Let’s stop pretending this was complicated. Bill Belichick’s exclusion as a first-ballot Pro Football Hall of Famer isn’t a nuanced debate about football legacy, nor is it a gray area open to reasonable disagreement. It was a blown call—plain and simple.
What makes this more striking is the makeup of the voting body: 46 of the 50 voters are media members. The only exceptions are Hall of Famers Bill Polian, Tony Dungy, Dan Fouts, and James Lofton.
This was a media decision, and that fact frames everything that followed.
Reports initially indicated Polian led a charge to keep Belichick out, but he has stated publicly that he voted for his old nemesis. For the purposes of this piece, we’ll take him at his word. One voter out of Kansas City did make his non-Belichick vote public and blamed the system.
That explanation is noted and rejected.
We are talking about the greatest coach in the history of the game, and the numbers make any statements or explanations to the contrary irrelevant. Belichick’s resume is untouchable. He racked up 333 career wins, second only to Don Shula. He’s tops with 31 playoff wins, along with nine Super Bowl appearances and six Lombardi Trophies.
These are not the accomplishments of someone whose greatness is up for debate. I acknowledge, like many things in our world, the system is not perfect. However, those excuses are for members of the Hall of Very Good, not for the top of the food chain.
So when at least 11 voters said no, the question wasn’t about football—it became, what exactly were they voting on?
Hall of Fame voting is supposed to be simple: Is the candidate worthy, or not? There are no bonus points for charm, no deductions for grumpiness, and no bylaw clause for “you didn’t explain things nicely enough.” The Hall’s own rules direct voters to judge achievements and contributions to professional football. Period.
There is no morality clause. No personality clause. No “you were mean to me” clause. Yet somehow, this vote drifted there anyway.
Some voters may lean on Spygate and Deflategate as justification. But when the football argument collapses, scandal becomes a convenient shelter. That shelter didn’t last long once Hall of Fame coach Jimmy Johnson spoke up, admitting that “many teams (including ourselves) tried it… many teams gave it a try.” In the NFL, everyone looks for an edge. Pushing boundaries is woven into the fabric of professional football.
Selective outrage is laughable when you remember that O.J. Simpson, Ray Lewis, and Lawrence Taylor—all with their own off-field baggage—are in the Hall.
There has never been a moral purity test in Canton. If Spygate is now the standard, where is the consistency? Is Tom Brady suddenly not a first-ballot Hall of Famer over deflated footballs? Or does this logic only surface when it’s not the handsome quarterback with the dreamy dimples and the megawatt smile?
The uncomfortable truth for the media is that this wasn’t really about Spygate. It was about power. Belichick never needed the media. He didn’t play the access game, didn’t seek approval, and didn’t care if he was liked. For a profession built on access and insiders, that’s an unforgivable sin.
Protected by a secret ballot, some voters chose to base their decisions on personal experience rather than greatness. That’s not journalism; that’s grievance collecting. And the secrecy matters. If Hall of Fame votes were public, most of this nonsense would disappear overnight.
In this case, anonymity breeds courage.
Media members are not the morality police. Our job is not to settle personal scores, send messages, or punish candidates for being difficult. When voters confuse their role as evaluators with moral arbiters, the Hall loses credibility.
That’s exactly what I believe happened here.
Belichick will eventually get into the Hall of Fame. His resume doesn’t fade because 11 or so voters got emotional. But the damage is done. The Hall has revealed that “first-ballot” status is negotiable, subjective, and vulnerable to personal bias—withheld not because someone wasn’t great, but because they weren’t affable enough.
That’s not a Belichick problem. That’s a Hall of Fame problem.
If Hall of Fame voters want to be grievance collectors, then say that out loud. Put it in writing. Change the rules. Until then, the process should be simple:
Either a candidate is worthy, or he isn’t. Achievements matter, or they don’t. Either the Hall honors football greatness, or it honors grudges.
Bill Belichick is a first-ballot Hall of Famer in every universe where football results matter more than feelings. The fact that he had to wait exposes exactly who this process is really about, and it isn’t the game.
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With decades of experience behind the mic, John Lund is more than a sports commentator and weekly columnist for Barrett Media—he’s a storyteller, humorist, and true fan. He’s hosted shows in mid sized markets like Pittsburgh and Salt Lake City to larger cities like San Francisco, Detroit and Dallas. John has even hosted nationally on ESPN Radio. Known for his sharp wit and deep sports knowledge, John welcomes your feedback. Reach him on X @JohnLundRadio or by email at John@JohnLundRadio.com.
Bill will make it into the Hall of Fame regardless.
In time, That he is not a first ballot Hall of fame entrant will not matter.
True or not, as I understand it, and per the athletic, some of those who voted no argued that there were good reasons why others had to be let in this year, particularly because there is such a large pipeline of
very eligibleindividuals who could get in.
Apparently the committee operates under a number of rules I did not know about. So far I have not been able to find a complete explanation of them.
It would be helpful if the whole process was much more transparent.