My first real memory of pro football is watching Brett Favre on TV run around the Superdome without his helmet — smiling, screaming, leaping — to celebrate a deep touchdown pass in Super Bowl XXXI. The year was 1997. I was 6 years old. And it was one helluva time to be raised in a family of Packer backers. I spent most of the next decade sleeping beneath a Reggie White poster with the Minister of Defense in a three-point stance below the word CHARACTER and a definition; 1.