“Please,” Brandi said. “Do me a favor, go out there to practice and tell him his sister Brandi needs him to call ASAP. Here’s my number.”
Five minutes later, her phone rang. “Have you heard anything?” Brett said, his voice panicked.
“No,” said Brandi. “Have you?”
“No.”
Had their family survived? Perished? They had no idea. “It’s 2005 and I can’t get in touch,” Brett told reporters. “When I turn on the TV it’s never anything positive. I’d like to have at least an answer.” The night following the storm he barely slept. “I had nightmares the whole time,” he said.
That afternoon Bonita and the others made their way to nearby Diamondhead. She saw a man talking on a cell phone, and pleaded. “Sir, I’m Brett Favre’s mother and I want to let him know I’m alive! Please!”
Moments later, she heard Brett’s voice. It had been 30 hours since they last spoke.
“Mom, are you . . .”
“We’re OK,” she said. “But we’ve lost everything.”
One day later, the Packers traveled to Nashville for their final preseason game, and Sherman granted Favre permission to drive a truck filled with supplies to his home turf. He wound up staying with the team (most of the roads to the Gulf Coast remained undrivable), but hired someone to deliver goods to his state. His foundation, the Brett Favre Fourward Foundation, raised $189,000 in donations for the recovery effort. Favre conducted a series of interviews, including one with Good Morning America’s Robin Roberts (also a Mississippi native) that was equal parts poignant and heartbreaking. It wasn’t famous television host and famous quarterback, but two products of a decimated state. “The people down there right now have nothing,” he said. “My family has only the clothes that they had on during the hurricane. . . . Send satellite phones, you know, send something people can eat right away, send something they can drink—right away, something that will enable them to get power. There’s no gas. There’s no diesel down there. And so, whatever they can give, obviously, is much appreciated. But it’s stuff that they need right away. I mean, there’s no way to get food. There’s no way to cook it . . .”
When Favre eventually returned home, his mother insisted he see all the devastation, to which he replied, “Well, I’ve watched it all on TV.”
“No,” she said. “Not like this.”
They took a slow drive. Where once there was something, now there was nothing. “You couldn’t find a landmark,” said Bonita. “We didn’t know where to turn to take my mother to the hospital, because there was nothing where it used to be. My house was ruined. Forty years of my life, gone. It was heartbreaking, but you realize things aren’t important. Especially when you’re that close to losing your family.”
Lessons of perspective generally last in sports about as long as fumble-prone free agent halfbacks. You learn, you digest, and then you move on and return to the normalcy of your existence.
With the long and arduous Katrina recovery slowly kicking into gear and his family members safe, Brett Favre was able to return to focusing on quarterbacking the Green Bay Packers. The problem, though, was that the Green Bay Packers didn’t seem ready for him. With a young roster featuring 11 rookies, the year was destined to be a struggle. The team opened at Detroit, and the 17–3 loss was as bad as it sounds (Favre tossed two interceptions). They then dropped the next three to start 0-4 for the first time in 17 years. Before long, experts were suggesting a quarterback change. On the HBO series Inside the NFL, analyst Cris Collinsworth, one of the game’s most respected voices, said, “If this Packer team is sitting there at 2-8, the last six games absolutely have to go to Aaron Rodgers.”
Favre’s play was inconsistent. His treatment of Rodgers was not. Shortly before the opening game, Sherman announced that Nall—a locker room favorite of the veterans—would be demoted to third-string quarterback in favor of the rookie. This was not well received, and rightly believed to be more about draft status than readiness. The morning after the news, Nall arrived at the facility with a copy of an image someone had e-mailed him, featuring a person in a shirt reading ALL DADDY WANTED WAS A BLOW JOB. Pepper Burruss, the team trainer, told Nall to bring it to his office, found a photograph of Rodgers from draft day, snipped off his head, affixed it to the body in the picture, and laminated the newly mastered image onto a T-shirt. The garment was passed to Brett in the team meeting, and he could not stop laughing. It was handed to Bevell and, lastly, to Rodgers. “He looked at it for 10 seconds and dropped it to the floor,” said Nall. “There was this awkward tension in the room.” When the meeting ended, Nall apologized to Rodgers, but advised him to relax. “You’re a first-round pick, Aaron,” he said. “You have to expect to be poked at a bit.”
If that was bad, what happened weeks later was significantly worse. Every so often the team placed varied items on a locker room table for the players to sign. Most were donated to charity. On this particular day one of the things to be autographed was a replica Packers helmet. Favre eyed it, turned to Nall, and said, “You know what would be funny? If we put someone’s real helmet out there.” The next morning Rodgers arrived at the facility and could not locate his helmet. He looked, asked around—nothing. Most of his teammates were in on the joke and chuckling to themselves. Chad Clifton, an offensive tackle, told Rodgers that the marketing staff needed him to sign the items on the table. Rodgers grabbed a pen and, without knowing, scribbled “Aaron Rodgers” in black Sharpie on his own helmet, which was covered with signatures. He walked onto the field still searching for his headgear. An equipment staffer finally brought him the one covered in ink. “Aaron,” he said, “this is yours . . .”
Rodgers wanted to vanish. “He had to wear it all practice,” said Nall. “To his credit, he took it well.”
Not true. When the workout ended, Rodgers retreated to his locker. Tomlinson, the reporter, approached. “He was about to cry,” Tomlinson said. “He was devastated. It was pure humiliation, and that Favre did it made it 100 times worse.”
“Aaron does not have a kind word to say about Brett,” said a friend of Rodgers. “Nothing even slightly kind. He was always a dick to him.”
It was never-ending. Rodgers was the butt of jokes—some that he heard, many that he did not. A rumor circulated around the locker room that he was gay, based upon the fact that—unlike many of his teammates—he wasn’t one to brag about his penis size or his endless string of sexual conquests. Favre sought out Rodgers’s weaknesses (a bad throw, a clumsy scramble) and took a selfish pleasure in noting them. The problem, however, was that they were tough to find. Rodgers was Favre’s equal when it came to arm strength, and he was already, as a rookie, a far better decision maker. He read defenses like a 12-year veteran and stayed in the pocket without cowering.
Rodgers only appeared in three games, but as the season progressed and the Packers faltered, it felt like a changing of the guard was near. In a humiliating 21–14 loss at Cincinnati on October 30, Favre was intercepted five times. Seven weeks later, he hit on a mere 14 of 29 attempts (with two interceptions) as the Ravens smothered Green Bay, 48–3. That game, played on Monday night, included John Madden, Favre’s most vocal public supporter through the years, speaking as if the quarterback were a mouse surrounded by a gaggle of alley cats. “Do something!” he pleaded. “You have to compete. You have to fight.” Rodgers entered the game late and took a beating. “He got annihilated,” said Tom Silverstein of the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel. “Favre just stood on the sideline, a parka on, and he never went over and talked to Aaron. I asked Rodgers afterward if he was surprised Brett didn’t offer any help. He didn’t know what to say.”
All told, Favre’s 20 touchdown passes were marred by 29 interceptions. When the final whistle blew on a horrific 4-12 campaign, it was presumed (rightly) that Mike Sherman would be fired and (wrongly) that Favre would retire to a life of tractor rides and hunting trips. Before the gear was packed and the flights arranged, Rodgers had one last exchange with Tomlins
on, the reporter who, months earlier, warned him about the ensuing nightmare.
“What you told me about Brett,” Rodgers said. “You were 100 percent right.”
22
McCarthyism
* * *
IN THE WANING DAYS of the 2005 season, when hope was dead and criticism strong, Brett Favre suggested that, should Mike Sherman be fired as head coach of the Green Bay Packers, he would likely retire.
This threat seemed to be a serious one. He would turn 37 during the upcoming season, and the idea of adjusting to a new coaching staff wasn’t exactly appealing.
Plus, there was the whole Aaron Rodgers thing. Though Favre was loath to admit it, the kid could flat-out play. This wasn’t Matt Hasselbeck (who was excellent) or even Mark Brunell (also excellent). No, this was a quarterback who felt like a future superstar. “By then Aaron’s arm was stronger than Brett’s,” said Jerron Wishom, the defensive back. “Though you couldn’t say that out loud.”
On January 2, 2006, Ted Thompson fired a coach who went 57-39 and won three division titles in six seasons. He did so without consulting his quarterback, or even giving him a heads-up. Ten days later, Sherman’s replacement was named, and once again Favre had no involvement with the decision.
Not that Favre had anything bad to say about Mike McCarthy. It’s just that . . . Mike McCarthy? Really? Of all the available coaching candidates, Thompson picked a guy who, at age 42, was only five years older than the quarterback. A guy whose playing career peaked after a few years as a tight end at Baker University.* A guy whose NFL track record was, at best, a mixed bag. McCarthy and Favre actually worked together seven years earlier, when he was the quarterbacks coach under Ray Rhodes. And while they coexisted well, the season was a mess. McCarthy served as the 49ers’ offensive coordinator in 2005, and the unit ranked last in the NFL in total yards. Mike Nolan, San Francisco’s head coach, defended his protégée, but the words rang hollow. McCarthy’s number one task had been to guide Alex Smith, the rookie quarterback he urged the team to draft first overall (over, ahem, Aaron Rodgers), and the product was atrocious. Smith started seven games, and threw one touchdown and 11 interceptions. In a results-driven business, McCarthy could not have done a worse job.
Now, not only was he being introduced as the new coach, but he was clearly hired with Rodgers in mind. As Don Pierson rightly noted in the following day’s Chicago Tribune, “How [McCarthy] relates to last year’s first-round Packers’ draft choice, Aaron Rodgers, is more important to the Packers than whether the 36-year-old Favre decides to return.”
In public, Favre applauded the hiring, and said all the requisite kind words about McCarthy. But he was insulted over not being consulted. For years, the organization measured every move with Brett Favre in mind. How would the locker room dynamic work between him and Reggie White? Was he OK with Andre Rison? What did he think of Mike Sherman as the next head coach? But those days were over. Shortly before the concluding game of the 2005 season, he complained to the Wisconsin State Journal that the Packers lacked the guts to explain their plans to him. “They don’t know how to tell Brett Favre, ‘We want to go in a different direction,’” he said. In fact, Green Bay wasn’t fearful of consulting Favre—Thompson simply didn’t feel the need.
Was he OK with Favre standing behind center for another season or two? Sure—even though the organization would save $10 million should he not return. But the garbage and drama that accompanied the whole production was exasperating. On January 26, McCarthy and Thompson made the 100-mile drive from Mobile, Alabama (they were in town scouting the Senior Bowl), to Hattiesburg to visit Favre and gauge his thoughts for 2006. They left after a couple of hours, both certain he would return. Then, in an interview that aired on ESPN three days later, Favre said, “If I had to pick right now and make a decision, I would say I’m not coming back.”
In mid-February, Bob Harlan told the Green Bay Press-Gazette that it would be lovely for Favre to fill the organization in by March 1. On (of all the dates) February 28, Favre conducted yet another interview with ESPN, and said he was anxious to observe what free-agency moves the franchise made in the coming weeks. “It’s a little bit of a waiting game,” he said from Homestead, Florida, where he was taking (to the team’s surprise and dismay) NASCAR driving lessons. Those close to Favre insisted the indecision had nothing to do with ego and everything to do with legitimate uncertainty. That was ludicrous. “He turned into a prima donna, no question about it,” said Dylan Tomlinson, the Gannett Wisconsin football writer. “He liked the attention that came with this all.”
The NFL meetings were held in Lake Buena Vista, Florida, in late March, and reporters hovered around Thompson and McCarthy while they walked the halls of the Hyatt Grand Cypress resort. For the first time, the rookie head coach suggested he required an answer (“It needs to be real soon”)—but shortly thereafter Thompson said to ESPN that the deadline for Favre’s $3 million roster bonus (which was April 1) was being pushed back. During this time, Green Bay was wooing Marc Boerigter, a free agent wide receiver who played four seasons with Kansas City. Boerigter asked Reggie McKenzie, the Packers’ director of pro personnel, whether Favre was returning. “He’s always coming back,” McKenzie said with a sigh. “He loves playing this up every year, but we know he’s coming back.”
Favre scheduled a news conference to be held on April 8 at his charity golf tournament in Tunica, Mississippi, then—surprise!—offered the shocking words, “No change. I don’t know, once again. I don’t know why you guys wasted a trip down here.” It was maddening, and when a TRADE BRETT! billboard went up along a road in Janesville, Wisconsin, a surprisingly large number of people supported the sentiment. Later, Favre uttered a quote that stuck to him like body odor: “What are they going to do,” he told a reporter, “cut me?”
Finally, on April 25, Favre confirmed to the team that he would be returning for what was presumed to be a farewell season. The news was celebrated by most of Green Bay, if not by Thompson, McCarthy, and Rodgers. “Given the choice, you always take a guy like Brett on your team,” said Wishom. “He’s a veteran who has won a Super Bowl.”
Green Bay opened its first training camp under McCarthy on Friday, July 28, at the fields across from Lambeau. Favre, who attended offseason workouts to help learn the new terminology of McCarthy’s version of the West Coast offense, arrived on time and in shape. His arm was still strong, but he lacked proper insoles for his game shoes. One day, a member of the training staff approached Dave Tollefson, a rookie defensive lineman selected out of Northwest Missouri State with a seventh-round pick, and noted that he and Favre both wore size 15.
“That’s interesting,” Tollefson said drolly.
“Yeah,” the man said. “You need to break in Brett’s cleats and insoles. He doesn’t like doing it himself.”
Tollefson thought this to be a joke, until he was handed the footgear. Favre spent most of camp wearing tennis shoes as the newcomer wore his shoes. “It was strange,” Tollefson said. “But as a rookie, are you kidding me? I’ll break in Brett Favre’s jockstrap if that’s what’s asked.”
With Nall gone to the Buffalo Bills, Favre tried to be more accepting of Rodgers. Did he go out of his way to help him? No. But the ridiculing ceased and the dialogue opened. “I thought our relationship really got strong,” Rodgers told ESPN’s Jeremy Schaap. “He realized I was in his corner.”
Compared to Sherman, who by the end of his tenure was stoic and guarded, McCarthy was an ocean mist. He was funny, engaging, open. Favre quickly declared the 2006 Packers to be the most talented team he had yet to play for, and a bounce returned to his step. He was introduced to a rookie free-agent fullback from North Dakota State named A.J. Cooper, and from that moment on referred to him only as Fargo. A wide receiver named Carlyle Holiday was signed as a free agent and Favre nicknamed him Doc. During drills one day, Boerigter ran a curl route and Favre fired the ball, high and hard. The free agent receiver leapt, and the pigskin exploded into his right midd
le finger. “I thought I broke it,” Boerigter said. “So I went in afterward for the X-ray and there was just a little crack in it.” Favre entered to see how he was doing. “Did I break it?” he asked.
“Yeah,” replied Boerigter. “But just a small piece.”
“Fuck, I’m getting old,” said Favre. “I used to shatter those things.”
Both men laughed.
“He was terrific,” said Shaun Bodiford, a free agent wide receiver. “My first day there I was running at full tilt, trying to impress everyone. Favre came over to me and said, ‘One, we all know you’re fast; two, welcome to the team; three, you’re here for a reason.’ I’ve played with quarterbacks who will have nothing to do with you. Brett went out of his way to be helpful.”
Unfortunately for Favre, his assessment of the team’s talent level was incorrect. Green Bay struggled throughout the season, the by-product of yet another so-so year from its quarterback (18 touchdowns, 18 interceptions, 3,885 yards), a thin wide receiver corps, an offensive line that did very little, and Thompson’s rebuilding efforts. In a late-November contest against New England, Favre—starting his record 251st straight game—suffered a right elbow injury before halftime, and Rodgers was thrust onto the stage for his first significant action. The results were appalling: 12 passes, four completions, 32 yards, three sacks, no command or feel. The Patriots won, 35–0, and a humbled McCarthy optimistically called the debacle “a great test.”
Overall, the Packers ranked 22nd in offense, and scored 10 or fewer points in 6 of 16 games. Once thought to be the master of returning his team from the dead (his career included 35 come-from-behind wins), Favre was now flailing in fourth quarters. Things got so bad that, after a rare Week 10 victory over Minnesota, sports editor Dave DeLand of the St. Cloud Times suggested—purely as ludicrous fantasy—that Brett Favre would make a wonderful Viking. “Tell me you wouldn’t take him right now,” he wrote beneath the headline FAVRE WOULD LOOK GREAT IN PURPLE. “In a perfect world, that’s what we’d be watching today.”
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