The Dolphins Gambit

The Dolphins Gambit

Now that the dust has settled on Miami’s sixth defeat of the season, it’s worth getting into the weeds on why the team lost.

Not the reactionary drama that you see on social media in the aftermath — look, we’ve all been there, and me just as often as you — or even the story of the All-22, which either confirms your reasoning or gives you fresh eyes to see things that simply weren’t apparent on first look.

Just straight facts weighed against the long-term plans of the team.

When I was growing up, and people asked me about American football — which, in the UK thirty-five years ago, was a very, very niche sport — I would simply describe it as a violent chess match. Even now, in 2026, I think that is still apt. It also reminds me of a boxing match at the very highest level: punches aren’t just happening randomly. One fighter constantly sets the other up for the big shot, often by purposefully attacking a strength to go after a weakness. Or by deliberately ceding ground, watching and waiting. A pitcher in baseball will do the same, as will a bowler in cricket. You take an early, tactical ‘loss’ to pick up a bigger ‘win’.

I’ve conducted many interviews with NFL pass rushers over the years who say the same thing: they will spend three or four drives very specifically not doing something they know will have an effect. They slowly set up a tackle, then attack the weakness they’ve seen on film in the hope that it will get them to the quarterback. To all intents and purposes, they are simply sacrificing immediate production to create a bigger opportunity later. I’ve never spoken to a pass rusher who said they get into their bag on play one. Or even drive one. It’s a process.

In chess, it’s called a gambit: an opening move where a player voluntarily sacrifices material — usually a pawn — in exchange for a positional or tactical advantage.

But the Dolphins can’t afford to do that. Because, in order to win, everything they do has to be perfect.

Everything.

Why?

Because the paucity of talent on their roster means that they simply aren’t good enough to overcome mistakes that other teams make and get away with. So, if we continue the chess metaphor, Miami cannot afford to lose a piece; otherwise, their game is over.

And Sunday was the perfect example. At home against the defending AFC Champions, they simply didn’t have enough pieces to overcome the critical mistakes they made. They will, in time. You can see it.

Just not right now.

Consider this: what have we learned, more than anything, in the first eight weeks of the season about the offense?

Very simply, it’s this: they want to control drives. Control possessions. Run seven, eight, nine minutes off the clock on each drive and keep opposing offenses off the field. It’s why nobody in the league runs as much as the Dolphins do. It’s why the clock ticks down to inside five seconds on each snap. Tick tock, tick tock.

But that lack of talent, especially at the skill positions on offense, means they have to be perfect. They can’t get behind the chains, and they can’t make mistakes. Because when one mistake becomes two, and two becomes three, their chances of winning are suddenly put on life support, even when they’re up 13-3 and seemingly in control.

Compare that with a team like the Bengals, for example, who beat Tennessee 43-36 in overtime on Sunday. They overcame three Joe Burrow picks, three sacks, a lost fumble, eight penalties, and a failed fourth-down conversion to win the game. There is no hope in hell that Miami could ever overcome mistakes like that and still win, even against the Titans.