Welcome To The Club

Remember him? Fiedler seemed the ultimate underdog story. An Ivy Leaguer from Dartmouth (and only in the sports world are Ivy Leaguers considered underdogs), he played one year in the NFL and then spent two out of football before getting another shot, with Jacksonville in 1999. After a strong half-season for the Jaguars, he was signed by Miami in 2000, and—wham!—he's succeeding Marino, the man with the golden arm and the Hasselhoff tan. From the start, it was a like/hate relationship with the fans. Only when Fiedler was injured in 2002 and his backup, the hapless Ray Lucas, directed the Dolphins to four losses in six games did the fans come to appreciate Jay. Even that was short-lived; while Fielder went 37--24 as a starter for Miami, he was an unforgivable 1--2 in the playoffs. "It was tough, because everyone down here thinks the glory days are right around the corner," says Fiedler, 36, who runs a Florida-based entertainment company and co-owns the East Kentucky Miners of the CBA. "Sometimes they don't realize how hard it is."

You can always just get on with your life, right?

Asked about the Favre comparison, Rodgers says, "It's going to be with me my entire career in the NFL, and I'm fine with that." But that's not the whole story. These associations stick for life. Just ask Marty Domres, who replaced Unitas in Baltimore in 1972 and started for two seasons before finishing his career as a backup with the 49ers and the Jets. To this day Domres receives about 30 letters a month, some at home and some at his office in Baltimore, where he works as a financial adviser for Deutsche Bank. Most of the notes mention Unitas—and if they include football cards to sign, they're usually of Johnny U. "Mine aren't worth much, signed or not," jokes Domres, who remained good friends with Unitas until Unitas's death in 2002. Likewise, Todd and Namath were close, and remain so. Namath still calls Todd by the nickname bestowed upon him 30 years ago, Double Duty, because as Todd explains, "I have a big butt."

The We Followed Legends club is not, however, clubby itself. Most members have never met. Brian Griese does not call Cliff Stoudt in the middle of the night for a heart-to-heart. Some, like Hunter, think it would be fun to get together. Others, such as Fiedler, prefer not to make the association. "I've always looked at my career the same way," he says. "What I did on the field has no bearing on who was before me or who was after me."

A healthy sentiment, certainly, but sometimes the best thing that can happen is when the next quarterback comes to town. And the next. And it turns out that none of them is a legend either. Suddenly that first replacement looks a lot better. "It seems like I'm more popular now than when I was playing," says Fiedler. "Miami fans have had a rough go of it the last few years, and a lot of them kind of look back and say, 'Hey, we really respect you. It was too bad you had to be compared to Marino.'"

Stoudt's moment of reconciliation came in 2004, when he returned to Pittsburgh for a celebration of the Steelers' 1979 Super Bowl team. It had been 20 years since he'd left, but Stoudt was nervous about running back out in front of the fans. Would they boo again? Would he get nailed by an airborne can of Iron City? He began walking across the turf, and as he did it was like shedding weight with each step—and each roar. The Pittsburgh fans were cheering. "It's nice that time has healed some wounds," says Stoudt. "In some ways, I guess it's neat to be part of history. As long as they spell your name right and keep telling the stories, you live on, right?"

So how will it turn out for this kid?

Ask these men about Rodgers's situation and they see it as double-edged. On the one hand he inherits a good team—the Packers went 13--3 last season—but on the other hand ... he inherits a good team, which means he's expected to do well.

He'll have the advantage of playing in a ball-control offense, where he doesn't need to pass for 300 yards a game ... but then so did Fiedler, and he was booed for the slightest mistake because the job is presumed to be easy.

He's familiar with the system and the players after three years in Green Bay ... but that means he can't hide behind the excuse of a breaking-in period.