The Search For Aaron Rodgers

Before Rodgers comes to my house, he stops in a hipster cafĂ© in my neighborhood (think: exposed brick, single-origin list, baristas with deliberately misshapen haircuts) and texts to ask whether I want a cup of coffee. I tell him I’ll just meet him there. When I open the door, I see him sitting in the middle of the store, surrounded by aspiring screenwriters glued to their laptops. All appear to be unaware — or uninterested — that a future Hall of Famer is in their midst.

Rodgers stands, and no one looks up. He smiles.

He’s lived in Los Angeles for about three years. While he owns a house in San Diego, he spends pretty much all of his non-helmet-wearing time here. Rodgers likes LA for the same reasons most transplants do: He grew up in a small town and was drafted by a football team in a small town, and aside from the one and a half years he spent at Cal, he’d never experienced life in a city before. He likes it all: the live music, the organic grocery stores, the expectation that he can walk around without being stalked by middle-aged men with Sharpies asking him to sign memorabilia they’ll later sell on eBay. Angelenos are, for the most part, pretty chill, he says: “They see a lot

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