Kurtenbach: The Dan Marino Trap is real, and it just ensnared Drake Maye
In 1985, Dan Marino arrived at Stanford Stadium as the undisputed future of football. He was the MVP in just his second season, a golden-armed titan who looked like he’d be making annual pilgrimages to the Super Bowl for the next fifteen years.
Then he ran into Bill Walsh’s West Coast Offense and a 49ers defense that turned his afternoon into a living nightmare.
Marino never made it back. Not once.
Sunday in Santa Clara, the Drake Maye era didn’t just hit a speed bump; it hit a Mike Macdonald-sized brick wall. We watched the Seahawks’ legendary, no-subs, blitz-from-every-angle, swarm-everything defense turn the “Next Big Thing” — a baby-faced quarterback who lost out on MVP by just one vote — into a deer in headlights. It wasn’t just a loss; it was a systemic dismantling of a narrative.
If you think this is just a “young guy learning” moment, you haven’t been paying attention to NFL history. Saying “you’ll be back” part is the lie we tell ourselves to make these beat-downs palatable.
Take Super Bowl LVI. Joe Burrow — second season, coming off a last-place finish with the cupcake schedule to match — got sacked seven times by the Rams. We all said, “He’ll be back.” Well, it’s 2026, and that Super Bowl window feels like it’s been painted shut.
Or look at Maye’s childhood idol, Cam Newton. Ten years ago, in Super Bowl 50, he was the invincible force of nature. Then Von Miller happened. Seven sacks, a disastrous turnover margin, and a 24-10 blowout later, Cam’s trajectory changed forever. He never sniffed the Big Game again.
The NFL graveyard is filled with the careers of Colin Kaepernick, Chris Chandler, Boomer Esiason, and Ken Anderson. These are the guys who dragged losing-record teams to the Super Bowl on the back of a magical turnaround season, blissfully unaware they were standing on their career peak.
If you’re going to the Super Bowl on your first real run after collective ineptitude — the way Joe Montana did in 1981 (following a 6-10 season) or Kurt Warner did in 1999 (after a 4-12 campaign) — you better win the damn thing.
Because the NFL is a laboratory, and the Seahawks just published the white paper on how to break Maye.
The ’25 Patriots were paper tigers. I said it all campaign.
You can point to the wins, but I’ll point to the tape. And after the worst playoff run of any quarterback in modern NFL history — posting an expected points added (EPA) of −41.7 across four games — the numbers and eye-test have aligned.
The Patriots came to Santa Clara on a fluke of scheduling, opponent ineptitude, and health (for them, against others).
Now, Maye and the Patriots are staring down a 2026 schedule featuring first-place opponents, a gauntlet of prime-time games, and a target on their backs that wasn’t there in September.
Brock Purdy might eventually face this same cold reality when he hangs up the cleats: “almost” doesn’t guarantee a “next time.”
(Purdy’s childhood idol? Marino. Hence No. 13.)
Maye has the goods. He’ll probably be a perennial MVP candidate. He might throw for 4,500 yards, and with some dimes that will make your jaw drop. He’s Marino-like in that way.
But after last night’s humiliation — the culmination of four weeks of exposure — and knowing that the NFL really stands for “Not For Long,” I’m betting he ends up like Marino in the only way that actually matters.
Maye will have the stats, the endorsements, and the Pro Bowl nods. He’ll be the guy every talking head picks to “finally get over the hump” every August for the next decade.
But the hump just got a lot steeper.