broke it in 2011. Grogan led the Patriots to the playoffs in 1976 and 1985, the latter year ending in the team’s first Super Bowl appearance (a blowout loss to the Bears, but still a milestone).

If Brady was cool precision, Grogan was controlled chaos—good for some maddening picks, but also unforgettable moments that kept a struggling franchise relevant.

Stanley Morgan – The Deep Threat Before Deep Threats Were Cool

Stanley Morgan was to the vertical passing game what Hannah was to the run: the perfect fit for his era and ahead of his time. Playing from 1977 to 1989, Morgan averaged an absurd 19.2 yards per catch for his career—still the highest among players with 500-plus receptions.

He was a four-time Pro Bowler and the team’s all-time receiving yards leader until Wes Welker and Rob Gronkowski came along in the pass-happy 2000s. Morgan stretched defenses in a way that made life easier for everyone else, and if he’d played in today’s NFL, his numbers might be almost cartoonish.

Mike Haynes – The Shutdown Corner

Mike Haynes didn’t just cover receivers—he erased them. Drafted in 1976, Haynes won Defensive Rookie of the Year and was a Pro Bowler in each of his first five seasons with New England. He had size, speed, and instincts that made him one of the most complete corners in NFL history.

Unfortunately for the Patriots, Haynes spent just seven seasons in Foxborough before moving to the Raiders, where he won a Super Bowl. Still, his 28 interceptions and lockdown coverage in New England were a bright spot in an era when the Patriots’ defense was rarely elite.

Andre Tippett – The Sack Machine

If you wanted to find the Patriots’ defensive identity in the ’80s, you started with Tippett. The outside linebacker terrorized quarterbacks from 1982 to 1993, amassing 100 sacks (still a franchise record).

From 1984 to 1985, Tippett had back-to-back seasons of 18.5 and 16.5 sacks, earning Defensive Player of the Year honors in 1985. He was the kind of player you game-planned around—and still couldn’t stop. Tippett’s presence was a big reason the Patriots made their Cinderella run to the ’85 Super Bowl.

The 1985 AFC Champions

Speaking of that run—before Belichick, the 1985 Patriots were the only team in franchise history to make the Super Bowl. Coached by Raymond Berry, they won three straight road playoff games (against the Jets, Raiders, and Dolphins) before running into the buzzsaw that was the ’85 Chicago Bears defense.

That postseason run was as improbable as any in NFL history. They weren’t the most talented team, but they had leaders like Grogan, Tippett, Craig James, and Irving Fryar who could make big plays when it counted. For fans who lived through it, that January felt like the Patriots had finally arrived—though they’d have to wait another 15 years to cash in.

Sam Cunningham – The Unsung Hero

Every franchise has players who don’t get the spotlight but were vital to its identity. For the Patriots in the ’70s, that was Sam “Bam” Cunningham. The fullback was a punishing runner and devastating blocker who could change the game without touching the ball 20 times.

He’s also remembered for a college game that helped integrate Southern football—his performance for USC against Alabama in 1970 reportedly convinced Bear Bryant it was time to recruit Black players. In New England, Cunningham racked up 5,453 rushing yards, 43 touchdowns, and countless bone-jarring blocks that made life easier for his teammates.

John Hannah – The Gold Standard at Guard

If you want to start a Mount Rushmore of Patriots greats, John Hannah is chiseling his spot before you’ve even decided on the other three. Drafted in 1973 out of Alabama, Hannah became the prototype for the modern offensive guard: powerful, quick, and mean when the whistle blew.

He was named First-Team All-Pro seven times, made nine Pro Bowls, and was a cornerstone of an offensive line that allowed the Patriots to lead the NFL in rushing in 1978. That ’78 team set a then-NFL record with 3,165 rushing yards, powered by a collection of backs who owed half their yardage to the holes Hannah bulldozed.

In 1991, he became the first Patriot inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame. Even Belichick—never one for flowery praise—has called Hannah the best offensive lineman he’s ever seen. That says it all.

The Foxboro Faithful

It’s easy to forget that being a Patriots fan before the Belichick era was often an exercise in patience (and maybe masochism). The old Sullivan Stadium had metal bleachers, cold winds, and a losing record more years than not. But the fans who stuck through those decades built the foundation for the dynasty years—they knew the team’s history, celebrated the few playoff runs like they were championships, and wore Pat Patriot gear before it was retro cool.

The players from that era weren’t playing for a global brand; they were playing for a blue-collar region that appreciated grit as much as glory.

Why They Matter

It’s tempting to treat 2001 as the “Year Zero” for the Patriots, but doing so erases a lot of football history. Hannah, Tippett, Haynes, Morgan, Grogan, Cunningham—these were players who could have starred in any era. They didn’t have Belichick’s schemes or Brady’s late-game magic, but they had pride, skill, and moments that gave the franchise legitimacy.

Without them, there’s no culture for Belichick to inherit. No fan base ready to believe in a turnaround. No sense of “we’ve been here before” when the Patriots started winning playoff games.

So next time someone tries to tell you the Patriots were nothing before Brady, remind them of John Hannah clearing lanes, Tippett terrorizing quarterbacks, and Stanley Morgan streaking down the sideline. Remind them that history didn’t start with a snow game in Foxborough—it started decades earlier, with players who made the team worth rooting for even when the Lombardi Trophy seemed like a fantasy.

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Whitey Bulger and the Fastest Game in the World

When you think of Whitey Bulger, you imagine the icy, calculating South Boston mob boss who ran rackets with surgical precision. You don’t think of jai alai—a lightning-fast Basque sport popular in Florida gambling circles. But in the late 1970s and early ’80s, Bulger’s attention drifted south to this niche game, not for the thrill of the sport, but for the profit potential.

The Sport and the Scheme

Jai alai was tailor-made for betting. Players hurled a rock-hard pelota against a wall at over 150 mph, and gamblers placed pari-mutuel bets much like horse racing. The game’s complexity and speed made it easy to disguise fixed matches, a tempting proposition for someone like Bulger. Through his Winter Hill Gang’s alliance with the New England Mafia, Bulger gained influence over World Jai Alai, one of the sport’s most prominent operators.

In theory, all Bulger had to do was ensure that the right players knew when to win or lose. Rigged games could swing fortunes without raising obvious suspicion. Florida’s gambling scene was a natural extension of his criminal reach.

Enter Roger Wheeler

This side hustle might have remained in the shadows if not for Roger Wheeler, a wealthy Oklahoma businessman and chairman of Telex Corp. In 1978, Wheeler purchased World Jai Alai, aiming to legitimize the business and clean up its image. Unfortunately for Bulger and his associates, that meant tightening financial oversight and scrutinizing the books.

Wheeler quickly became suspicious that profits were being skimmed—millions siphoned off through fraudulent contracts, phantom employees, and rigged betting schemes. His persistence in rooting out corruption put him on a collision course with Bulger’s network.

A Murder in Broad Daylight

On May 27, 1981, after finishing a round of golf at Southern Hills Country Club in Tulsa, Wheeler walked to his car. An assassin stepped forward and shot him once between the eyes. It was a brazen execution in the middle of the day, sending shockwaves through both the business and sports worlds.

Investigators would later conclude that Bulger’s Winter Hill Gang—working with members of the Boston Mafia—ordered Wheeler’s murder to protect their lucrative jai alai racket. Hitman John Martorano would ultimately admit to pulling the trigger, acting on orders passed down from Bulger and his allies.

Why Jai Alai Was Worth Killing For

For Bulger, jai alai wasn’t about athleticism or tradition—it was about the perfect criminal enterprise:

  • Insular culture: Outsiders rarely understood the sport or its inner workings, making corruption hard to spot.

  • Complex betting: Multiple wager types meant more ways to manipulate outcomes discreetly.

  • Cash-driven economy: With little digital oversight in the early ’80s, illicit funds could move easily.

Wheeler’s crackdown threatened all of it. By removing him, the conspirators hoped to keep the gravy train running. But the killing drew far more law enforcement attention than they anticipated.

The Fallout

Wheeler’s murder became a cornerstone in building federal cases against Bulger’s network. Years later, long after Bulger had fled Boston in 1994, the killing would resurface during investigations into his wider empire of crime. While Bulger was never tried specifically for Wheeler’s murder, it remained a dark testament to how far he would go to protect his revenue streams.

Whitey Bulger’s interest in jai alai now reads less like an eccentric quirk and more like a calculated business move that spiraled into lethal violence. It’s a reminder that Bulger didn’t just dominate Boston’s underworld—he reached into industries and geographies where opportunity, greed, and intimidation could intersect.

In the end, jai alai was just another racket to him. But for Roger Wheeler, it was supposed to be a business venture. That difference in vision—and the threat Wheeler posed to Bulger’s profits—was enough to end one man’s life and cement another’s reputation as one of America’s most ruthless crime bosses.

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