LEADERS OF THE PACK

By STEVE WULF/GREEN BAY

Amazing how warm it was on Lambeau Field on Jan. 12. Standing in a wind-chill temperature way below zero, on a platform in the middle of the field, were select members of the Green Bay Packers, and standing in the stadium around them were 61,000 faithful, joyful, lungful fans. All of them were transported to a higher place than New Orleans, where the Packers will play the New England Patriots this Sunday. All of them were transported to an even better time than 1968, the last year the Packers went to the Super Bowl. That was then, this was now, and some had feared the two would never meet again.

Even Virginia McCaskey, daughter of Chicago Bears patriarch George Halas, seemed tickled to hand the Halas Trophy over to the Packers after their 30-13 defeat of the Carolina Panthers in the National Football Conference title game. Defensive end Reggie White, the proclaimed Minister of Defense, who turns every podium into a pulpit, said to the congregation, "Green Bay, I hope you're proud of us, because we are proud of you." Quarterback Brett Favre, who has been through a little too much for his 27 years, reminded the flock of a promise he had made. "I remember telling the fans and the media before the season started that we were going to the Super Bowl. In two weeks we'll be in New Orleans." If not for frozen tear ducts, there might not have been a dry eye in the house.

At one point during the festivities, wide receiver Don Beebe gave Favre a playful shove at the edge of the platform, only to pull him back. No harm done. But it was a subliminal reminder that at this time last year the Packers were on the edge of a precipice. In the N.F.C. title game in Dallas, they took the lead in the fourth quarter, only to lose yet again to the Cowboys, 38-27, after Favre threw a costly interception. White, who says he could have played better in that game, was either showing his age--34 at the time--or his despair at the burning the week before of the Inner City Community Church, the Knoxville, Tennessee, house of worship in which he is an associate pastor. Nobody could fault Favre's on-field performance, but there were a few close friends who felt he was in denial about his addiction to the painkiller Vicodin, a denial helped along by his being named the N.F.L.'s Most Valuable Player by the Associated Press. The Packers were set up for a fall somewhat short of the Promised Land.

How long has Green Bay been waiting? Well, the numeral on the Super Bowl was II, the A.F.L. and N.F.L. were still two leagues, and Lyndon Johnson was President. Reggie White was six, and Brett Favre hadn't been born yet. Winning was once the only thing in Green Bay, but after Vince Lombardi left in 1968, it became only an occasional thing, even when such legendary Packers as Bart Starr and Forrest Gregg took over as coach. Titletown, U.S.A., became something of a joke. As Willie Davis, the Reggie White of his day, said last week, "I was beginning to think, like a lot of people, can it ever happen again in Green Bay in my life?"

When president Robert Harlan declared from the platform that the Packers were "America's Real Team," he was slamming the Dallas Cowboys a little but saying a lot about the nature of his organization. In 1951 shares of the team were sold to townspeople to keep it afloat. Even though the club is now valued at $165 million, the stock never appreciates. Money goes back into the club, and if the team is ever sold, heaven forbid, the proceeds will go to the local American Legion post. As someone wrote, that American Legion hall would have the best shuffleboard tables in the world.

While Green Bay (pop. 96,000) and Wisconsin count the Packers as chief among their blessings, the feeling was not mutual until very recently. Green Bay? Too cold, said N.F.L. players. Too isolated. Too white. Too old. "Coaches used to threaten us," says White. "Shape up, or we're shipping you to Green Bay." Lost on some people are Wisconsin's other blessings: the pride in workmanship that links towns (Oshkosh, Kohler, Wausau) to products, the ingenuity that created the democratic charter of the Packers, the loyalty that keeps Lambeau Field sold out through thick and thin, the spirit of the people who shovel the snow out of the stadium for free.

There is a gentle but loopy quality to the Packers fan. The two things that most impress a visitor to Lambeau are the niceness of the people--a deputy sheriff giving his hand warmers to a Panthers rooter--and the outrageous, often ironic humor of Packers backers. The Cheesehead is the most obvious example, but at the N.F.C. Conference Game, one could also find guys with sod on their heads calling themselves "the Frozen Tundra"; a dead ringer for legendary linebacker Ray Nitschke, bald head, No. 66 and all; a man with a replica of the Lombardi Trophy given to Super Bowl winners on his head and a sign that read VINCE WANTS IT BACK, and a Cheesehead Barbie doll.

How do they love their Packers? One couple used the occasion of the N.F.C. title game to marry (the bride wore green and gold), and one family surreptitiously spread the ashes of a dear departed on the field afterward. The most played dance tune in Wisconsin is, yes, the Packarena. The waiting list for season tickets is 30,000 names long; only the top five made the cut last year. On Jan. 25 the Packers will sell 25,000 specially designed boxes of "Frozen Tundra," pulled up from Lambeau after the Mud Bowl victory over the 49ers on Jan. 4, for $10 apiece. In typical Packers fashion, all proceeds will go to charity.

In Wisconsin you can buy a Packers casket for $2,495. Actually, many people in the N.F.L. in the '80s thought the Packers belonged in a pine box, along with the idea of a small town owning a team. But in 1992 Harlan hired general manager Ron Wolf, who hired coach Mike Holmgren, who unleashed the potential in a backup quarterback acquired from the Atlanta Falcons named Brett Favre.

When wide receiver Andre Rison, now a Packer, was with the Cleveland Browns, he once called Favre a hillbilly. Favre thanked him, he said, "because I am." Favre, who played at Southern Mississippi, grew up in Kiln, Mississippi (pop. 800), next to a waterway called Rotten Bayou, which was home to alligators that ate three of the family dogs. Right from the start with the Packers, Favre displayed a sense of adventure on the field and off. When a teammate, a huge lineman named Rich Moran, was hassled in a local bar, Favre laid the offender out with one punch. "Brett, Brett," Moran told Favre, "I'm the one who's supposed to be doing that for you."

As much as the Packers fans loved Favre, they also worried about him. Green Bay is a small world, after all, and for years there was a Favre bar watch to keep him out of trouble. They loved him almost as much for his personality as for his success. "He's really a down-to-earth person," says White. "You don't usually associate humility with a superstar quarterback, but Brett has it. He's not a big shot." Even now, after two consecutive MVP awards, Favre jokes about going down to the Super Bowl and "throwing the first ball into the third row." While he still occasionally makes a bonehead play, he is a master improviser and deadly passer. His 39 TDs in '96 and 38 in '95 are the third and fourth highest totals ever. And his durability is legend.

Favre was one reason the 6-ft. 5-in., 300-lb. White decided to come to Green Bay. After his last season with the Philadelphia Eagles in '92, the N.F.L.'s all-time leader in sacks made a celebrated tour of seven cities. Green Bay was almost an afterthought. But White was looking to go to his first Super Bowl, and he wanted a quarterback who could take him there. Favre gave White a recruiting talk. "I told him this was a great football town, which is the truth," says Favre. "I told him he could make the difference. I also told him I didn't want him hitting me anymore."

The Packers offered White a very sweet package--$17 million over four years--but that isn't what sealed the deal. White says God did that. The night before he was to make his announcement, White got down on his knees and asked the Lord why he first thought He wanted him to go to San Francisco. "When the Lord spoke to me, He said, 'Let me ask you a question: Where did the head coach, the defensive coordinator and the offensive coordinator all come from before they went to Green Bay?' I said, 'San Francisco?' And He said, 'That's the San Francisco I'm talking about.'"

White's frequent conversations with the Lord might seem eccentric if he weren't so earnest--and if that big G didn't keep staring out of the Packers logo. Last year White, who has been known to hurl offensive linemen in the air and tell them, "Jesus loves you," on their way down, tore a hamstring behind his left knee with two weeks to play in the regular season. He could hardly walk, and the club announced he was out for the year. But the next night, just like that, White called Packers strength coach Kent Johnston to tell him his leg felt better, and the two of them hurried over to the Packers' indoor facility, where White beat up on the blocking sled. "I have seen people with his exact injury who are out for six months," said Johnston. "I cannot argue that it was not miraculous."

Easier to explain is the effect White has had on the Packers and Green Bay. In his first year with the team, the defense went from No. 23 in the league to No. 2. "Other teams had to double- and triple-team Reggie," says Favre. "He also totally transformed the locker room." White's influence is not unlike that of Willie Stargell on the "We Are Fam-a-lee" Pittsburgh Pirates, except that the sounds in the clubhouse aren't disco but gospel. The other day, Favre took a ribbing from White after he asked if the gospel chorus some Packers were singing in the shower was Lighter Fluid. (It was Whiter Blood)

Not only has White kept everybody in line--he loves to call meetings--but he has also made Green Bay a newly desirable destination. "Black players now know they have a home here," says White. He knew he had a new home after an autograph session a few years ago with Favre in Sheboygan, some 50 miles south of Green Bay. "We signed for hours, and the fans were so nice. When we drove away, I looked in the rearview mirror, and they were lined up along the highway waving goodbye to us."

One might think a minister would have a hard time reconciling his Christian beliefs with, say, stomping on a blocker on his way to mauling a quarterback. "That's aggression," says White, "not violence. Shooting a gun is violence. Playing football to win is not violence. When we're tested, Jesus doesn't ask us to be wimps."

On Jan. 8 of last year White was tested. His Inner City Church was burned to the ground by arsonists who used kerosene, gunpowder and at least 18 Molotov cocktails. They left behind messages that read DIE NIGGER and DIE NIGGER LOVERS. White isn't too thrilled with Tennesseans' tepid response to Inner City's rebuilding campaign, nor is he happy about insinuations by government agencies that the church itself was involved. What does please him, though, is the support he has received in Wisconsin. So far $300,000 has been raised in the state; one child sent in 99[cents] taped to a piece of paper. The Inner City Church is now looking into purchasing a building, possibly another church, so that it can rise from the ashes.

White won't go so far as to say he has helped raise racial consciousness in Wisconsin, though he clearly has. He has even decided to sell his Tennessee home and move to Wisconsin, where he hopes to establish his own ministry. "There's work to be done here. As the Lord said to Jesus, If you go to a new place, eat what is put before you and stay to heal the sick. I've certainly got the eating part down."

Favre's moment of truth came on Feb. 27, 1996. He was in Bellin Hospital in Green Bay, recovering from surgery on his left ankle and talking to his girlfriend Deanna Tynes and their seven-year-old daughter Brittany, when he suddenly went into a seizure. The seizure, doctors told him, was brought on by his constant consumption of Vicodin, a painkiller commonly prescribed for football players. Favre had started taking the pills to mask his varied injuries (turf toe, bruised shoulder, arthritic hip, sore back), but they soon became a different kind of crutch. Tynes had been trying to get him to stop--she would flush the pills down the toilet, and he would borrow them from other players--and so had tight end Mark Chmura, center Frank Winters and offensive coordinator (and new 49ers head coach) Steve Mariucci. But Favre couldn't, not so long as he was playing the best football of his life. "Players think they're invincible," said Chmura, "and Brett was no different." One night after the season, Tynes pressed Favre for the number of pills he had taken, and he told her 13. "I was worried he was going to die," she said.

He almost did. After the seizure, Favre volunteered for the N.F.L. substance-abuse program, and on May 14 he announced in Green Bay that he was entering the Menninger Clinic, a rehabilitation center in Topeka, Kansas, to treat his addiction and to evaluate his drinking habit.

"He called me that night," says White. "I told him it took courage for him to do that, more than he needed on the football field." When Favre left the clinic a month later, he married Deanna, his high school sweetheart.

Favre is looking forward to going home this week--Kiln is only 60 miles from New Orleans--if only to get warm. "I called my mom the other day to ask her what the weather was like, and she said, 'It's cold, 58[degrees].' And I said, 'It's 58 below here. I'm coming off the plane in sandals, T shirt, hat backward." But the return home hasn't been easy. He has had to stay clean and sober through the news in training camp that his best friend from Kiln was killed in a car accident while his brother Scott was driving. A month later, his sister Brandi was questioned in connection with a drive-by shooting. During the season, the Packers lost nearly every wide receiver they had to injuries. Still, they managed to finish 12-4, and Favre completed his 39 TD passes. "He played as if he had a chip on his shoulder," says Holmgren.

Favre knows well that temptation is out there--in New Orleans and beyond. "I suppose I still have the wild hair," he said the other day. "I'm wiser, though. I'm not going anywhere near Bourbon Street. Been there, done that." Asked if Holmgren had talked to him about Super Bowl distractions, Favre said, "He's been trying to. But he doesn't have to. Of course, if this was three years ago, he would have had to room with me."

One thing that has helped Favre this season has been the mailbag he gets every week or so from his fan club in Madison. "I'm not sure why," he says, "but there have been twice as many letters this year. And they're different. There used to be a lot of 'Please sign this,' but now I'm getting a lot of letters from parents and teachers telling me I'm a role model, which is something I never thought I'd be. And some people are writing to tell me I've given them the courage to face their own problems. That's not why I stopped, to be an inspiration. But if I help people while I'm helping myself, that's O.K."

They make an odd couple, White and Favre, the preacher and the former playboy, the city mouse and the country mouse. But they have a genuine liking for each other that goes beyond the fact that they're two Southerners stuck in the tundra. During a photo session last week, White nuzzled Favre's ear, causing the quarterback to say, "Reginald, please. What if I were to come home to Deanna and tell her I was leaving her for another man? Actually, if I told her it was you, she might say, 'Reggie? Oh, that's O.K.' "

And they are linked by a common purpose. "God brought me here to win a Super Bowl," says White, who in his 11-year career has never been in one. "Personal awards mean nothing to me," says Favre. "I just want the ring." Neither player thinks it's going to be easy, despite the 14-point spread over the Patriots. "Two touchdowns is crazy," says Favre. "Bill Parcells' teams don't even give up two touchdowns."

Packers fans weren't thinking that far ahead immediately after the N.F.C. title game. They were linking Lombardi to Holmgren, Starr to Favre, Davis to White, Max McGee to Antonio Freeman, Paul Hornung to Dorsey Levens. "They're over the top now," Hornung said of the new Packers. "They don't have to listen to all the Lombardi stuff anymore. They can bury that, but I know they will bury it with pride."

No matter what happens in New Orleans, they'll always have Green Bay that Sunday afternoon. Under a sky suddenly turned blue, the fans cheered their hearts out as the players came down off the platform. Some of the Packers did patented Lambeau Leaps into the laps of the parishioners. Favre and White held the Halas Trophy together for a while, and then White took off around the field to show it to the fans. He was bringing to them what they had brought to him.