January 7, 2013 is a date that will live in the mind of a star quarterback and a head coach named Mike for the rest of their lives. It was the day both men had their career paths changed forever because of a short-sighted decision.

Luckily, that quarterback isn't Aaron Rodgers, and the head coach named Mike isn't McCarthy. But both men would be wise to pay attention and learn a little bit from history because after last week's game against the Saints, I'm pretty sure neither man learned very much from others' mistakes.

On January 7, 2013, Washington head coach Mike Shanahan was slated to play Seattle in their first game of the playoffs. His quarterback, Robert Griffin III, had a monster rookie season and, like many mobile quarterbacks, had transformed his offense into a hydra that was difficult for defenses to play. Unlike most mobile quarterbacks, however, Griffin also possessed an NFL arm that made him just as dangerous in the pocket as he was moving in space.

That is, until the Baltimore game on December 9th, when Griffin sprained his LCL and missed the following week. The leadup to the Seattle playoff game was pockmarked with much of the usual fanatical rhetoric that you hear from the passionate fanbase. "He HAS to play," they cried on Twitter. "He needs to suck it up and get out there!"

I mean, that's the job of the fans: We look for a win at all costs, especially in the playoffs. Because it is the Most Important Game in History. No one has ever seen a playoff game before January 7, 2013, and if we don't win it, we'll never see a playoff game. Ever. Again.

But Mike Shanahan's job isn't to just win the next game on the schedule. Mike's job is to ensure the long-term survival of his franchise and to put his players in the best position to win both today and tomorrow. And he had a young quarterback with the potential to transform the game for years to come. 

But for whatever reason, Shanahan made the decision that changed his entire career, agreeing with the Washington faithful fanbase and choosing to play a not-quite-recovered Griffin in that playoff game, risking further injury (perhaps even career-threatening) for the sake of winning one game. Yes, it was a playoff game. 

But was it really The Most Important Game in History? If you listened to the fans and local media leading up to the game, you might have thought so. There were few voices, mine included, that postulated that, perhaps, the short-term rewards weren't worth the long-term risks. I, in fact, engaged in several debates on Twitter over that period of time with fans who totally bought into the "You're paid millions of dollars, you play hurt in big games" theory. Shanahan wasn't backing down. Neither were the fans.

And then, Griffin himself threw his hat into the ring. Not only did he publicly declare his intentions to play in the Seattle game, he petitioned aloud to his doctors to remove the knee brace so he could play in his normal, break-neck running style. That sealed it. I mean, Shanahan wanted him to play. The fans wanted him to play. Now Griffin himself wanted to play. What could possibly go wrong?

You know, other than everything.

Four plays into the game, Griffin scrambled and made a sharp cut, pulling up and limping to the sideline. Most coaches would look at that kind of situation and realize they were playing Russian Roulette with the future of their own career, but not Mike Shanahan. Griffin stayed in there. After all, he gave the team the best chance to win.

On the next drive, he planted hard on that knee and fell to the ground, writhing in pain. He limped to the huddle, clearly in distress. Shanahan kept him in the game. Griffin threw another touchdown. As long as he was throwing touchdowns, it didn't matter. He gave the team the best chance to win. Griffin himself came to the sideline and asked for his knee to be retaped, so he could get back in the game.

Another empty chamber in the gun.

After the fact, even his teammates advocated for player rights, that the player's opinion should not only supercede that of the coach, but of the doctors.

"He has to listen to the player in this situation,” veteran linebacker London Fletcher said. “You’re talking about the franchise quarterback, a guy who has made so many plays to even get you to this point. If he tells you that he can go, you have to let him go. This is the playoffs. This is a do-or-die situation."

The Most Important Game in History. Do-or-die.

We know how this story ends. As the game went on, and Washington fell behind, and Griffin was clearly not playing anywhere near 70%, the media and fan base that had so passionately celebrated Griffin's bravery and guts started quietly murmuring, then loudly questioning why he was still in the game.

"Why isn't he putting in Cousins??"  

"Pull him out before he gets permanent damage!"

"What is Shanahan thinking???" was suddenly the shift in Twitter trends. But Griffin, not aware of the change of heart, still passionately begged to stay in the game. He had to prove he was Brave and Dedicated and Willing to Sacrifice.

Because, you know, a rookie NFL quarterback knows everything about everything, and veteran, professional coaches and doctors must submit to the will of a kid who just barely hit the legal drinking age.

The blow that knocked Griffin out of the game wasn't a massive linebacker hit, or some superhuman attempt to stretch for the goal line. Halfway through the fourth quarter, Griffin reached for a low shotgun snap. That was it. That was all it took to get The Bravest Man in the NFL out of the game. A low snap. He bravely walked to the sideline and saluted the crowd, knowing he had given all for King and Country.

Wait, not King and Country. The Most Important Game in History. That's a little more accurate.

Griffin has never fully recovered from that injury, has never been the same player. Shanahan, who had agreed with his fanbase and his quarterback in allowing an injured franchise player to play until he literally could no longer stand, was villified. He micromanaged a still-recovering Griffin the entire following season, finally benching him when he simply wasn't producing enough to win games anymore. Washington responded by accurately surmising that this never would have happened had Shanahan not insisted on playing him while injured, and fired Shanahan.

Looking back on it, no one views that Seattle wildcard game on January 7, 2013 as the Most Important Game in History anymore. No one cares anymore. Even if they had won, it was just a game in the annals of a long-time successful franchise. There had been Super Bowl ring earned before. There will be playoff games again in the future.

But there is only one Robert Griffin III. And there is only one Aaron Rodgers.

Last week, when Rodgers pulled up on a scramble out of bounds and grabbed the back of his thigh, you knew it was a hamstring. The Packers were losing and going into a bye week. There's a lot of season left. I immediately thought of Griffin and tweeted, "Time to get him out of there."

I wasn't surprised when the mass response on Twitter was, "Are you kidding? It's just a hamstring. Keep him in there until he can't play anymore." I mean, that is the expected response of a fanatical fanbase for whom this game is the most important game in the world.

But I was surprised when Mike McCarthy kept him in the game, and Rodgers seemed to angrily insist on staying in the game, too. It was pretty clear, however, that Rodgers' play had suffered, unable to run, unable to put the right weight on his leg. His passes started floating (which, if you've been a long-time watcher of Rodgers, you'd know that when he normally misses, he misses low). 

No, it wasn't the career-threatening injury that Griffin faced. But a hamstring is a season-threatener. Just ask Clay Matthews. Hamstrings are the lingering injury that simply needs to be fully....FULLY....healed before risking it. How many times have we seen a player rushed back from a hamstring injury, just to re-aggrivate it and miss another several weeks? And when they do come back, they play cautiously. Remember Matthews trying to run back that interception earlier in the season?

WIth a game already somewhat out of hand, a bye week on the horizon, and your franchise player (whom we learned last season that we really can't win a game without) nursing an injury that is easily re-aggrivated, you learn from Shanahan and Griffin and sit him down.

But they didn't. And everything played out exactly like Washington's situation. The clamor and celebration for the Ironman who plays through pain slowly turned to concern and criticism. By the next day, after Rodgers was finally benched in the fourth quarter with the game out of reach, most were questioning why Rodgers was left in the game to begin with. Whose fault was it? 

Because, you know, it wasn't like it was The Most Important Game in History or anything.

While the situations aren't exactly the same, one thing is consistent: The team cannot win without their star quarterback. You don't play games and overvalue the short-term rewards over the long-term success of your team.

It's not "playing afraid" or "playing it safe."

It's realizing that the eighth game of the regular season is not the playoffs; it's not the rest of Rodgers' contract years; it's one game, and one game only in a long and storied history of the franchise that has won Super Bowl rings and is aiming not only for the playoffs this season, but the playoffs every season while No. 12 is under center.

You don't play Russian Roulette with Aaron Rodgers, even if you're Aaron Rodgers.

Just ask Mike Shanahan.

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C.D. Angeli is a longtime Packer fan and feature author at Cheesehead TV. You can listen to him weekly on the Cheesehead Radio podcast and is the good cop over at PackersTalk.com. Follow him on Twitter at @TundraVision.