There’s a certain kind of loss that can actually rewire how people talk about you.

For Drake Maye, Super Bowl LX was that kind of night.

Not because he lost — quarterbacks lose Super Bowls all the time — but because he looked nothing like the guy who spent four months putting New England's offense onto everyone's highlight reel. The guy who finished one vote short of winning MVP.

And then, under perfect football weather on the biggest stage, he played frantic, uncomfortable, and — if we’re being honest — flat-out bad.

So now we’re stuck in the most exhausting football argument there is: Which version will we get moving forward?

The regular-season version who sliced defenses up with timing, accuracy, and that “oh wow, he’s already there” confidence? Or the postseason version who got buried under pressure, started seeing ghosts, and didn’t have the answers when the pocket collapsed?

If Maye wants to live in that top-five-in-the-league neighborhood long-term — not just visit it when they have a lighter schedule and the pocket holds up — he’s got to adapt. Because next year? That bullseye on his back is going to be huge.

The Leap Was Real

The Rookie Year: Survival

Maye’s rookie year in 2024 wasn’t some clean, scripted “sit behind a vet, take over mid-year, everything clicks” situation. It was messy from the jump. It was physical. It was the kind of year where you learn, very quickly, that the NFL doesn’t care how talented you are — it cares how fast you can adjust when things go sideways.

There was no easing into it. No soft landing. Some weeks, the goal wasn’t even to win the game — it was to just get through it without developing bad habits that would stick. That’s a tough way to come up, especially for a young quarterback who’s wired to compete and make something happen on every snap.

On paper, the numbers looked like what you’d expect from a rookie trying to find his footing: 2,276 passing yards, 15 touchdowns, 10 interceptions in 13 games. Nothing jumps off the page there. But the stat that actually tells the story is the one that ended up being quite telling: 34 sacks.

What matters, though, is how he handled it. Maye didn’t sugarcoat the year. He called it a “tough season” and openly admitted he had a lot to learn — about protections, about timing, about when to fight for a play and when to live for the next snap. That honesty matters. A lot.

Plenty of young quarterbacks either spin seasons like that into something they weren’t, or quietly bury the lessons. Maye didn’t. He owned it. And in hindsight, that year looks less like a failure and more like a crash course — the kind that sets the foundation for a real leap if the right leader is put in place.

Year Two: The Jump

Now fast forward just one offseason.

In 2025, Maye doesn’t just improve — he becomes efficient and explosive at the same time.

His full regular-season line is ridiculous:

• 354-of-492 (72.0%; led NFL)

• 4,394 passing yards (4th)

• 31 passing TDs (3rd), 8 INTs

• 113.5 passer rating (Led NFL)

• Plus 103 rushes for 450 yards (4th most among QBs) and 4 rushing TDs

New England goes 14-3, wins the AFC, and Maye finishes second in MVP voting, one vote behind Matthew Stafford.

And it wasn’t just volume. He was third in the league in total offense. He was accurate to every level. He created outside structure when the play broke. He had the second-best passer rating on deep passes. He made enough “how did he fit that in there?” throws that defensive coordinators started calling him a problem.

So when people try to reduce this year to “well, he had a good stretch,” it misses what was happening on tape: he became a legitimate NFL operator.

The Regular-Season Version

Let’s talk about the Maye everyone fell in love with from September to January.

Accuracy That Travels

The foundation of his game right now is simple: he’s accurate. And not in the hand-wavy, highlight-only way people sometimes mean when they talk about young quarterbacks.

This is NFL accuracy — the kind that actually lets you survive when things aren’t perfect. He doesn’t need a receiver running free by five yards. He’s comfortable throwing guys open. Back-hip throws. Front-number balls on slants. Tight-window seams where the margin for error is nonexistent. Sideline hole shots where the ball has to get there on time, or it’s a turnover.

And maybe the most telling part? Even late in games, when things tightened up, you could see the calm. Set the protection. Identify leverage. Take the matchup the defense is giving you. Move on to the next snap. That’s grown-up quarterbacking, and it’s why so many people bought into the regular-season version so quickly.

The Deep Ball Wasn’t Just A Highlight

A lot of quarterbacks have a “pretty” deep ball. The kind that looks great in warmups and shows up once or twice a game on a blown coverage.

Maye’s deep ball this season was different. It was functional.

You saw it when the Patriots needed a jolt. You saw it when defenses tried to sit on the intermediate stuff and dared him to take shots. You saw it in how secondaries started playing with more depth, more caution, and a little more fear than they wanted to admit.

And that’s where the real value shows up. It’s not just about hitting a 40-yard throw — it’s about what that threat does to the rest of the field. When defenses have to respect the vertical game, windows underneath get cleaner. Linebackers hesitate. Safeties cheat a step deeper. The entire menu opens up.

The Scramble Factor: Weapon And Warning Label

Maye running this year became a talking point, and for good reason. 450 rushing yards from a quarterback isn’t a cute bonus — it’s a legitimate part of the offense.

Some of those runs were high-level, veteran-style plays. Step up in the pocket. Feel the edge rush widen. Escape through daylight and take what the defense gives you. Those are winning plays, and they kept drives alive all season.

But here’s the nuance that matters for where his game goes next.

Not all of those runs were created equal. Some of them were “get me out of here” scrambles — the kind that feel like a positive in the box score but you watch the film and realize, there was a throw there. A receiver breaking open late. A pocket that was workable if he trusted it for half a second longer.

Right now, Maye is a quarterback who can absolutely hurt you with his legs. But he’s also still learning when to use them — and when to resist the urge. Because sometimes the better play isn’t escaping. It’s hanging in, sliding subtly, and letting the route finish.

Context Matters

Yes, The Schedule Helped

The Patriots played — statistically — the easiest regular-season schedule in the NFL. There’s really no way around that.

And before anyone takes that the wrong way, let’s be clear about what that does and doesn’t mean.

It doesn’t mean Drake Maye didn’t play great. You don’t accidentally throw for 4,394 yards and 31 touchdowns. You don’t stumble your way into being one vote away from an MVP. That kind of production only happens if you’re consistently doing your job at a high level.

What it does mean is that the weekly environment was friendlier than what shows up in January. Fewer defenses that can wreck the pocket with four. Fewer coordinators willing — or able — to throw the kitchen sink at a young quarterback. Fewer weeks where every dropback feels like survival.

Maye did exactly what elite quarterbacks are supposed to do in those situations: he feasted on what was in front of him. He didn’t play down to the competition. He didn’t let lesser defenses hang around. He took advantage, stacked wins, and kept the offense on schedule.

The Pocket Felt Safer, And That Matters For Him

This is the biggest theme of the entire Drake Maye conversation right now, and it’s one people sometimes tiptoe around for no reason:

He needs to feel safe in the pocket.

That’s not an insult. It’s not a flaw you can’t fix. It’s just an honest snapshot of where he is in his development.

When protection is steady, Maye is deadly. His footwork stays clean. His base stays balanced. His eyes stay downfield. The ball comes out on time and with purpose. You see the confidence.

When protection is shaky, his game changes. He starts drifting instead of climbing. He speeds up his internal clock. He starts looking at rush instead of windows, and once that happens, the entire operation crumbles.

And look — he still took 47 sacks in the regular season, so it’s not like the offensive line was dominant. But a meaningful chunk of that sack total ties directly to Maye’s play style. Earlier in the year, he even owned it himself, acknowledging that he holds the ball and tries to extend plays when sometimes the smarter move is to take the checkdown, throw it away, and live for the next snap.

That’s not a death sentence. That’s an area he has to grow in.

A Drop-Off Is Inevitable, But Don’t Count On A Collapse

This is the part I want to be crystal clear on, because it’s easy for this conversation to drift into extremes:

I expect a drop-off from “one vote from MVP.”

That level is absurd. It’s rare. It’s hard to repeat. And the Patriots are going to get everyone’s best shot next season — different game plans, more pressure looks, fewer freebies.

But a drop-off doesn’t mean a collapse.

There’s a massive gap between not playing at an MVP pace every single year and looking completely overwhelmed on the biggest stage. The Super Bowl version of Maye is real — we all saw it — but it’s not the version that you're going to see on a week-to-week basis.

The truth is going to land somewhere in the middle. He’s almost certainly not going to be an MVP finalist every season. But he’s also far more likely to look like the regular-season quarterback than the one who unraveled under a historic defensive gauntlet.

The real question isn’t whether there will be a step back. There will be.

The question is how close Maye can stay to that regular-season level once the defenses get better, the schedule gets tougher, and the margin for error gets thinner.

That’s where the next leap lives.

The Pocket Felt Safer, And That Matters For Him

This is the biggest theme of the entire Drake Maye conversation right now:

He needs to feel safe in the pocket.

That’s not an insult. That’s just where he’s at.

When protection is steady, he’s deadly. When the pocket is predictable, his footwork stays clean. His eyes stay downfield. The ball comes out on time.

When protection is shaky, his game changes. He starts drifting. He starts speeding up. He starts looking at rush instead of windows.

And look — he still took 47 sacks in the regular season, so it’s not like the line was dominant. But a big part of that sack total also ties to Maye’s play style. Earlier this year, Maye even shouldered blame for the high sack total, basically admitting he holds the ball and tries to extend plays when he probably should just take the checkdown or throw it away.

That’s a growth area, not a death sentence.

A Drop-Off Is Inevitable, But Don't Count On A Collapse

This is the part I want to be crystal clear on:

I expect a drop-off from “one vote from MVP.”

Because that level is insane. It’s rare. It’s hard to repeat. And the Patriots are going to get everyone’s best shot next year.

But I don’t expect him to drop back to the version we saw in the Super Bowl.

There’s a big gap between not playing at an MVP pace every season and being completely shut down in the biggest game.

The truth is going to land in the middle — and the question is how close Maye can stay to the regular-season version when the defenses get better and the margin for error gets thinner.

The Postseason Reality Check

This is where it gets real, fast.

Because New England didn’t just run into a good defense. They ran into all of them. And not in a vague, hand-wavy way — in a very real, historically difficult way.

With the Chargers, Texans, Broncos, and Seahawks, New England faced a defensive stretch that almost never happens in one postseason run. At least three of those four defenses finished top five in major categories like yards per game, points per game, EPA per play, and total touchdowns allowed. All four were top ten across the board. That’s not normal. That’s a gauntlet.

And it wasn’t just numbers on a spreadsheet. These were units that could win up front, disguise coverage on the back end, and force quarterbacks to play left-handed for four quarters. The Chargers’ coordinator was so highly regarded he landed one of the most coveted head coaching jobs of the cycle. Houston’s defense was widely viewed as better than Seattle’s going into the playoffs. Denver’s defense was so dominant that people genuinely believed it could carry an offense led by Jarrett Stidham to a Super Bowl.

That context matters, because it completely changes the conversation about Drake Maye.

This wasn’t “he choked against some average unit.” This was “he ran a historically brutal defensive gantlet, survived it longer than most quarterbacks would, and eventually got overwhelmed at the very end.””

The Super Bowl Tape Just Makes It Look Worse

Maye finished the Super Bowl 27-of-43 for 295 yards, 2 TD, 2 INT, 6 sacks, and a lost fumble.

If you just glance at the box score, it almost tricks you. Nearly 300 yards. A couple of touchdowns. It looks like he moved the ball well enough to at least keep things competitive.

But anyone who actually watched the game — or worse, went back and watched it again — knows how misleading that line is. Most of that production came late, once Seattle was comfortable playing softer coverage, forcing New England to bleed clock underneath. The offense never found a rhythm when the game was still there to be taken.

The Offensive Line Has To Be The Villain

Bill Barnwell framed it well afterward: New England probably had answers prepared for what Seattle had shown on film during the season.

The problem was that Mike Macdonald didn’t give them the same test they studied for.

Seattle didn’t just line up and rush. They changed the questions after the snap. They attacked protections with timing and discipline, forcing Maye to process pressure instead of simply reacting to it. That’s where the game started to unravel.

The most telling stat from the night explains why everything felt so claustrophobic: Seattle actually generated pressure at a higher rate when rushing four or fewer than when they blitzed. That’s not normal, and it’s a nightmare scenario for any quarterback, let alone one making his first Super Bowl start in his first postseason.

If you’re looking for the face of the collapse up front, it’s hard to avoid rookie left tackle Will Campbell. Seattle isolated him, tested him, and kept coming. Campbell allowed 14 pressures in the Super Bowl alone, after already giving up four sacks and 15 pressures across the first three playoff games.

That’s not one bad series or one bad matchup. That’s a problem that can't be ignored.

And Still… Maye Was Bad

This is where the conversation has to stay honest.

The offensive line was a major factor. It shaped the game. It made life miserable. But it doesn’t fully excuse how Maye played, because the struggles went beyond just taking hits.

He didn’t simply absorb pressure — he started to feel it everywhere. His feet got jumpy. His eyes sped up. Reads that had been automatic during the regular season suddenly felt rushed. He missed open receivers because he was worried about rushers who weren’t quite there yet.

Even the easy stuff looked off. That’s what made the performance so jarring. This was the most accurate quarterback in football for four months, and on the biggest stage, that accuracy deserted him.

The McDaniels Part Of This Matters Too

This part deserves more discussion than it’s gotten, because it felt out of character.

Josh McDaniels had been excellent all season at anticipating aggression and using it against defenses. The Assistant Coach of the Year gave Maye answers. He layered concepts. He built in rhythm throws that punished impatience.

In the Super Bowl, those counters never really showed up.

When protection starts failing at that level, the typical response is to give your quarterback more defined quick-game reads, moving the launch point with boots and half-rolls, using tempo to prevent substitutions, forcing defenses to declare with empty sets, or at least varying screen looks to slow the rush.

Instead, it felt like New England kept trying to run the same offense as if the structure wasn’t collapsing. Seattle wasn’t giving anything away. They didn’t over-blitz. They didn’t chase big plays. They stayed disciplined, trusting that pressure would eventually break the quarterback.

And it did.

The Seahawks Deserve Their Flowers

It’s easy to get lost in what Maye and New England did wrong, but Seattle won that game because they were simply better.

They leaned on Kenneth Walker III, who ran for 135 yards and earned Super Bowl MVP honors. They asked Sam Darnold to be efficient and mistake-free, and he delivered. Jason Myers drilled a Super Bowl–record five field goals, turning stalled drives into points and keeping constant pressure on New England to respond.

The Patriots’ run game never got going — Rhamondre Stevenson and Trey Henderson combined for just 42 yards on 13 carries, with no run longer than nine yards. Once New England became one-dimensional, Seattle was free to tee off.

That’s what elite defenses do. They don’t just stop you. They force you to play a version of football you’re uncomfortable with.

The Two Things Maye Has To Add To Stay In The Top-Five Conversation

If you’re asking what separates a “really good young quarterback” from a guy who lives in the top-five conversation year after year, it usually comes down to how he handles chaos.

Talent gets you in the door. Accuracy keeps you on the field. But chaos — pressure, late rotations, broken protection, games where nothing feels comfortable — that’s where the gap shows up between tiers.

For Maye, closing that gap isn't going to take a total overhaul. It comes down to two very specific areas where growth tends to happen naturally.

1) Pocket Feel: Climb, Slide, Reset

You simply can’t be a true top-five quarterback if pressure dictates your feet.

Maye doesn’t need to turn himself into a statue, and he doesn’t need to suddenly play quarterback like it’s 2004. Movement has always been part of his game, and it should stay that way. The difference is learning when movement helps — and when it hurts.

Right now, pressure sometimes turns into panic. Not every time, but often enough that it shows up on film in the biggest moments. He just done't have a great feel for the rush all the time. Plays where pressure is coming right up the middle and he steps up anyway, and little pocket-awareness mistakes like that happen far too often. 

The fix isn’t complicated, but it is hard. It’s about trusting the pocket for just a beat longer. Climbing without drifting into the rush. Sliding laterally instead of running into traffic. Resetting his base and throwing with conviction instead of abandoning plays too early.

2) Situational Discipline

This is the least flashy part of quarterback play, and it might be the most important.

Maye has already said it himself: once you cross midfield, you can’t afford negative plays. That’s veteran quarterback logic, and it’s exactly the mindset that separates teams that consistently score from teams that constantly stall out.

The problem is that the Super Bowl showed the opposite. Instead of conceding small losses, plays snowballed. Instead of throwing the ball away, he got strip-sacked. Instead of living to fight on the next down, drives died in one moment.

Elite quarterbacks understand that not every rep can be won. Sometimes the defense wins, and the smartest play is to live with it. Take the checkdown. Throw it into the dirt. Eat a short sack if you have to — but don’t turn one bad rep into a game-altering play.

Those decisions rarely make highlight reels. Fans don’t clip them. They don’t go viral. But they keep drives alive, they keep you in games, and over time, they’re the difference between quarterbacks who rack up a couple of great seasons and quarterbacks who lift trophies.

All stats courtesy of NFL Pro.