Confronting the Lombardi legend

Sporting News, The, Jan 27, 1997 by Paul Attner

It has been almost two weeks since the conference championship games, the kickoff of the Super Bowl is still a long weekend away and you're struggling to survive the only complete bye week of the NFL season. You've been staying up all night watching the highlights of the previous XXX Super Bowls on ESPN. You can't remember if it was Vince Lombardi or Jerry Stiller who said, "Winning isn't everything it's the only thing." You and your friend have been arguing about whether The Freezer played for Bud or Bud Light.

We're here to help you through your withdrawal and prepare you for the big game. So settle back in your favorite Big Easy chair and immerse yourself in our Super Bowl preview section.

Whether your allegiance lies with the Packers or the Patriots--or you're just rooting for an entertaining game--we'll whet your Super appetite, beginning with senior writer Paul Attner's profile of the man who coached and coaxed the Pack back to the Super Bowl. Find out how Mike Holmgren has become successful in Titletown USA and who he is personally. Did you know that he rides a motorcycle, used to be part of a rock group and goes out on a date with his wife every Friday night? Imagine--a coach who's a real human.

What must Patriots quarterback Drew Bledsoe do to beat the Packers? Senior writer Michael Knisley writes that he must maximize his talents (read: passing), minimize his mistakes (read: bad passes) and try not to run (or it could get ugly).

In a special, two-page spread, correspondents Tom Silverstein and Kevin Mannix analyze how the Packers' and Patriots' offensive and defensive units measure up and examine each team's signature play. Finally, Tim Cowlishaw presents his popular Super Bowl formula--an indicator that predicts which team should win and former NFL quarterback Ron Jaworski focuses on what will be a key matchup in the Super Bowl.

When you're done digesting all the information, you'll be a Super Bowl expert--and it will almost be time for the game. Just don't forget the snacks.

Think back to the last time we saw Mike Holmgren standing on the sideline at Lambeau Reld, his 6-5, bear-of-a-man frame wrapped in layers of wool and thinsulate shields from a wind chill of minus-23. Then, in an instant, he is dancing a funny little jig, a two-step created when his Packers players dump a bucket of ice over his head and some of the cubes get inside his sweatshirt. Now imagine him without the heavy coat and hat and ice, see him instead in a polyester leisure suit, his heir greased back, his mustache large and full, his feet covered with blue suede shoes. Instead of a football field, he is standing on a stage. The lights dim, the first notes of "Puppy Love" begin and his body sways to the music.

And then Mike Holmgren starts to sing. OK, so his baritone voice won't make you forget Elvis. But he's not bad. If you were in the San Jose area in the late '70s, you might have heard him croon. or play the trombone. He was that really big guy, one of the Choppers in the rock `n' roll band that railed itself "Big Bop and the Choppers." They all were teachers at Oak Grove, a local high school, and they performed to raise money for the athletic program. They were so good that organizations would call, asking them to put on concerts.

Now imagine Kathy Holmgren standing in front of a Green Bay department store on a chilly, fall day, ringing a bell next to a Salvation Army kettle. She's as slight as her husband is large, but she's a woman with a huge heart. She has a master's degree in nursing, she's studying for a master's in social work, and she will take next year off to be a volunteer parish nurse. Her husband says admiringly that she would Like to save the world. She looks around and is surprised to see Mike, whose team had beaten the Bears the day before. He is only going to stay briefly but soon, everyone recognizes him, so he gladly stands in the cold for an hour, signing autographs. But his fans apparently feel obligated to put money into the kettle first, soon it is overflowing.

"I might be the most popular person in Wisconsin," he gushes to his wife. Her stint as a belt ringer is over, so she wants to leave. But Mike asks to count the money in the kettle first; he thinks they could have set a record for having the most productive kettle of the day. "Geez, Mike," she tells him, "don't be so competitive, you just don't do that." And they don't, much to his chagrin.

Imagine now a long stretch of empty road only a few miles outside of Green Bay. This is a land of pastures and cows, of isolation and peace. On the horizon, a Harley Davidson approaches carrying a large man with a mustache; Holmgren feels particularly daring, so he has taken off his helmet, allowing the wind to blow through his thinning hair. When HoLmgren was a star athlete growing up in San Francisco, his dad wouldn't let him ride a motorcycle; to much risk of injury. The motorcycle represents the son's only sign of rebellion. With the Packers in the Super Bowl, he has decided to reward himself by buying an even bigger cycle, so he and Kathy can ride more comfortably together.