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.