"Be yourself." This timeless piece of advice, a universal mantra echoed in the ears of every child as they grow, is a vague yet versatile saying that can fit into numerous contexts. However, there's one realm where it falls flat: professional football. Before the budding athletes even kick off their practice sessions, the NFL drives this concept into their skulls. Theoretically, these young men embody a century-long legacy of integrity and excellence, and it is their solemn duty to "protect the shield," as Commissioner Roger Goodell famously puts it. But adhering to this standard is easier for some than others.
Aaron's initial days with the Patriots were relatively serene, albeit with a slight delay in Bill Belichick deciphering his true potential. Belichick wasn't amused by Aaron's antics of collecting pads from the practice field while nude, and he wisely dismissed the need for Urban Meyer's overprotective guidance. "This is a man's team," he sternly informed Aaron. "Be a man." The essence of masculinity, and the intriguing query of how to precisely delineate it, has been a recurring theme since the very first glimpse into Aaron's childhood, with Belichick's words mirroring his father's constant refrain.
"The Man" isn't a particularly jarring episode of Aaron Hernandez's saga; it lacks the jaw-dropping revelations of last week's molestation backdrop. Neither does it possess the laser-focused intricacy and unparalleled quirkiness of that episode's deep exploration into the NFL Draft and the Scouting Combine. Instead, it's a middling chapter in this narrative, a broad overview of Aaron's life during this period, marked by the usual heavy-handed foreshadowing and overt dialogues emphasizing Aaron's need to conform. Yet, I find Norbert Leo Butz's portrayal of Belichick particularly compelling so far, feeling more authentic and grounded than most, if not all, of the other performances in this series. He's a tough taskmaster, yet quirky and wry, with a humorous glint in his eye whenever he wanders off into the history of spread offenses.
Aaron continues to shine on the field, which is virtually the only sanctuary where he can consistently feel at ease being his authentic self. The glory probably serves as a balm; he's the youngest player in the League, entitled to a slightly perplexing "make it rain" touchdown dance if he so desires. His confidence begins to waver when Belichick compels him to play as a running back, a role he firmly believes he can't master. This scenario serves as a handy thematic parallel to the recurring theme that Aaron hasn't been granted the room or time to genuinely mature while embracing his true self. When Belichick reprimands him for boasting to the press later in the episode, Aaron responds, "I was just being me, coach," to which Belichick retorts, "Don't be." The message is unmistakable.
Aaron somehow manages to force a square peg into a round hole, driven by his extraordinary talent alone. His remarkable performance against the Broncos stands as a triumphant highlight, only to be marred instantly by a devastating hit that leaves him dazed, his consciousness flickering in and out even hours afterward. The topic of CTE—a factor likely instrumental in Aaron Hernandez's decline—hasn't occupied much of Aaron's narrative space, perhaps because drama is hard to wring from a medical condition that went largely unnoticed. However, this sequence shines effectively, with Maggie Kiley's direction masterfully immersing us in Aaron's perspective. Even the lightest, congratulatory taps on his helmet from his teammates feel like explosions of energy.
Away from the field, "The Man" redirects the show's focus to Aaron's domestic life. Though a celebrity in Boston and beyond, Aaron is a colossal figure in Bristol. Inviting Shayanna to a party with the Krafts may serve his self-interests—he needs to demonstrate that he's a respectable, reformed young man ready to mature—but his affection for her is genuine. As they share pizza at an overpass, trading banter about the elite's penchant for tiny portions, their bond is palpable. They aspire to the same things, including an escape from Bristol and the familial burdens that weigh them down, seeking to carve their own path. Their compatibility is evident; the only hitch is Aaron's lack of attraction towards women.
Their relationship blossoms nonetheless, with Shayanna questioning her assumptions about Aaron's sexual desires only after spending time with other NFL wives and girlfriends. Aaron is technically truthful when reassuring her that no other women occupy his life. But had he spoken the complete truth, he might have confessed that his night with Chris made him feel more like himself than he had in ages. When Chris—now in a relationship himself—asks Aaron if he loves Shayanna, the silence speaks volumes.
Aaron strives to project an image of himself surrounded by positive influences, yet his preferred support system largely comprises his cousin Tanya and his shady hometown cronies like Carlos and Bo. This group has since expanded to include their weed dealer, Sherrod, an unequivocally ominous figure. Their friendship blossoms swiftly after an initial misunderstanding, with Sherrod offering ill-timed encouragement following Aaron's rant about his stepfather, Jeff: "Ain't nobody in charge of you."
There's a hint of superficiality in this show's portrayal of clashing positive and negative forces, with the latter inevitably emerging victorious. However, putting aside the tacky predictability of the incessant prison references and the artificiality of Sherrod's repeated urging for Aaron to assert himself, there's an intriguing parallel he draws between the NFL and incarceration. For those unprepared for this life—and Aaron's unreadiness is plain to see—the absence of freedom can be particularly suffocating.
One fateful day, Jeff slashes Terri's face with a kitchen knife, and Aaron discovers a perfect conduit for his rage, a scenario tailor-made for him to exercise control and feel masculine. Armed with Sherrod's gun, Aaron brutally assaults Jeff outside a bar, vowing to kill him should he lay a finger on Terri again. It's challenging to muster sympathy for Jeff given his despicable act towards Terri, but that's beside the matter at hand. Each violent act propels Aaron closer to an irreversible precipice. We are all too aware of his inevitable fate.
