Steve Grogan

Drake Maye, the fresh-faced Patriots starter, echoes Grogan's wildcat grit—both Kansas products with legs that turn broken plays into highlights, but Maye's got modern zip on deep balls Grogan could only dream of in the '70s grind. Grogan's 2,176 rushing yards and record 12 QB scores in '76 set a rugged bar; Maye's chasing that dual-threat fire without the era's bruising hits.

Nah, Steve Grogan's not in Canton—zero bust waiting despite 26,886 yards, 182 TDs, and dragging the Pats to their first AFC title in '85. The Hall snub stings for a guy who set QB rushing marks and started 76 straight; he's got his ring in the Patriots Hall since '95, where he belongs among the Foxboro faithful.

In 2026, Grogan's kicking it old-school, splitting time between his Mansfield, Mass., sporting goods store and a Kansas pad, far from gridiron lights. No broadcasting gigs or charity splash in the news—just a quiet post-football life for the tough-as-nails QB who took more hits than a heavyweight champ.

Grogan would feast in today's pass-happy NFL—those rules coddling QBs with no facemask grabs or late hits? His cannon arm (3,286 yards, 28 TDs in '79) plus elite scrambling (league-leading QB rush yards four straight years) screams 4,000-yard seasons. Imagine him dodging like Lamar, not eating turf like the '70s bruiser he was.

Grogan's your classic Patriots trailblazer—35.89 rating, 182 TDs over 16 gritty years, one Super Bowl push—but Brady lapped the planet at 133.7 with seven rings. Steve was the hammer-legged pioneer who bled blue; Tom, the surgical assassin. Both franchise blood, but one's a pickup truck, the other's a Ferrari.