It’s a sultry Saturday
morning, Vince Wilfork’s day off. But the
Patriot isn’t really off. He’s already
reported to Gillette Stadium to undergo treatment on
his quadriceps muscle. When he arrives back home,
there is a blitz of activity. His wife demands that
he help put the groceries away and get breakfast on
the table, the kids want to play touch football, and
the baby has a diaper that the two-time Pro Bowl
selection can smell from a red zone away.
Wilfork, who was once fined four times in a season by the
NFL for being a bad boy, now crawls on the carpet and
changes his 1-year-old son’s diaper on the living
room floor with a gentleness never displayed in six
seasons on the gridiron. In fact, Wilfork has become a
human changing table, with his legs extended so that
David Dream-Angel cannot scramble away from his
6-foot-2-inch, 325-pound father.
Is this the same guy whose reputation is that of a mean
and nasty player?
“That’s just for 60 minutes, that’s
all,’’ says his wife and biggest fan, Bianca.
“He’s like a big teddy bear, he’s like
mush, really. He’s the furthest thing from a mean
guy as possible, unless you cross him. Then the 60
minutes come back on.’’
Vince Wilfork, 28, is no glamour boy. His shirt has a
hole in it, Bianca tells him, but he doesn’t care.
His hair isn’t well-coiffed. Actually, his hairline
is receding.
Nobody grows up dreaming of being a nose tackle, lining
up over the center and getting double- and sometimes
triple-teamed while all eyes are elsewhere.
“Oh, heck no. You’ve got to be a
grinder,’’ Wilfork says. “You want to
be a linebacker, a running back, a receiver, you want to
be a quarterback.’’
He knows he’s no Tom Brady.
“His life is a glamorous life,’’ says
Wilfork. “He’s a great player and a great
guy. You think of most quarterbacks as snobs, but
he’s not.’’
Wilfork’s professional life is spent in the
trenches, pummeling away, an arm’s reach from the
quarterback.
He was selected a captain by teammates in 2008 and
’09, and is the heart and soul of the
Patriots’ 3-4 defense. But few appreciate a nose
tackle, according to Wilfork, except the coaches.
“From a fan viewpoint, the average person watching
football, they really don’t know nose tackle, or
what their job basically is,’’ he says.
Wilfork estimates that of 60 to 70 plays the opposing
offense runs each game, he is single-covered just 10
times. Yet he has averaged nearly 50 tackles a season,
and gives teammates opportunities to make higher-profile
plays.
Well-rounded person
Off the field, he’s low-key. The
mailbox outside the two-story Colonial home is simply
labeled “The Wilforks’’. Nobody ever
rings the bell and bothers him.
“I’m your average Joe Blow,’’ he
says. “I’m your plumber. I’m your
garbage man. I’m your everyday people. I
don’t send people out to get my mail. I don’t
have no personal assistant, none of that mess. I’m
a normal person. I drive myself everywhere. I don’t
need no car service, that’s not me. We go to
Walmart, we go to Target, we don’t have to go to
the mall.’’
OK, he does have some trappings of wealth from a
five-year, $40 million contract signed in March, which
made him the highest-paid nose tackle in the NFL.
He’s got a massive orange Freightliner truck with a
Mercedes-Benz engine and license plates that read,
“Fat Boi.’’
He’s also part-owner of two harness horses,
Midnight Lawyer and Eel, that have raced at Plainridge
Racecourse and Meadowlands Racetrack, and he has applied
for his thoroughbred license. At the local stable where
he keeps his horses, a foal was born the other day while
Wilfork was visiting. It was named “Big
Vince,’’ and Wilfork fell in love with him
and plans to buy him.
Wilfork wants one of his horses to win the Kentucky Derby
someday, and he’s not kidding. “That’s
my ultimate goal,’’ he says. “You only
live once.’’
The interior of Wilfork’s comfortable home does not
reek of football. There’s a framed picture of
Wilfork in uniform. It’s signed by the kids who
benefited from the annual fund-raiser Wilfork conducts to
raise money to fight diabetes, which claimed his father
in 2002. His mother died soon afterward, also before the
age of 50, and Wilfork has tattoos that read “RIP
Mom’’ and “RIP Dad’’ on
each forearm. He also wears a locket that contains their
high school prom picture.
The refrigerator is covered with photos of the kids
— D’Aundre, 12; Destiny, 7; and David
Dream-Angel.
Today, Dad is tired, but nobody cares.
“When it’s my day off I want to relax, but
when you got kids your day off really isn’t a day
off,’’ Wilfork says. “They think
Daddy’s home, let’s catch up. It’s hard
to do, but I try as best as I can.’’
Wilfork says his parents were there for him, so he wants
to be there for his kids, no matter what.
“It’s tough at times,’’ he says.
“My kids got so much energy. I can’t sit here
and say it’s not hard because it is. But you have
to let kids be kids.’’
There are no motivational quotes from Vince Lombardi or
Bill Belichick at the Wilfork home. But stenciled on the
wall in the living room is: “All because two people
fell in love.’’
Perfect matchup
Bianca starts to giggle when she tells the
story of how they met in 2001. She was a single mother
working two jobs, one as the manager of a Taco Bell in
Homestead, Fla., the other for an air cargo import/export
company. He was an up-and-coming player at the University
of Miami.
“We met online,’’ she says. “He
saw a picture of me and sent me a lame message, like,
‘My name is Vince. Call me.’ And I was like,
‘This dude has got to be kidding me,’ but I
called him. He was just trying to be my friend. It seemed
like everyone in my circle got on my nerves at the time
and he was the last one standing.’’
Wilfork, a Boynton Beach, Fla., native, laughs. He says
they talked on the phone for two months before they even
agreed to meet in person.
“When we met I knew she was the one for
me,’’ he says. “I haven’t looked
back since. Three kids later, we have a beautiful family.
She is my backbone. With her I don’t have to worry
about anything but football.’’
Bianca goes to every Patriots practice, every game, home
and away. They have their own communication system for
injuries.
“If he’s on the ground for more than, say,
seven seconds, he’s got to come up and give me some
kind of signal,’’ she says. “In the
back, he’s got 20 seconds to grab the nearest
cellphone and call me and tell me he’s OK,
otherwise he’ll see me down there, I’ll find
him. He knows that.’’
Not short, on confidence
Wilfork plays touch football with his wife
and kids, then basketball with stepson D’Aundre,
whom he beats easily. Wilfork says he can still dunk, if
he gets warmed up. But when he loses a game of C-A-T, he
is miffed.
“I hate to lose in anything,’’ he says.
One of just a handful of players left from the
Patriots’ Super Bowl XXXIX team, he also believes
he can play just about every position in pro football.
“It don’t matter to me,’’ he
says. “I’m an athlete. I tell people that all
the time.’’
He played quarterback recently at practice and the
defense beat the offense in a reversal of roles.
“It was a day in paradise,’’ Wilfork
says. “Brady said I did exactly what he would have
done.’’
He also believes he could be a linebacker.
“I can do it,’’ he says. “I
don’t know what it’s going to take for people
to start believing that I don’t lie. I grew up,
everybody looked at my size and said, ‘I
didn’t know you could move like that.’
’’
Wilfork claims he even beat receiver Randy Moss in a
season-long one-on-one matchup held two years ago.
“Every Friday, I would be a receiver and he would
be a [defensive back],’’ Wilfork says.
“I think I came out on top. He’ll probably
lie to me and say I didn’t. But I’m just a
competitive man. I want to win, man, in everything I do.
If I can’t do something, I’ll learn. But
there’s nothing in football I can’t
do.’’
In high school, according to Bianca, Wilfork set a
Florida state record in the shot put. “Ask him
about it,’’ she says.
But Wilfork already moved on. Now he’s Farmer
Wilfork, sweating bullets in the garden, pulling out
peppers to grill as part of a steak dinner. There’s
also strawberries, string beans, collard greens, lettuce,
tomatoes, and onions amid the weeds.
“Don’t take pictures, it’s too
overgrown,’’ Wilfork says, bemoaning
two-a-day training camp practices.
Quiet leader
He also takes offense to people already
criticizing the Patriots’ 2010 defense.
“I don’t think we have a bunch of
no-names,’’ he says. “I think we have a
bunch of guys who work hard and know what it takes to
win. We’re out there challenging each
other.’’
Wilfork says he tries to lead by example.
“I don’t yell,’’ he says.
“I play football. You don’t have to have a
damn meeting.
“I’m big into doing my job and trusting my
teammates behind me. One thing that’s true is the
eye in the sky don’t lie. Once you put that film on
you see exactly what’s going on. I don’t need
people yelling all the time, because to me I don’t
think you need to yell to get your point
across.’’
Click here to order
Vince Wilfork’s proCane Rookie Card.
(boston.com)