Chapter 460 298: We Won!!!
Touchdown.
30-17.
The lead was back to 13 points.
The 49ers' offense, led by Anderson, took the field once again.
But everyone could see that he was not the same player he'd been in the third quarter. His release time had slowed from 1.7 seconds in the first quarter to 2.3 seconds, and his movements had become noticeably sluggish.
With every throw, his right shoulder visibly hitched, pausing for a moment before he could complete the motion.
The hitch was perfectly clear on the high-definition broadcast.
The 49ers' head coach stood on the sideline, having flipped through his playbook countless times.
His gaze shifted from Anderson, turning to look at the backup Quarterback who had started warming up on the bench.
He raised his hand, signaling for a timeout.
"Marcus, come on back," he said, bringing the radio to his lips.
Anderson stood on the field as his coach's voice crackled through the earpiece in his helmet.
He didn't respond.
"Marcus," the coach's voice came again, "your body can't take it anymore. I'm pulling you."
Still, Anderson didn't react.
In the commentary booth, Joe Buck and Troy Aikman also got word of the exchange.
"The coach is calling him back," Troy sighed. "Marcus, just go. Stop playing. You've already proven yourself. You don't need to prove anything else."
Joe Buck added, "Troy's right. Anderson's performance today will be remembered by everyone—387 passing yards, three touchdowns. Those are impressive stats in any Super Bowl."
"It's just a shame he ran into Li Wei."
"Yeah."
But Anderson didn't leave.
When the timeout ended, he remained on the field.
The 49ers continued their drive.
In the fourth quarter, Anderson completed three more passes.
The first: a short pass, eight yards, complete. The ball wobbled abnormally as it left his hand, the spiral loose from lack of power, but the receiver stretched out desperately and reeled it in.
The second: a medium pass, 15 yards, complete. A sharp pain shot through his arm the moment he released it, and he couldn't help but let out a muffled grunt, but the ball still found its target.
The third: 12 yards, complete. A total of 35 yards advanced.
Even the spectators could see that each throw was more difficult for Anderson than the last. His arm was like an engine without oil, every movement sluggish and trembling.
The fourth pass.
Anderson took a three-step drop, raised the ball with his right hand, but this time, he hesitated for a full second.
The Giants' cornerback had already read his route.
Anderson threw the ball.
The moment the ball left his hand, he knew.
'This is it.'
'Not 'arrived in the end zone.''
'But 'arrived at the end.''
'This is as far as I go.'
The ball's spiral was wobbly. It was at least five yards shorter than he'd intended, and the velocity was gone.
The Giants' cornerback cut into the passing lane with almost no effort, leaping up to cradle the ball in his arms.
Interception.
Anderson stood frozen in place.
He watched the Giants player run with the ball in the opposite direction. Some of his 49ers teammates gave chase; others had already given up.
He didn't chase.
It wasn't that he didn't want to. He couldn't.
His legs felt as if they were filled with lead. The pain in his right shoulder radiated from the joint down his entire arm, and a piercing ache shot through his knees with every step.
He glanced at his right hand and was surprised to see it trembling uncontrollably, unable to even form a fist.
Slowly, Anderson raised his left hand—the one that wasn't completely shot—and took off his helmet.
His graying hair was soaked with sweat, clinging to his scalp in slick strands.
He stood on the turf of SoFi Stadium, the roar of 70,000 people surging toward him like a tidal wave from all directions, but in his ears, there was only the sound of his own heartbeat.
THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!
Rapid, but strong.
'Still beating.'
There was no pain on Anderson's face, no hint of regret. There was only a calm, relieved smile.
It was the smile of a traveler who has walked a long, long road and has finally glimpsed the end.
He might not have reached his final destination, but the scenery along the way was consolation enough.
The Fox cameras captured the moment perfectly.
Joe Buck opened his mouth, then closed it again.
In the end, it was Troy who spoke first.
"Marcus Anderson," he said. "He's saying—'I'm done. I've left everything I have on this field. I have no regrets.'"
At that moment, the 49ers' head coach finally raised his hand, calling another timeout.
He walked onto the field himself, came face-to-face with Anderson, and met his gaze.
He extended his right hand and took Anderson's left.
"You worked hard, Marcus," he said.
"Thank you, Coach," Anderson replied.
They turned together, and the coach supported Anderson as they walked toward the sideline.
Anderson walked slowly, as if with every step, the turf itself was trying its best to hold him back.
But Anderson was smiling brightly.
As he reached the white line marking the edge of the field, the atmosphere in the stadium shifted.
In the 49ers' section of the stands, the fans in gold and red were the first to rise, beginning to applaud.
A heartfelt, respectful round of applause.
Then the neutral sections.
Then the Giants' side of the stadium.
Finally, every single person in the 70,240-seat stadium was on their feet, their applause a gentle wave of sound, lifting the limping No. 12 jersey as he made his way to the bench.
Anderson didn't look back or say a word. He just lifted his head and looked toward the Giants' bench.
Li Wei was standing there.
Their eyes met.
Anderson raised his right hand—the one that was trembling and barely obeying him—and gave Li Wei a thumbs-up.
And at that very moment, Li Wei was applauding for Marcus Anderson.
Anderson walked slowly back to the bench, took the ice pack a medic handed him, and pressed it against his right shoulder.
It was bone-chillingly cold, but the searing pain began to slowly subside.
He closed his eyes.
'Fourteen years. It's over.'
...
After the Giants' successful interception, Li Wei led the offense back onto the field.
This time, there was no suspense.
He orchestrated a crisp, efficient drive, scoring another touchdown in just three downs.
The extra point was good, adding another point.
37-17.
In the final moments, the 49ers' backup Quarterback took the field.
The young man was nervous, his hands trembling as he threw.
He completed a few passes, moving the ball downfield intermittently, but ultimately only managed to get a field goal against the pressure of the Giants' defense.
37-20.
With 30 seconds left, he attempted a desperate long pass, but it was easily intercepted by the Giants' safety.
The final whistle blew.
37-20. That was the final score.
The New York Giants had defeated the San Francisco 49ers, winning the Super Bowl with a perfect, undefeated season.
It was a perfect record, the likes of which the NFL had never seen before and might never see again.
"We won!!!!!"
Someone shouted it first, and then Li Wei's entire world became an ocean of blue.
Everyone—starters and backups, coaches and equipment staff, medics and analysts—shot out as if launched from a single spring, pouring madly from every corner of the sideline toward the center of the field.
The first person to crash into Li Wei was a backup receiver whose name he didn't even know. The young man had only played in three games all season and had a total of two catches, but if he'd played with the force and passion he was showing now, he would have been a starter long ago.
He buried his head in Li Wei's chest, making a sound that was somewhere between a cry and a laugh.
Then came the second, the third, the fourth.
Dark blue jerseys surged toward Li Wei like a tidal wave, and soon he was completely engulfed by the crowd of players.