THE SEEKER

What is AARON RODGERS, the AYAHUASCA-CHUGGING, VAX-SHIRKING FOUR-TIME NFL MVP, looking for-and can he ever find it? BY 

- BEN COURT

ON A WARM OCTOBER evening in Green Bay, Wisconsin, Aaron Rodgers the Packers quarterback these past 18 years, a fourtime NFL MVP, and, lately, the subject of some odd and intriguing news stories-is clambering up the stairs at a place called Three Three Five, a dimly lit, semiprivate bar and supper club with a 10,000-bottle wineand-whiskey cellar, craft cocktails, and farm-to-table fare popular with Packers players. It's really nice-the upper-Midwest version of a cool, exclusive speakeasy. Upstairs is a library, a salon for billiards and darts, and private rooms suitable for both small social gatherings and the thing that has brought Rodgers here on a Monday, just 24 hours after a beatdown by the New York Jets at Lambeau Field: interviews.

He's just finished two hours of interviews and photo shoots downstairs, a mini junket for Zenith, the Swiss watch company for which he is a brand ambassador and the face of its Chronomaster Sport model. Now he's here for one last one-on-one before heading home to sleep-sleep is so important.

Rodgers limps a little. It's been a so-so season for the Packers, and yesterday's 27-10 loss was their second in a row (and would turn out to be the second of five straight). His right hand-at the end of his golden right arm, which landed him the $151 million contract he signed in March that runs until 2025, when he'll be 41-looks bruised and swollen.