One great thing about the Packers’ standing in the NFL is the great journalism covering the Packers. Here are two examples.

If you go by the measurement of Super Bowl wins, then, in the same way that Bart Starr should be considered the greatest Packer quarterback of all time (five NFL titles and two Super Bowl wins), Joe Montana should be considered the greatest quarterback of the Super Bowl era.

As it happens, Packer coach Mike McCarthy had Montana as one of his quarterbacks when he was the Chiefs’ quarterback coach, as Grantland points out:

McCarthy had gone to K.C. to work with his mentor Paul Hackett, the Chiefs’ new offensive coordinator and a former assistant for Bill Walsh’s San Francisco 49ers. While working together at the University of Pittsburgh, Hackett and McCarthy had installed a version of Walsh’s legendary West Coast offense, which had powered four Super Bowl titles in the 1980s. McCarthy became enamored of the system during those years with the Panthers, immersing himself in the offense that was taking over football. By the time he went to the Chiefs, McCarthy felt he was ready for any challenge.

Well, almost any challenge: Prior to the 1993 season, the Chiefs traded for Montana, the veteran quarterback with extensive West Coast offense experience and four Super Bowl titles, and the man Jerry Rice referred to as “God.” McCarthy told Milwaukee’s JournalSentinel that the gravity of the assignment didn’t register until he excitedly let some of his close friends know that he’d be coaching Montana, and one responded by asking, “What in the [expletive] are you going to teach Joe Montana?” It was a good question, and it led McCarthy to become as much Montana’s student as his teacher, soaking in all the knowledge he could from the future Hall of Famer.

More than 20 years later, on the brink of a divisional-round playoff game against the Dallas Cowboys, McCarthy again finds himself in a teacher-student partnership with an elite pupil: Packers quarterback Aaron Rodgers. Though McCarthy is facing a similar challenge of figuring out how to help one of the game’s best quarterbacks get even better, his relationship with Rodgers is far more collaborative than his pairing with Montana ever was, allowing coach and quarterback to try to improve themselves, each other, and the very offense Walsh taught Montana so long ago. …

When the Packers fired Mike Sherman and hired McCarthy as head coach after Rodgers’s first season, it altered the direction of both McCarthy’s and Rodgers’s careers.

McCarthy was hardly a slam dunk hire, having coached relatively pedestrian offenses in New Orleans from 2000 to 2004, and having spent the 2005 season as offensive coordinator for the 49ers, a 4-12 team that finished a woeful 30th in the league in scoring and 32nd in total yards. But Packers general manager Ted Thompson brought in McCarthy hoping the coach’s deep knowledge of the West Coast offense and renowned touch with quarterbacks would tame Favre after a 29-interception season, while also developing Favre’s anointed replacement. Though Favre bounced back under McCarthy, throwing for 4,155 yards, 28 touchdowns, and only 15 interceptions in 2007 en route to the NFC title game, he began to threaten retirement, and by 2008 Thompson and the organization were ready to switch to Rodgers, convinced after witnessing his dramatic improvement that the QB had the makings of a future star.

Since his days as an assistant under Hackett at Pitt, McCarthy has run a “QB school” every offseason, where, away from the pressure of preparing for a weekly opponent, McCarthy can teach his quarterbacks the finer points of the position. In addition to extensive drill work, McCarthy often gives his quarterbacks lengthy written tests, once (according to the Sentinel) even asking his non-Montana quarterbacks in Kansas City to write an essay describing the Chiefs’ version of the West Coast offense “from a philosophical perspective.”

Rodgers has clearly benefited from McCarthy’s training. As good of a prospect as Rodgers was coming out of Cal, it’s striking how different he looks now: he’s more athletic, more natural, and has a stronger arm. While primary credit goes to the long hours Rodgers spends developing his craft on his own, McCarthy provided a structure for that process.

Specifically, when Rodgers arrived in the NFL, there was what McCarthy has labeled a “stiffness” to his game. Under McCarthy’s tutelage, that has since melted away to reveal the fluid, smooth quarterback we see today. Tedford, Rodgers’s college coach and a current CFL head man, is an excellent quarterback teacher, but his college passers tended to be a bit robotic: They all dropped back, held the ball, and released it the same way. That made sense for raw high school and junior college passers who had to quickly learn the fine points of quarterbacking in order to execute Tedford’s pro-style attack, but great NFL passers must make their fundamentals serve them, not the other way around. …

The offense Rodgers operates in Green Bay is based on the same ideas, concepts, and even specific plays that Hackett, McCarthy, and Montana used in Kansas City and that Montana and Hackett had run with the 49ers, all of which is rooted in Walsh’s West Coast offense. While most people think of short timing passes when they hear the term “West Coast offense,” Walsh’s coaching tree — and the coaching tree of his coaching tree — is so long because his insights extended beyond well-designed pass plays to encompass a uniquely thorough, detailed approach to game planning, analyzing defensive weaknesses, and teaching and developing players. Those precepts are Walsh’s true legacy, and they now fuel the Packers’ offensive success.

In McCarthy’s early years, he immersed himself in Walsh’s ideas and language — 22 Z-In, 2 Jet X-Sluggo Seam, and so on. But rather than adhering religiously to those lessons, McCarthy and Rodgers have crafted a version of Walsh’s offense that constantly evolves to keep pace with a changing game. Quoting former Chiefs assistant Jimmy Raye, McCarthy once told USA Today: “‘Football is a cycle. You’re going to see things in this league or out of this league and in college football.’ It’s very important to stay on the front side of that cycle.” The Packers’ offense may be rooted in the playbook McCarthy learned from Hackett 20-plus years ago, but it works because he and Rodgers have subtly blended in new-school tactics.

While the West Coast offense dominated the NFL in the 1990s and early 2000s, it has increasingly fallen out of favor because its emphasis on precision and preparation has too often translated into inflexibility and needless complexity. The traditional West Coast offense features a seemingly countless number of plays — former Packers coach Mike Holmgren once said his playbook contained at least 1,500 plays — because on each play each player had a specific job, such as running a post or a slant. As a result, the only way to take advantage of a shifting, evolving defense was to add yet another new play and hope to call it at the right time, in what amounted to an impossibly hard game of rock-paper-scissors.

That’s not a feasible approach against modern, malleable defenses, and with Rodgers under center, it’s also not necessary. For example, one of the Packers’ most productive pass plays is “three verticals,” in which Green Bay’s receivers have the option to change their routes based on the coverage, trusting Rodgers to see their adjustments in real time.

Chris B. Brown

On this play against the Panthers, both outside receivers, Jordy Nelson and Davante Adams, can run either straight down the field on “go” routes (as Nelson does to Rodgers’s right) or stop after 12 to 15 yards if the defender is playing soft coverage (as Adams does to Rodgers’s left). Meanwhile, the slot receiver, Randall Cobb, runs a “middle read”: If the defense plays with two safeties deep, Cobb will split the safeties and run deep down the middle, but if there’s a deep middle safety like on this play, he’ll turn his route into a square-in and break across the field into Rodgers’s vision.

While this play, which the Packers run over and over again, requires Rodgers and his receivers to all be on the same page — and requires Rodgers to process all of this information and make an accurate throw in fractions of a second — it also replaces as many as 10 different plays from the traditional West Coast offense.

This idea of multiple concepts within each play flows through Green Bay’s offense. Under Favre and in Rodgers’s early seasons, this typically meant combining multiple pass concepts within the same play and letting the QB pick the side based on the defense. More recently, however, the Packers have made extensive use of “packaged plays,” which combine run blocking from the offensive line with screens or downfield passes by the receivers, while the QB has the option to hand off to a running back or throw downfield.

Under McCarthy, Green Bay was among the first NFL teams to begin using packaged plays, which first began bubbling up in college football roughly five years ago. (McCarthy has several friends coaching college on whom he leans for new ideas, including Kevin Sumlin, the forward-thinking coach at Texas A&M.) The above inside zone running play married to quick “pop” or seam routes by the slot receivers is straight from college football, and is a simple way to keep defenses honest if they try to crash down on Eddie Lacy and Green Bay’s increasingly productive run game. It’s also a way for the Packers to use Rodgers’s quick decision-making ability without putting him in harm’s way.

But the Packers’ success doesn’t stem solely from their ability to embrace the latest and greatest; while Green Bay excels at innovating, it’s also better than any other NFL team at executing many of the same plays Walsh used with Montana, most notably the slant pass. Hard as it is to believe, few NFL teams consistently throw the quick slant anymore, as most have replaced it with skinny posts or quick square-ins, or stopped bothering altogether. Put on a Packers game, though, and it can feel like watching old 49ers game film.

It’s not uncommon for Rodgers to complete five to 10 slant passes in a game — he likes them against soft coverage because they give him easy access, and he loves them against the blitz. When New England tried to bring pressure on Rodgers late in the half, he checked into a basic slant to Nelson and, 45 yards later, Green Bay had scored.

… Rodgers is a few Super Bowls shy of earning direct comparisons to Montana, but — particularly compared to Peyton Manning’s manic nerdiness and Tom Brady’s newfound love of high fives, head butts, and F-bombs — he’s the closest thing we have to a modern-day Joe Cool: This season alone, Rodgers pointedly told Packers fans to R-E-L-A-X after a loss and, on one of the most remarkable plays I’ve ever seen, calmly threw a game-winning touchdown pass without even bothering to buckle his chin strap.

pass without even bothering to buckle his chin strap.

By all accounts, Rodgers has always been this way. At a coaching clinic in 2011, Tedford recalled that, before the aforementioned crucial game against USC, Rodgers “was just walking around in the locker room with a smile on his face and getting [his teammates] going, but also getting them relaxed. He was not going haywire and yelling and screaming. He had this confidence about himself, and his leadership ability was unbelievable.”

Of course, similarities in demeanor between Rodgers and Montana wouldn’t matter if the two weren’t also so similar on the field. “When I think about fundamental quarterback play, I think of Aaron and Joe Montana,” McCarthy told the Sentinel. “The productivity is obviously there, but just the way they play the position — their footwork, the balance, the athletic ability, the accuracy of the football, the vision.” I see it too. Montana’s gifts were his accuracy, his decision-making, and his feet, and Rodgers boasts those same attributes — plus a stronger arm.

Michael Silver flashes back to the Packers’ last game:

The counterintuitive cheer rang out like a crescendo, just after Detroit Lions defensive lineman Jason Jones charged through the line and came crashing down upon quarterback Matt Flynn, and five confused Green Bay Packers offensive linemen weren’t sure what had hit them.

“We were like, ‘What the hell is going on?’ ” said Packers guard Josh Sitton, recalling the third play from scrimmage of the second half of Green Bay’s NFC North-deciding regular-season finale. “We had just given up a sack, and we’re going, ‘Are they sarcastically cheering?’ It was about to be a new low.

“Then we got to the sideline and our offensive line coach said, ‘Hey, 12’s back out here. We’ll see what happens.’ ”

As the Packers, 78,408 fervent fans at Lambeau Field and millions of TV viewers would soon be reminded, magic happens quite frequently when Aaron Rodgers emerges from the tunnel and steps onto a football field. For the second consecutive year, Rodgers’ timely return from an injury in Week 17 would deliver a dramatic division title for the Pack. In this case, Green Bay secured a first-round bye with its 30-20 triumph over the Lions, setting up Sunday’s divisional-round clash at home against the Dallas Cowboys.

It also, in all likelihood, clinched a second regular-season Most Valuable Player trophy for a quarterback whose growing standard of greatness mesmerizes fans, coaches, opponents and teammates alike. …

And now, remarkably, Rodgers is every bit the Titletown treasure that predecessor Brett Favre was — and, true to his unrelenting nature, he’s far from satisfied. Though many highly astute football figures, including future Hall of Fame quarterback Tom Brady, have said that Rodgers is playing quarterback at the highest level the sport has seen, the 31-year-old superstar dismisses such proclamations as “idle talk.”

As Rodgers said in a recent interview at Lambeau, “I still know I can play better, and I’m always looking for ways to get better. Whether it’s a six-touchdown game, and I’m pissed about a check I didn’t make in the second half that would have given me a chance to get seven … it’s that desire to be perfect. It’s the greatest asset sometimes, and it can be the greatest curse, because it’s hard to turn off.”

In the process, he’s turning out to be one of those players his teammates will tell their grandkids about, and whose heroic feats may only be slightly exaggerated long after his bust has settled into its permanent resting spot in Canton.

Consider the scene at Lambeau two Sundays ago. Nursing a painful left calf injury as he took the field against the Lions, Rodgers was slipping away from the pass rush late in the first half when he suddenly felt a shooting pain in the afflicted leg. That Rodgers managed to thread a 4-yard touchdown pass to receiver Randall Cobb before hitting the ground, giving the Packers a 14-0 lead, was of small consolation to the stunned masses. Rodgers would later concede that he initially thought he had torn his Achilles tendon.

“When he went down, it looked like he got shot,” said Packers linebacker A.J. Hawk, one of Rodgers’ closest friends on the team. “I didn’t think he was coming back. We figured, as a defense, ‘Let’s stand up — we need to do this.’ Then I heard the crowd.”

Just after Flynn absorbed that drive-killing sack to start the second half, Rodgers emerged from the tunnel, blessedly still in uniform. Though the Lions would score a touchdown on the ensuing drive, tying the score at 14, the sight of Rodgers taking warmup tosses on the sideline infused the stadium with a surreal sense of serenity.

“It was like a cliché movie thing,” Hawk said. “The crowd’s cheering, but this isn’t the right time. Then I saw that he had come back out — and he wasn’t in street clothes. I honestly wasn’t sure if he would try to play … or, if he did, if he was gonna last more than a few plays.

“And, of course, it was a magical second half. It was like Willis Reed, limping back out of the tunnel. Just one more story to add to his legend.”

Certainly, Rodgers earned the comparison to Reed, who stunned a Madison Square Garden crowd by surfacing just before tipoff of Game 7 of the 1970 NBA Finals and, despite a torn thigh muscle, propelling the New York Knicks to a victory over the Los Angeles Lakers.

On a more contemporary — and personal — level, he channeled the unrivaled resilience of Favre, whose penchant for playing through pain was immortalized by his record streak of 297 regular-season starts. …

In the process of affirming his ability, Rodgers has proven to be a strong-willed, ultra-competitive and exacting leader, one who carries himself with almost a coach-like presence among his peers.

“He expects everyone to put the work in just like he does,” Sitton said. “He brings a pad and a pen to every meeting and takes notes. It might be s— that he’s seen 100 times, but he prides himself on knowing every facet of this offense.”

That, not surprisingly, provokes creative tension with the man in charge of the Packers’ offense, and of the team as a whole: Mike McCarthy, who took over after Rodgers’ rookie season and is now the league’s fourth-longest-tenured head coach with his current team.

Upon hearing the suggestion that he and McCarthy are like Spinal Tap’s “two visionaries,” a reference to the infamous recording-session screaming match between guitarists David St. Hubbins and Nigel Tufnel in the cult-classic rockumentary, Rodgers laughed and said, “That’s a good analogy.”

Said Seneca Wallace, the veteran who spent the 2013 season as a Rodgers backup: “It was interesting. You hear different stories about coaches and quarterbacks (clashing), and when the head coach also calls the plays, it’s a whole other dynamic. They’re both very opinionated. Aaron’s a very intelligent quarterback, and Mike is a very intelligent and headstrong head coach who wants things done his way.

“When you’ve got two headstrong guys going at it, it’s kind of like a chess match. Each one is trying to figure out what the next move is. They’re going to war together, and if something goes on, they’ll come back and hug it out. It’s not like it gets out of hand. Whatever they’ve got going on with their chemistry, it works for them.”

To McCarthy, the challenge is to balance “the responsibility of calling plays with Aaron, but also the responsibility of managing the game for the whole team. There’ve been times, especially as a young coach, where I was too emotionally aggressive on the sidelines.”

Rodgers, suffice it to say, is not emotionally passive — be it in practice, meetings or games.

“Coach McCarthy always talks about alpha dogs — well, they’re like two alphas going at it,” Hawk said. “Man, it’s intense. It’s really fun to watch. They spend a lot of time together, one-on-one … watching film, going over the game plan, talking over plays. There’s so much respect back and forth, and they’re both passionate.”

The two visionaries made beautiful music together this year, as Rodgers threw for 4,381 yards, completed 65.6 percent of his passes and tallied 38 scoring tosses while serving up just five interceptions. His 112.2 passer rating was second only to Tony Romo’s 113.2, and the Packers’ 12-4 record was their best since the then-defending champions went 15-1 in 2011, with Rodgers earning MVP honors.

“Mike and I have got a really good relationship,” Rodgers said. “It’s been tested over the years. There’ve been so many highs, and a couple of moments of friction. But the moments of friction just make things better between us. Because, at the end of the day, we both want the same thing: We desperately want to win, and we want to do it all the time. And we are passionate about doing things the right way, and winning.

“We love to win. And we hate to lose. We probably hate to lose more than we love to win. And that’s why we want it so badly. Our relationship has grown so much over the years. It’s just a trust that he allows me to do some things on the field, and I trust him to make the right calls. He gives me enough freedom. I try not to abuse that.

“For sure, there’s some fiery moments. But I think we both know each other well enough that the last thing that either of us want to do is disrespect each other.”

Sometimes, the friction occurs because Rodgers goes off script and doesn’t include McCarthy in the improv sketch. Whereas Saints coach Sean Payton and quarterback Drew Brees seem, in a football sense, to be completing one another’s sentences, McCarthy and Rodgers can be more like screenplay collaborators who divvy up the scenes.

“Mike might call two plays, and then they’ll go no-huddle,” Wallace said. “So of the 70 plays in a game, Aaron might end up calling 40. But it really eats at Mike when he doesn’t know what play Aaron is calling. He’ll be like, ‘What the f—? What is he calling?’ ”

In Rodgers’ defense, he’s pretty damned good at it. For starters, his football IQ is Mensa-esque. Hawk says that he occasionally picks the quarterback’s brain about offenses the Packers are preparing to face, “and he’ll start to go into a 30-minute dissertation about what defenses do, what works, what the upcoming opponent will do and why it won’t work. He goes into such depth and detail. He’s one of those dudes who thinks like 10 steps ahead. So if you ask him a question like that, you’d better not be in a hurry.”

Asked if he could emulate his old-school predecessors who routinely called their own plays, Rodgers said, “I think so.” He’s being modest — he knows so.

“Remember that game at the end of the (2011) season, after they’d already clinched home-field (advantage throughout the playoffs), when (then and current backup) Matt Flynn went off against Detroit?” Wallace said, referring to the 45-41 Green Bay victory in which Flynn set franchise records for passing yards (480, since tied by Rodgers in 2013) and touchdown passes (six, also since tied, twice, by Rodgers — before halftime of the Pack’s blowout victory over the Bears last Nov. 9).

“I think Aaron called 100 percent of those plays, or darn near close, from what he told me. That just tells you the respect level Mike has for him, and the level that they’re both on intellectually.”

It was that respect level that led McCarthy to implement more no-huddle packages in 2012, thus increasing Rodgers’ play-calling responsibilities. He reduced them in 2013, concluding that he was putting too much on his quarterback.

“It’s not that he couldn’t (call his own plays),” McCarthy said. “When you talk football with him, he’s ‘coach-smart’ now — he knows the line call, the blocking schemes and what every receiver is doing. Really, what we learned through our process is, it’s not that he can’t. It’s how much responsibility can one man carry on a team?

“Nobody plays faster in the league than this guy — the way he sees the game, the way he gets the ball out of his hands. I realized I was stressing out, and potentially slowing down, the best player on my team.” …

Midway through last season, a groan reverberated throughout Lambeau after Rodgers went down with a broken left clavicle during a Monday night defeat to the Bears. As the Packers struggled to stay afloat during his eight-week absence, Rodgers spent much of his time in the training room, where he and the people treating him amused themselves by sifting through letters, voicemails and emails from fans offering unconventional remedies.

“Our training staff started collecting this stuff, and we’d read them, just as a way to deal with the frustration of not being out there, to provide some comic relief at times,” Rodgers recalled. “The root of it was that people wanted to help. Some of them were interesting ideas that made you go, ‘Hmmm.’ Some of them were just pure comedy — different things they could put on (the clavicle), whether it was some sort of cream or rub, or animal extract, or some sort of light therapy that would be the cure-all.”

And what was Rodgers’ favorite suggestion? “Energy therapy,” he said, laughing. “It was a letter (in which) somebody wrote, ‘If I can just touch him … just touch his affected area, he’ll be back on the field next week.’ ”

Eight weeks later, Rodgers returned for the team’s final regular-season game, a division-title showdown with the Bears in Chicago, and delivered a miracle of his own.

Down 28-27 and facing a fourth-and-8 with 46 seconds remaining, Rodgers took a shotgun snap and faced immediate pressure from Bears pass rusher Julius Peppers (now a Packers teammate). After sliding to his left to evade the sack, Rodgers launched a 48-yard touchdown pass to Randall Cobb that ranked as one of the most stirring plays in franchise history.

Carrying on the Packers’ storied legacy is important to Rodgers. While things were understandably chilly with Favre during that surreal summer of 2008, Rodgers has made a point of helping to repair relations, ultimately facilitating plans for Favre’s jersey to be retired at Lambeau next season.

“I think Brett deserves his due for what he did for this organization, this city and this franchise,” Rodgers said. “So, it’s time to bring him back. I think that in some people’s eyes, they were worried about how I would react to that. And so it was just important for me to show those people that, you know what, I’m 100 percent on-board with this. Because it has nothing to do with me — Brett should be back in the fold, and should be honored the way he deserves to be honored.”

Rodgers, understandably, has never felt so secure in his position, even as he pushes himself and his teammates toward that elusive standard of perfection. He’s still adjusting to life as a celebrity — and now has a famous girlfriend in actress Olivia Munn, further intensifying a “life (that is) not really normal anymore.”

That said, Rodgers is determined not to stay ensconced in a football-centric bubble.

“I think he takes pride in being intellectual and in touch with what’s going on around the world,” Hawk said. “He’s obviously all about football, but it’s not just football. He’s so curious. If I mention a book that he hasn’t read yet, or hasn’t heard of, he’ll take out his phone, make a note, and actually buy it and read it.

“He’s curious, always asking questions, always learning. There are a million things he’s interested in … politics, entertainment, current events. If he walks by your lunch table and hears you talking about something, he’ll sit down and give you his opinion — and he’s not shy about debating you.”

And when Rodgers debates, as with everything he does, he’s in it to win it.

“You wanna know how competitive he is?” Sitton asked. “One day early this season, we have this play (in practice) where he basically has to launch the ball as far as he can out of bounds … running time off the clock when there are six or seven seconds left and it’s fourth down so there’s no time left for another play. I told him, ‘You don’t have the arm for that anymore. You’re too old.’ He looked at me like, ‘FU,’ and launched that ball so f—– far, it was ridiculous. That’s how he is.”

Said Hawk: “We hang out with him, and we’re big into board games and different types of charades-type games. If your team is trying to come up with topics, he’ll sit in the corner by himself coming up with terms he’s so proud of. He wants to come up with some stuff you’ve never heard of. If one of his references comes up, and the other team gets it, he’ll get so mad. He wants to dominate.” …

After emerging from the tunnel to finish off the regular-season finale against the Lions, Rodgers was clearly uncomfortable, yet he refrained from playing up the drama to his teammates. Even when he scored on an improbable sneak to put the Pack up by two touchdowns in the fourth quarter, a decision that apparently was his brainchild — “I didn’t think it was the brightest call by Aaron,” Sitton said — Rodgers was all business.

“It wasn’t really a big production,” Sitton said. “At one point, he said, ‘I’m gonna need some time, guys.’ But it was definitely that feeling that the competition, that going to battle with us, was more important than his injury. It was definitely a big moment.”

Perhaps, for a man whose path to football stardom has seldom been paved with gold, Rodgers’ muted reaction to such challenging circumstances isn’t surprising. Adversity, be it Ndamukong Suh’s foot bearing down on his tender left leg late in that Lions game or a van full of sneeringly skeptical high schoolers, has been a constant part of the journey — but, in Rodgers’ eyes, his has been the road best traveled.

“It’s a lot better,” he said. “As tough as it’s been, at times, that road is a satisfying one. And as you move forward, you take the high road and try and do things the right way — you try to make it about the team, and you try to stay humble when you’re having great success. That’s the satisfying road.”

 

The Milwaukee Journal Sentinel did a valuable service for younger readers by reminding them that Packers football wasn’t always as good as it is now:

In fact, fans younger than 30 pretty much know only winning. Seventeen post-season appearances in the last 22 years (including an NFC Divisional Round game next Sunday at Lambeau Field). Eleven division titles since 1995. Three trips to the Super Bowl. Two quarterbacks, both headed to the Hall of Fame.

Yes, Packers fans have it pretty good. After all, they could have been born in Oakland or Cleveland. Worse yet, they could be stuck with Jay Cutler.

“I think us as Packer fans are spoiled rotten,” said Michael Hunt, who played linebacker for Green Bay from 1978 to ’80 and lives in Merrill.

“I don’t think fans understand how hard it is to (win) year after year, and have a chance to go to the Super Bowl every year,” said Gary Ellerson, a Packers running back for two years in the mid-’80s.

They have a point. Perhaps many Packers fans take success for granted. Maybe there’s a growing sense of Titletown entitlement, a smidgen of smugness, an undercurrent of complacency that has ever so slightly dulled passions.

If so, a reminder of the past is in order.

A friend of mine calls the interminable interregnum between Vince Lombardi and Ron Wolf as the “Gory Years.” The Journal Sentinel refers to it as the Sorry Years:

From 1968 through 1991, the Packers had four winning seasons. They qualified for the post-season twice and won exactly one playoff game. They went through more than 30 quarterbacks, some of whom seemingly had no idea how to throw a forward pass.

There were terrible trades and forgettable draft picks. The franchise lacked direction at the top, leadership in the locker room, talent on the field.

“There was chaos in the organization,” Dave Begel said of the three years (1978-’80) he covered the team for The Milwaukee Journal. “It was a time of chaos. They were a lousy team. They were a terrible football team.”

The Packers sank so low that Bob Harlan, who spent 37 years with the organization and now is chairman emeritus, wondered if they ever would find a way out of the abyss.

“I used to go to Super Bowls in the ’70s and ’80s and I’d see those big (inflatable) helmets on the field and I would think, ‘I’m not sure we’re ever going to have this again,’” Harlan said. “It seemed we just could not find a way to be successful.”

From Hall of Fame quarterback Bart Starr to future Hall of Famer Brett Favre, the list of Packer Quarterbacks In Name Only included:

• Jim Del Gaizo, 8 games
• Blair Kiel, 8
• Rich Campbell, 7
• Chuck Fusina, 7
• Don Milan, 7
• Dennis Sproul, 6
• Frank Patrick, 4
• Alan Risher, 3
• Randy Johnson, 3
• Vince Ferragamo, 3
• Bill Stevens, 3
• Bill Troup, 2
• Brian Dowling, 2
• Rick Norton, 1
• Steve Pisarkiewicz, 1
• Willie Gillus, 1

Some of that list have stories attached. Risher and Gillus played on the 1987 lockout team. Campbell was a number-one draft pick despite a throwing motion described by the Journal Sentinel as “unorthodox.” Patrick, who was 6–7 and weighed 225 pounds, was moved by Nebraska from quarterback to wide receiver, then the Packers moved him back to quarterback, only to find out why Nebraska moved him from behind center. Del Gaizo, a left-hander, was traded from Miami for two second-round draft picks, basically because he was the third-string quarterback on the then-NFL champions. Ferragamo got the Los Angeles Rams to Super Bowl XIV, and Pisarkiewicz was a number-one pick of the St. Louis Cardinals (because he apparently was a star at the University of Missouri). Dowling, the quarterback for Yale in the famous 31–31 tie with Harvard in 1968, became the “B.D.” from the Doonesbury cartoon. No, Randy Johnson didn’t later become one of the most intimidating pitchers in baseball.

The Packers also had Scott Hunter, Green Bay West graduate Jerry Tagge, Jack Concannon, John Hadl (of the infamous Lawrence Welk trade fame — he was acquired for five draft picks, and then was traded away with another player and two more draft picks), Lynn Dickey (before and after his broken leg), David Whitehurst, former UW quarterback Randy Wright, Don Majkowski and, when Majkowski held out, Anthony Dilweg.

Happily, now that people who know what they’re doing run the Packers, fans have enjoyed the work of one near-future Hall of Fame quarterback, Brett Favre, and one farther-future Hall of Fame quarterback, Aaron Rodgers. Notice as well they both have personalities. Rodgers’ is more subtle than Favre’s, but, the Wall Street Journal reports:

The only time Rodgers isn’t on the same page with his teammates is when he is telling jokes. Rodgers’s attempts at humor are so layered and dry, those who know him say, that the only thing more common than a playbook in the Packers’ locker room is the clueless comment, Is he joking?

“His jokes are what we call ‘Algebra 2,’ ” said Daryn Colledge, a Miami Dolphins offensive lineman and former Packers teammate. “I think a lot of people don’t get it.”

Rodgers’s sense of humor, though inscrutable, serves as a calming influence in Green Bay. After a 1-2 start this season, Rodgers famously told fans to “R-E-L-A-X”—a statement later backed up by the Packers’ 12-4 final record. In the locker room, Rodgers uses quips and stunts to tell his teammates the same. The comedic results are mixed.

Scenes like the following are common in Green Bay. Last week in a team meeting, Rodgers displayed a photo, randomly, of a figure in American history and asked rookie center Corey Linsley to identify him. There was no apparent purpose to this, but Linsley correctly identified John F. Kennedy.

“What’s his middle name?” Rodgers asked.

“I don’t know,” Linsley said. “Frederick?”

Half the room giggled. Half was confused. It was, teammates agree, kind of weird. (Linsley clarified that he is now aware of Kennedy’s middle name, Fitzgerald.

Then there is Rodgers’s habit of quoting “The Princess Bride.” While the 1987 romantic comedy is widely considered a classic, the allusions are lost on Rodgers’s 20-something teammates. (At 31, Rodgers is older than all but three guys on the team.) His favorite line to blurt out, he said, is from the character Vizzini: “Let me put it this way. Have you ever heard of Plato, Aristotle, Socrates? Morons.”

“They probably don’t get the reference, no,” Rodgers said.

“He does make jokes that fall on deaf ears,” said fullback John Kuhn. “But that’s what happens when you make a lot of jokes.”

Teammates say that Rodgers, during pregame walk-throughs, will stare at players with an angry look until the player expresses concern. Then Rodgers will laugh.

“It takes a really long time to figure it out,” Linsley said of Rodgers’s humor.

Rodgers’s jokes, teammates say, are almost entirely for his own entertainment. To them, that suggests a confidence that puts them at ease. “He’s about as relaxed and calm in this locker room as you can get,” said Packers offensive tackle Bryan Bulaga. “His demeanor has an effect on us. There’s never any panic in this locker room. Everything about him says, ‘Take a breather; we are going to be all right.’ ”

There is anxiety in the Green Bay locker room, but it is from players dreading falling victim to one of Rodgers’s quips.

During midweek meetings, in between breakdowns of offensive plays, Rodgers will award a “Man of the Week” award, in which he scours Google Images for less-than-flattering photos of teammates. He found one of tight end Andrew Quarless while he played at Penn State and blasted it on the video board in the meeting room. “He spends a lot of time on the Internet, trying to find anything,” Quarless said.

Rodgers spent plenty of time this season making fun of video that emerged of backup quarterback Matt Flynn, who danced on teammates’ shoulders at a Pearl Jam concert in October. “I’m out where people can see me, seeing my favorite band, trying to get the crowd pumped up. Why am I supposed to be embarrassed?” Flynn said. “He’s trying to roast everyone and it doesn’t work on me. Anything people think I’m embarrassed by I am actually proud of.”

Nothing, Bulaga said, compares with the oddness of the Saturday meetings that Rodgers runs with the offense.

“He has these little gigs every Saturday, he has 10 to 15 minutes to do whatever he wants,” Bulaga said. That means Rodgers focuses on football and addressing the entire offense on what needs to be done—until he starts getting weird. In one meeting this season, Rodgers randomly began to show what he called great commercials of the year. Bulaga knew what was coming, even if no one else did. It was all a setup to eventually show Bulaga’s commercial for cellphones featuring coach Mike McCarthy.

“There is no self-doubt in [Rodgers],” Bulaga said.

Rodgers’s eccentric sense of humor can be effective on opponents, too. Tampa Bay Buccaneers defensive lineman Michael Johnson said that Rodgers’s on-field demeanor is so biting and confusing that he compared him with Clive Owen’s mysterious character in the caper movie “Inside Man.” Buccaneers linebacker Mason Foster said that Rodgers is likely to throw for a big play, then calmly walk by you and ask how your alma mater is doing.

“He went to Cal, so he just walks up and asks me how Washington is doing,” Foster said. “In between plays.”

The major flaw in this story is that it includes no mention of Rodgers’ famous photobombs of each week’s team captain photo, which can be found on, of course, its own website: