THE PACK IS BACK : GREEN BAY REGAINS NFL TITLE AFTER 29 YEARS.

Byline: Bob Verdi Chicago Tribune 

How can you not like the Green Bay Packers?

They are fresh air, even beneath a blue cloud of smoke on a Sunday night at the Louisiana Superdome, where cigarettes and cigars are prohibited, but fireworks explode to punctuate pregame and halftime show biz.

If this happens again and again, if this hometown team becomes a dynasty instead of a delicacy, it might be different. Perhaps the Packers will become overbearing or overexposed, boring and boorish, fatheads rather than cheeseheads.

But for now, and until further notice, this sounds just fine. Super Bowl XXXI champions by 35-21 over New England. The Pack really is back, after 29 cold winters, and that has a nice old ring to it.

Vince Lombardi would have loved Sunday night. When his Packers won their first title, it wasn't yet a Super Bowl, but the NFC-AFC Championship of 1967. St. Vincent didn't care for ``super,'' even when the name started to catch on, but he'd like the idea of the Lombardi Trophy heading for its rightful place, Lombardi Avenue.

Pete Rozelle, the greatest commissioner in modern athletics, has to be smiling too. The Super Bowl was his baby, and though the NFL he built didn't properly honor his memory Sunday night with a brief in-house film tribute, the Packers did by winning with panache and spirit.

This was a clean kill. Forrest Gregg, who coached a bunch of thugs in the mid-'80s, wouldn't get it, but why crash this party with sordid recollections? These Packers took the high road. They had to operate beneath the shadow of Lombardi, and they were nourished by tradition, not haunted by it.

That's the way the best fans in sports wanted it, not that anybody was left behind in Wisconsin. The Superdome was bathed in green and gold, as were the streets of New Orleans, and what a feast these people enjoyed.

The imminent danger was that Bill Parcells, a big-game coach, would have two weeks to prepare his Patriots for the team of destiny. But his next job with the Jets might be a relief, because the Pack was too strong in too many places.

Reggie White, the Minister of Defense, didn't do it on reputation Sunday night. He did it with sacks, hurries and bull rushes, stuffing would-be blockers into the path of New England quarterback Drew Bledsoe.

Desmond Howard, problem child, was a puzzle only to the Patriots. They had closed to 27-21 in the third quarter, retaining audiences that had abandoned so many previous Super Bowl routs. But then, here came Howard, dashing through New England's gut for a 99-yard kickoff return.

And then there was Brett Favre. Make no mistake about it, this is his Packer team. The Patriots, as advertised, at times exploited their superior quickness on the carpet. But that Green Bay quarterback. He's a mudder and a rug-rat too.

Favre passed for 246 yards and two touchdowns. He's too hot to handle, even when he should be intercepted. Midway in the first quarter, with New England down 10-7, Favre intended a pass to Antonio Freeman. Instead, the ball found the hands of Patriots defender Mike McGruder, who dropped it.

But ask around the NFL. This sort of thing has been happening all season, a season Favre began with a Super Bowl promise. Last February, before he went away to fix his addiction to pain killers, he was hospitalized for ankle surgery when he suffered a seizure.

``Is daddy going to die?'' wailed daughter Brittany.

Brett Favre lives, and so do the Packers.

CAPTION(S):

2 Photos

PHOTO (1 -- color) Green Bay quarterback Brett Favre celebrates a second-quarter touchdown with teammate Aaron Taylor during Super Bowl XXXI in New Orleans, which the Packers won 35-21.

(2) A Green Bay fan waves a Vince Lombardi sign.

Associated Press