Zero2Cool
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[/align]Posted: Thursday September 21, 2006 12:40PM; Updated: Thursday September 21, 2006 1:37PM
When I showed up for my first day of work as a newly hired scrub on the 49ers beat, the first thing I learned was that Ronnie Lott hadn't. The greatest defensive player in franchise history skipped the first day of a mandatory minicamp in June 1989 to stick up for his friends.
Management had slashed the base salaries of San Francisco veterans Eric Wright and Keena Turner, and when Lott showed up at the team's training facility the next day, he was visibly pissed. When he emerged from the locker room long after practice and saw me -- a recent college graduate who'd just been hired by a now-defunct newspaper to cover the defending champions -- for some weird reason, he unloaded.
"These men have given everything to this organization," he explained, "and yet the second the people in charge think they can get away with it, they screw 'em over. And before too long, they'll do the same thing to me."
I looked at him dubiously, and then my heart began to race. Joe Montana -- the Joe Montana -- was now standing next to us, nodding. I'd barely met the man, but he must have sensed my youthful naivety, because the first words he said were, "And sooner or later, they'll f--- me, too."
"Yeah, right," I blurted out. Had Montana gone insane? Already, he was a legend, a magician whose dramatic feats had transformed a franchise and, indeed, an entire city's self-image. Before Joe, San Francisco's teams were lovable, wacky ensembles that would inevitably choke in the clutch; with him, the city had become the sporting capital of unencumbered cool. Surely, more than any star player with any pro franchise, he would be allowed to leave on his own terms.
Less than four years later, Montana was traded to the Kansas City Chiefs, and his initial lesson to a rookie reporter had been driven home: In the NFL, eventually, everyone gets whacked.
Sadly, for Brett Favre, that moment is fast approaching. Or, at the very least, it should be.
Oh, sure, I know the rules are supposed to be different in Green Bay, where the local time is always 1996, and Favre is still that bodacious gunslinger who put the title back in Titletown. Though that was Favre's only Super Bowl championship, it is nearly impossible to discuss this quarterback with a Packers fan without eliciting an emotionally charged response.
Taking in that blind devotion is one of the cool things about covering football in Green Bay, and Favre is wholly deserving of his beloved status; not to mention, he's also one of my favorite players to write about or interview. But there comes a time when logic must prevail, and I hate to be the one to break it to you, but the hour is upon us.
The Packers are a rebuilding team, and it's already clear they're going nowhere in 2006. They opened the season with consecutive home defeats, getting destroyed by the Bears in the opener and then losing a close game to the Saints.
Some believe that seven-point defeat to New Orleans constituted progress; to me, it only added to the indignity. Remember when the Packers were a virtual lock to win at Lambeau Field? They've lost nine of their last 12 games there, and their fans may soon be the ones contemplating a Lambeau Leap.
Sure, it's possible Favre and the Pack could come charging back, beginning on Sunday at Detroit, and give us a storybook Super Bowl run. It's also possible that Mad About You will return to the airwaves as a top-10 sitcom.
More realistic is the notion that Green Bay is at least a year away from being decent, and letting Favre stick around is stunting the team's long-term potential.
It's not as if any of this is surprising. Coming off a miserable 4-12 campaign that triggered regime change -- first-time general manager Ted Thompson, who'd been hired the previous year, bringing in first-time coach Mike McCarthy -- the franchise did virtually nothing to shore up its short-term prospects this past offseason. The Packers could have tried to load up on impact players to give Favre a final shot at glory; instead, they traded their best wide receiver (Javon Walker) and acquired no one of his caliber as a replacement.
As one former Packers player said recently, "It was pretty easy to tell the direction it was going."
It seemed to me that Thompson either assumed Favre would retire, or that he was trying to send the quarterback a message that doing so would be the wisest decision. But Favre returned and, predictably, has struggled while running an offense still reeling from the free-agent departures of guards Mike Wahle and Marco Rivera following the '04 season. What once was the league's most formidable offensive line now features three rookies fighting for time at the two guard spots and is struggling to open holes for fading halfback Ahman Green.
At this point, any reasonable coach or GM would conclude that the smart move is to take a look at second-year quarterback Aaron Rodgers, whom Thompson picked in the first round of the '05 draft. Rodgers looked somewhat shaky during his rookie training camp, but he seemed to make huge strides this summer and had a promising preseason debut before leveling off.
In other words, even though Thompson referred to Rodgers as Favre's successor in a meeting with Packers shareholders this past July, the team still doesn't know if the kid can play. And with the possibility of a high pick in the '07 draft looming, and enticing talents like Notre Dame's Brady Quinn and Michigan State's Drew Stanton in play, Thompson and McCarthy desperately need some empirical evidence.
So, why haven't they made the move? Perhaps Favre's close relationship with McCarthy, who was once his quarterbacks coach, is a factor. Maybe McCarthy and Thompson honestly believe their youthful team will grow as the season progresses and mount a charge toward the playoffs.
The biggest reason, I believe, is that they're simply scared to mess with a legend.
I discussed this situation with a person who is extremely plugged into the Packers' organization, and he likened it to "one of those mismatched couples that stay together even though they don't really want to be in the relationship. But neither one wants to be the bad guy and end it, so on it goes."
Whatever he says publicly, I have to believe that Favre, as a competitor, would rather play for, say, the Redskins or Buccaneers than he would for this year's Packers. One thing I know he will never do is stick around Green Bay and back up Rodgers, toward whom he has been frostier than the Lambeau tundra in mid-December. Perhaps that's what's holding up McCarthy: He knows that once he sends Rodgers into a game --or, to clarify, into a game whose outcome is still in doubt -- there is no turning back.
Let's say that moment arrives in the third quarter of Sunday's game in Detroit: Picture the Packers flailing on offense and needing a spark, and the coach going with his gut and sending in the kid. From that point on, however Rodgers performed, things would play out quickly. Within two days Favre would likely either announce his retirement or be squarely on the trading block. And if he chose not to quit, you can bet your lucky Cheesehead that Al Davis, Dan Snyder, Jerry Jones and the Glazer boys would at least pick up the phone, Favre's recent struggles notwithstanding.
Strangely enough, you might then see an in-season bidding war for a soon-to-be-37-year-old passer with a $7 million base salary who threw 29 interceptions in 2005. And if this scenario were to play out after the Oct. 17 trade deadline -- possibly because salary-cap considerations might sidetrack a potential deal -- Favre could be subject to a waiver claim or immediate free agency, which would make things mighty interesting in a bunch of NFL cities.
Might Terrell Owens get his wish and find himself catching Favre's passes? Would Favre push aside his former backup, Mark Brunell, and try to revive the Redskins' potentially dangerous attack?
It sounds like sacrilege, but it sure wouldn't be unprecedented. Johnny Unitas had that sad season in San Diego. Broadway Joe became Sunset (Strip) Joe before hobbling off into it. Dan Marino, after being forced out of Miami, seriously considered signing with the Steelers before deciding to quit.
And, of course, the greatest legend of all played his final three seasons with an arrowhead on his helmet. I covered Montana's first game as a Chief (in Tampa, to open the '93 regular season) and his last (a first-round playoff defeat to Marino and Miami in '95), and a few in between, and seeing him in that uniform always felt a little weird.
I got over it, though. Sooner or later, everyone has to.
