AS SUNDAY NIGHT became Monday morning in Pittsburgh on Oct. 20, the only sounds emanating from the New York Jets' locker room were whispered conversations and tossed equipment. Aaron Rodgers, his face wrinkled and his beard a nearly even mix of gray and brown, sat in front of his locker and stared into the distance. His hand bleeding, his hamstring barking, his knee aching, his team losing, his body nearing its 41st birthday, he seemed to be contemplating the wisdom of this last roll of the dice.
This -- the postgame locker room -- is the real NFL.