Chapter 459 298: We Won!!!
While the Gatorade executives listened to Richard Wayne's tirade in the conference room, the game on the field continued.
Midway through the third quarter, on the 49ers' sideline.
Marcus Anderson sat on the edge of the bench, a white towel draped over his shoulders, repeatedly rubbing his right shoulder.
His gaze fell on the stadium screen, the score on it leaving him speechless.
23:10.
The colon in the middle looked like two gunshots to his forehead.
He rotated his right shoulder.
There it was—the tingling numbness.
He was all too familiar with this feeling. It showed up like clockwork in the latter half of every season. At first, it would appear in the fourth quarter. Then, it started coming at the end of the third, and eventually, midway through the third.
It hadn't spared him today just because it was a crucial game. It still arrived right on schedule.
But Marcus Anderson wasn't afraid. On the contrary, he was delighted.
He lifted his head once more, his gaze drifting to the other side of the field—toward the Giants' sideline.
Li Wei was standing over there, laughing and joking with his teammates. It was as if the 23:10 score was nothing more than a simple math problem to him—one he'd already solved and was just waiting for everyone else to catch up.
'My read on Li Wei was right. The kid's done playing games with us.'
Once the third quarter began, once his drink went on sale, Li Wei had flipped a 9-10 deficit into a crushing 23-10 lead in just two drives.
'He's not acting anymore.'
'He's ready to end this.'
The game was over.
Anderson lowered his head, staring at the hands resting on his knees. These hands had thrown tens of thousands of passes. Every joint, every line on his fingers, bore the marks of fourteen years.
'The outcome was set.'
But what rose within him wasn't despair or sorrow, but a sense of excitement and honor.
He remembered the night he was 21, the night the 49ers selected him with the third overall pick in the draft. He remembered the moment he pulled on that gold and red jersey, how this very same feeling had surged through him. It was the thrill of embarking on his NFL journey, of getting to compete against the very best in the world.
He had long since lost that feeling.
He couldn't pinpoint when. Was it after his first Super Bowl defeat? Or after the second, when they'd been dealt a heartbreaking comeback loss? Or was it during the third, when all he could do was sit on the sidelines, watching the team doctors tend to his knee as his backup Quarterback lost the game on the field?
Over the years, his reason for playing had changed from 'I love the joy this game brings me' to 'I have to win a Super Bowl. This is my last chance.' It had become an obsession.
Obsession is a strange thing. It'll get you through that final mile, but through excruciating pain. The process feels more like a punishment than a motivation.
But today, he suddenly found peace. He felt honored.
He realized he was facing perhaps the most talented, the strongest, the greatest player of all time. And he was lucky enough to be competing against him on this grand stage.
'He didn't need to fight for a ring anymore.'
'He just had to finish this game.'
'Finish his last game, and then say goodbye to the field he'd fought on for fourteen years.'
'Say goodbye to the countless late nights spent watching game tape alone. Say goodbye to the afternoons on the practice field, pushing himself until he threw up. Say goodbye to the press conferences, fighting back tears while promising, "We'll be back."'
'And say goodbye to the teary-eyed 21-year-old who first put on that gold and red jersey.'
Anderson stood up and rotated his right shoulder.
A sharp pain shot from deep within the joint, but he broke into a smile.
He put on his helmet.
Late in the third quarter. 49ers' offense.
Anderson was back on the field, standing behind the line of scrimmage.
'This is it.'
The snap.
The moment the ball hit his hands, his right shoulder screamed in protest, but his brain simply blocked out the signal.
He scanned the field, instantly abandoning all tactics, plays, and preconceived notions. He ignored the routine routes the coaching staff had drawn up. He ignored the short passes, the safe checkdowns.
Instead, running purely on fourteen years of instinct, he reared back his arm and unleashed the ball with all his might, launching it toward a wide receiver over fifty yards downfield.
It was an incredibly risky throw.
On the sideline, the 49ers' offensive coordinator's face visibly twitched when he saw the angle and force of Anderson's release.
But the ball flew out, tracing a nearly flat arc through the air.
This wasn't the kind of pass a 35-year-old Quarterback should be able to make.
It looked more like the passionate, risky gamble of a 21-year-old kid, soaring through the sky above SoFi Stadium.
The ball dropped perfectly into the hands of the wide receiver, who was sprinting at full tilt.
52 yards.
"My God!" Joe Buck roared. "Anderson! A 52-yard bomb! In the Super Bowl, at 35 years old! In his farewell game!"
On the next several plays, Anderson unleashed a stunning burst of energy.
He was firing on all cylinders—short passes, handoffs, methodical drives. He played with pure passion, the smile beneath his facemask growing wider with every play.
They marched all the way down the field and into the end zone.
Touchdown.
23:17.
The 49ers' sideline erupted, and a deafening roar exploded from the gold and red sections of the stands.
...
「The game entered the fourth quarter.」
The 23:17 score gave the 49ers a glimmer of hope, but to anyone who had watched the Giants play all season, that hope was paper-thin.
Sure enough, when the Giants' offense took the field, Li Wei needed only two brutally efficient drives to march them back to the 49ers' doorstep. His passes remained ridiculously accurate, and his runs were still hopelessly fast.