Though I’m not privy to Josh McDaniels’s reading list, I believe it’s safe to say that he hadn’t consumed much Sophocles or Aeschylus prior to beginning his star-crossed tenure as the Denver Broncos’ head coach in 2009. Clearly unversed in the harsh consequences of hubris, McDaniels greatly angered the football gods in his fifth game at the helm in Denver, when the New England Patriots came to town. He had previously served as Bill Belichick’s offensive coördinator, so there was an unavoidable master-versus-pupil narrative to the affair. When the Broncos won with a field goal in overtime, the then thirty-three-year-old wunderkind made the inexcusable mistake of showing genuine emotion—he pumped his fist with vigor before the cheering throng, to Belichick’s obvious disgust. Anyone familiar with football instantly knew that a harsh comeuppance was in store, as coaches are not allowed to crack a celebratory smile until Week Fifteen, at the earliest.

Less than fourteen months later, and with only six more wins to his name, McDaniels was out of work. The incessant failure had made him a target of vitriol from fans and players alike, who gleefully poured on the vulgar abuse. (And still do: “It felt like I was playing for an equipment manager or something,” the former Broncos punter Mitch Berger recently recounted. “He was like a little punk.”) McDaniels seemed destined for the same punchline status that haunts another failed member of the Belichick coaching tree, Eric (Mangenius) Mangini.

His mentor’s infinite mercy rescued McDaniels from such an ignominious fate. Belichick, a man whose sense of humor can most accurately be described as Cotton Mather-esque, could easily have shunned McDaniels based on those 2009 post-game antics in Denver. (Watch the video closely: Belichick’s expression resembles that of a man who has just been forced to drink a gallon of pure bobcat urine.) Instead, he welcomed his protégé back into the fold during the 2012 playoffs, knowing full well that McDaniels has a singular talent for turning undersized receivers into world-beaters, and for patching together offensive lines that make sure Tom Brady’s precious bones remain intact.

The wisdom of Belichick’s Machiavellian reëmbrace of McDaniels was on full display versus the Indianapolis Colts on Saturday. The Patriots’ offense is in far-from-ideal shape: the team’s one reliable big-target receiver, Rob Gronkowski, went down for the season in early December, and its offensive line is seemingly held together with duct tape. Facing soggy conditions and one of the league’s speedier pass-rushing units, the Patriots knew they would have to favor the run while occasionally working the ball underneath to Julian Edelman and Danny Amendola. Of course, the Colts knew this, too, and so could bring pressure, secure in the knowledge that their iffy secondary was unlikely to pay a heavy price.

Yet McDaniels made the game plan work, keeping the Colts discombobulated with a range of blocking schemes, and spreading the ball around to some of the team’s lesser receivers. True, the Pats benefitted from Andrew Luck’s profligacy with the ball, not to mention the Colts’ depressing inability to work the run. (Trent Richardson’s nickname should be “2nd and 9.”) But McDaniels still deserves plaudits for racking up so many points and so much yardage with an offense that’s built to smolder rather than explode.

The notoriously icy Belichick probably won’t reward McDaniels with much more than a firm handshake, accompanied by a stare that says, “Never forget, you’re lucky to be here instead of Saginaw Valley State.” But the Pats’ longtime coach surely realizes that a man with McDaniels’s gifts is indispensable in today’s N.F.L., where a team’s success is largely determined by its ability to cope with injuries. The best coördinators are those whose systems can succeed regardless of the lineup’s capacity to dazzle; the Xs and Os still need to work in a pinch, when superstars are replaced by players who are merely élite. That is McDaniels’s offense in a nutshell: as long as Brady is there to insure that miscues are kept to a minimum, the Pats find a way to third-and-short, through a combination of crossing routes and draws executed by sixth- and seventh-round talents who probably flirted with the idea of playing in Winnipeg when things looked grim. In the course of a game, a defense will inevitably guess wrong as to how Brady plans to pick up two or three yards; when it does, the Pats become lethal.

However, another zero-touchdown performance from Brady won’t get the Pats to the promised land this year, and not just because the running back LeGarrette Blount is highly unlikely to score another twenty-four points all by his lonesome. (I sincerely hope he spent the past day resting in a hyperbaric chamber, given how much punishment his body absorbed last night.) The Denver Broncos will spend all week agonizing over the red-zone failings that nearly handed the San Diego Chargers a shot at overtime on Sunday, but Peyton Manning is unlikely to make those same mistakes versus his one true nemesis when he faces the Patriots. Backed by the strongest run game since his halcyon days with Edgerrin James, Manning will figure out a way to let the gargantuan tight end Julius Thomas post some career numbers. Belichick’s best hope is to gamble on his defense early, in the hopes of forcing a spirit-crushing turnover; Manning is famously prone to counterproductive pouting when he gets frustrated in the first half.

As for the N.F.C. side of the tournament table, it gives me no joy to report that I became a Seattle Seahawks skeptic over the weekend. I’ve long had a soft spot for the team, dating back to the time that Dave Krieg somehow earned a victory despite enduring seven Derrick Thomas sacks, and I believed that this year’s Seahawks would cakewalk to the Super Bowl if they earned the No. 1 seed. But that anemic second half against the Saints has me worried about their lack of the killer instinct—the rain can’t be an excuse for two dropped interceptions and a botched onside-kick recovery. The 49ers, on the other hand, are peaking at just the right time, dispatching a Carolina Panthers team that needed to be a touch more rabid on defense to get the job done. Colin Kaepernick’s joie de vivre has returned, as has his zeal for running the bootleg when plays break down. And, barring the Seahawks’ development of a machine to clone Richard Sherman, Kaepernick just has too many passing targets for Seattle to handle. Expect a close N.F.C. championship game in which a late turnover or poor clock management tilts the equation in favor of the 49ers. And expect a very frosty coaches’ handshake to wrap things up.

Photograph by Jared Wickerham/Getty.