Fire Matt LaFleur

For those fortunate enough to have been spared the Packers' meltdown on Saturday night, the Pack entered the fourth quarter of the NFL's Wildcard Weekend leading their arch-rival Chicago Bears 21–6. By the time the Parmesan settled, the Bears and their cheese graters stood victorious. Final score: 27–31. The Bears scored 25 points in the final 15 minutes of regulation. This coming mere weeks after the Bears stole a game from the Pack through similarly incredible late-game play, divinely gifted on-side-kick recoveries, and overtime.

Watching Saturday night's game up at the cottage with family, I excused myself in an Irish manner and went straight to sleep. When I awoke, all I wanted was Packer head coach Matt LaFleur's head on a pike outside of Lambeau Field, preferably within view of Vince Lombardi's statue -- the stone-cold Italian would expect no less.

What killed me the most was knowing we'd lose with double-digits left in the game. Missed field goals, block-headed defensive play, a disparity in sheer grit . . . the Bears didn't care where on the field they were on fourth downs because they knew sooner or later they'd break the Packers' soft D wide open. Matt LaFleur didn't want it as bad as Chicago's Ben Johnson did; therefore, the Packers staff, players, and waterboys didn't want it as bad. It's not LaFleur's fault. Not really.

Wunderkind LaFleur, a shriveled fig on Rams' head coach Sean McVay's tree, came into a situation where he wasn't expected to be the head coach because the Packers already had one: Aaron Rodgers. LaFleur then rode Rodgers's coattails until they frayed, and Rodgers left for New Jersey. Since then, LaFleur has a barely winning record of 38–33–1, no-shows in the playoffs, and a team that is more talented than anything Rodgers had to work with.

The one thing LaFleur feels strongly about besides throwing losing challenges is a modified West Coast offense. Holding bad play accountable? Pass. Targeting first-round draft picks, the most talented players on the offense? Nah, gadget players are more fun. Altering his offense in any meaningful way to make the most out of his tall, arm-talented, but molasses-legged QB? "No, thank you," LaFleur seems to say. "I would rather imagine Love is Mike Vick and call the offense that way."

My favorite beat writer, Vic Ketchman, who wrote first for the Jags and then came to Green Bay in his later years, would often observe that head coaches must first be leaders of men. Trendy schemes, tough-guy personalities, or once-amusing quirks get old when losses pile up for no other reason than a perceived lack of focus and effort. A true head coach makes his team better than the talent would suggest.

Kyle Shanahan is a head coach. Half of his team is on IR every season. He still wins. Andy Reid is a head coach. The Chiefs' dynasty only finally keeled over this year because a decade of success in the NFL means a decade of low draft picks. However, they contended all the way to a Super Bowl last year despite an ancient, hodgepodge team held together by Reid and his deputy, Mahomes.

Matt LaFleur, on the other hand, is soft. He inspires no one except a subset of Wisconsin's wives and salon owners. Having installed an offense predicated on running the ball, LaFleur's offensive line routinely loses at the line of scrimmage. He avoids making hard choices and buries himself in his playsheet, forgetting that a team cannot throw its way out of an o-line on its heels, a secondary that would rather jump from contact than lay a hit, and abysmal special-teams play. If all you're going to be is an OC in a head coach's sweater, then you'd best have an offense that isn't 15th in the league!

Some men aren't meant to be head coaches — most aren't. LaFleur should spend his days doing what he enjoys: calling plays, pulling faces, and jumping up and down. I'm sure there are teams that would love to have him as an OC.

French names, and those attached to them, belong in Wisconsin's distant past. Ed Policy, who recently replaced Packers' president Mark Murphy, needs to replace this sentient liter of hair products with a leader of men. And I hear Baltimore foolishly let one go.