At the beginning of every NFL season, there’s one thing everyone can agree upon: Nobody knows anything. In the salary cap era, anything can happen, and it does. Who could have predicted that the Packers would start 0-4? That the Bucs would start 4-1? That Daunte Culpepper’s wheels would fall off? That Fast Willie would take off?

Of course, now that the campaign’s almost half over, so it’s safe to start making some statements about the season:

Kansas City’s improved defense was a sham: Haven’t NFL organizations learned from the past? When the Steelers send a defensive player packing, he’s pretty much done. Do you know what happened to Greg Lloyd when he took off that 95? Heard from Jason Gildon lately? And what about DeWayne Washington? And don’t give me that Rod Woodson stuff—he changed positions.

So bringing in Kendrell Bell with washed-up safety Sammy Knight was going to take the K.C. D from worst to first? It wasn’t likely, and it hasn’t happened.

Denver’s not the only team who can plug anybody in at runningback: Look, I think Willie Parker’s great. Love his attitude, love his speed, love his ability to take it between the tackles. But if it isn’t obvious to everyone around the league (as it is to Steeler fans) that the Steeler line’s health is paramount to the Steeler who’s carrying the ball, I just don’t know what to tell them.

Arizona will finish with at least eight wins.

Wait, what about that last one?

That’s right. Dennis Green’s 2-4 Cards will finish with a .500 record. Might win the NFC West, too. How do I know this?

Is it that the Cards have played a couple close games? Is it that talented receiving corps? The up-and-coming Josh McCown?

Nope. It’s the same thing that won the Broncos two Super Bowls and pulled the Tampa Bay Bucs out of the hole. It’s shiny new duds. It’s the Theory of NFL Uniform Change.

What is the Theory of NFL Uniform Change? Where does it come from?

The Theory came along a number of years ago, when the Tampa Bay Bucs came seemingly out of nowhere to suddenly be good. And while they had a good coach in Tony Dungy and a stout defense, the truth dawned on me: They’d finally gotten out of those tangerine pants. The red and pewter gave them confidence, and they played better.

It only became a theory, though, when I realized a pattern: The Broncos didn’t win any Super Bowls in the orange crush, but won two in the first two years in the Rollerball unis. And the St. Louis Rams, winners of Super Bowl XXXIV in their classic blue and yellow, fell to 10-6 the following year in their navy and gold ensemble and lost to New Orleans in the first round. With that, the Theory was born.

The Theory of NFL Uniform Change states that a team that changes its uniform will also change its fortunes. It’s pretty simple:

I. Any NFL team that changes its uniforms will enjoy an increase in success in the year of the change relative to the drasticness of that change.

II. Teams already enjoying success who change their uniforms will incur the opposite effect, having less success than the previous year.

It’s pretty much a momentum thing: If you wanna break a streak, change something; and if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

What counts as a change? What if a team just changes shoe colors?

Look, this is not ‘nam. This is a scientific theory, and there are rules. So while teams might switch their shoe or sock color, or might ditch one of their varieties of pants, not all of these count as a viable, fortune-affecting uniform change. (I also don’t really have time to track all of these; honestly, you wouldn’t believe how many times the Saints have changed their pants stripes.)

Changes that don’t count:
-Change in stripe detail on pants
-Change in socks or sock detail
-Different mixing of existing pants and jersey colors (See the Bears’ awful blue-on-blue ensemble)
-Change of shoe color
-Addition of NFL logo (as all teams did in 1991)
-Change of cities
-Alternate third jersey (Not only did most teams add these in 2001, making the effect minimal, but they can only be worn one game per season, making them a relative non-factor in the season’s total outcome)

Changes that count:
-Complete uniform overhaul (Broncos: this to this. Or Tampa Bay: this to this.)
-Change in color scheme (either a drastic one like this to this, or a minor one like this to this.)
-Change in helmet logo
-Retro rethinking of uniforms (the Jets)
-Futuristic rethinking of old uniforms (the Falcons)
-Addition of black accents (San Francisco)
-Change in small color detail (the Colts’ facemask here and here)
-Change in uniform numbers (Steelers old and new)

Can you quantify this?

Oh, you betcha. After years of battling claims that I was only citing the good examples, or that those few examples were just coincidence, I took action. Using the extremely useful site Athlegraphic, I analyzed every change in NFL uniforms since 1990, noting each team’s record the year before the change and the year of the change, including each team’s exit from the playoffs when applicable.

And it works: Teams enjoying failure or ho-hum success (posting a record similar to their history, or making the same exit from the playoffs that they usually had) improved in almost every case, either 1) making the playoffs when they usually wouldn’t, 2) going deeper into the playoffs than they’d been accustomed to, or 3) won at least two more games than they had in the previous year.

Teams enjoying unfamiliar or incredible success in the year prior to the change--winning the Super Bowl, appearing in the Super Bowl, or making the playoffs when they normally wouldn’t--suffered in the year of the change, not doing as well as they had in the year prior.

To provide an example of a team that satisfies both sides of the theory, we’ll examine the Atlanta Falcons:

In 2002, Mike Vick and company posted a mark of 9-6-1 in these duds, losing a divisional playoff game against Philadelphia. During the offseason, the Falcons switched their style up, wearing these uniforms for the 2003 campaign.

And what happened? The usually barely-in-the-playoffs Falcons went 5-11.

Hoping to improve jersey sales (and that record), the Falcons made their third jersey--the red one--their primary jersey, a move that constitutes a minor color change in the Theory.

The result? NFC South Champions and an appearance in the NFC Title Game.

You might think the difference was Mike Vick--who was injured for most of the ’03 campaign. But I have my beliefs.

What are the best examples of the Theory in action?

In 1997, the Denver Broncos donned their “Rollerball” duds for the first time. In 37 years as a franchise, Denver had won zero Super Bowls despite having appeared in four such contests. Dressed in their new duds, the team rolled off back-to-back Super Bowl victories.

The best example of the Theory’s negative effect is with the Rams, as described above. After rolling to a Super Bowl win in 1999 with a backup QB at the helm, the Greatest Show on Turf lost the next year in the playoffs in their sleeker, shinier navy blue. And despite another appearance in the SB, they haven’t won since.

Just to prove that it works, can you provide three other solid examples? Including one or two with the negative effect?

The Bucs wholesale change (a biggie) took them from 6-10 to 10-6 and brought them their first playoff victory in 18 years.

Tennessee’s change from the Oilers to the Titans: the year before, the Oilers went a ho-hum 8-8. In their first year in the Thumbtacks, Tennessee appeared in the Super Bowl.

The Colts have enjoyed the negative effect twice in this decade, despite only minor changes to their duds. In 2001, they emboldened their blue, going from this to this. In the process, their record went from 10-6 to 6-10. Ouch. Lesson not learned, the Horseshoes changed their facemask color last year. And while the Colts didn’t have a bad season per se, they did lose earlier in the playoffs (Divisional round) than they had the year before (AFC Championship).

Has it ever not worked?

If you mean “not worked” like a team changed their uniforms and went from bad to worse (or repeated as NFL champs), then it has always worked.

In only one instance has the theory had a hiccup: In 1996, the Philadelphia Eagles conducted a futuristic rethinking of their uniforms, adding black in the process. The team posted a 10-6 record in both seasons.

So sue me.

What if two teams with changes play each other in a meaningful game?

In playoff games (the only time when such a matchup would be truly meaningful), the team with the more drastic uniform change will win. To quantify this drasticness, we consult the Drasticness Scale, which you can see by clicking here. The scale takes into account both the specific changes made (assigning each a point value) and multiplies the effect depending on how long the previous uniform was worn without change.

For example, let’s take the 1997 Steelers, who changed their uniforms from this to this. The change in numbers is worth two points, and because the Steeler uniform has been deemed a “classic” by the judging committee, the change is multiplied by three, resulting in a drasticness score of 6. Because of this uniform change, the Steelers—who had lost in the divisional round of the playoffs in the previous year—advanced to the AFC Championship.

In that conference title game, though, the Steelers faced the Denver Broncos in the first year of their “Rollerball” uniforms. Because of the total uni change (10 points) to another “classic” (multiplier of three), the Broncos change results in a score of 30, the maximum drasticness score allowed by the scale (I tried to calibrate it to 158.3, but I’m not really a math guy).

The result of the game? Broncos win. With their 30 score, the change was so powerful to the Broncos that it affected the outcome of two consecutive seasons, including a win over the 10-point change 1998 Jets (Going retro with a two multiplier) on the way to their second Super Bowl victory,

Does the Theory apply to other sports?

It’s very difficult to keep track in other sports--especially baseball, where teams seem to change their jerseys and add fourth and fifth options every season--but there are examples of the Theory in action in non-NFL situations:

In the 1992-93 season, after winning two consecutive Stanley Cups looking like this, the Pittsburgh Penguins changed their look to this. The Pens posted the best record in the NHL in the regular season, but failed to win a third cup.

At the beginning of the 1995-96 season, the two-time defending champion Houston Rockets replaced their red-and-yellow unis with these ghastly pinstripe jobs. The team has not won a title since.

If you can think of any of the positive examples of the Theory from other sports, please email me.

Finally, does the theory apply in other areas of life?

This is kind of tough because it’s difficult to quantify. I mean, I guess you could see the difference in sales at different McDonald’s branches when they switched from the maroon ensemble to a darker motif, but…that’s boring.

It’s easier to look at it this way: When you’re on a roll in life---great job, making money, dominating your slow-pitch softball league---would you change your haircut? Change your shoes? Of course not. But if you’re in a slump, you’ve got to change something.

For an example from the entertainment world, let’s look at an Ex-‘burgher: Christina Aguilera.

Although she enjoyed moderate success as the pixie who sang “Genie in the Bottle,” Aguilera was still playing second fiddle to a sluttier schoolgirl, Britney Spears. Rather than accept her number two (which sounds gross), Aguilera switched it up, becoming, well, the uber-whore.

The result? Aguilera’s sales and street cred shot up, while Spears married a guy from LFO videos and starting channeling her trailer park roots.

Which brings us to the moral of the story: Everything would be better if more girls would just slut it up.

----Greg

Back to the Ex-'Burgher.