Bill Belichick considers his playbook a sacred text, and he doesn’t tolerate students who don’t share his devotion. So late on most Wednesdays, after the Pats have installed the bulk of their latest game plan, Belichick will mutter warnings like “You guys better get back in those playbooks, because I promise I’m gonna have some f-ing questions for you tomorrow morning.”

At the next day’s breakfast, Belichick will quiz his team about coverages, blocking assignments, blitz packages—even the opposing coach’s tendencies. “And if he calls on you and you’re wrong, there’s just silence,” says tight end Ben Watson, who drives to the team complex steering with his knees so he can squeeze in a few extra minutes of study. “It’s like school all over again.”

Belichick’s playbook is just like the man: precise, relentless, obsessive. It is color-coded-red for defense, blue for offense, black for coaches—and each player is given a bag to carry it in, along with a pencil, a blue pen and a yellow highlighter. Immediately after the team returns to the locker room following a game, the Pats collect the books from everyone, then lock them up, shred them or, knowing Belichick, incinerate them and blast the ashes into space.