I jogged quickly to catch up with my teammates as we walked toward the away fans' stands.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Marcus Lynch not far away, talking and laughing with Kyle Williams. I suddenly remembered what happened after the rushing touchdown, so I casually asked, "Marcus, what was that all about? What were you talking about with the fans?"
I didn't get an answer. I only saw Marcus's resentful expression and then, with a teary face, he quietly moved to the side. Williams stood between the two of us.
I was completely confused and looked at Williams with a questioning gaze, but I saw Williams suppressing a laugh until his stomach hurt. Yet, he didn't say a word.
"What's with this 'can't tell' secret vibe?" I asked, full of questions that got no answers, and went into a complaining mode. Williams didn't hold back. Instead, he laughed even harder.
As we were talking, the cheers, which were getting louder, made Williams, the other players, and me look up at the stands. The earth-shattering cheers and roars were getting more and more intense and passionate!
Five thousand fans swarmed forward, gathering at the front of the stands. They were jumping, celebrating, cheering, and shouting excitedly, as if they had just won the Super Bowl.
They had ended the preseason with four consecutive losses but started the regular season with three consecutive wins.
Even the most die-hard 49ers fan wouldn't have dared to have such a pipe dream, but now, it was all happening for real.
In the past few years, they had become used to losing and to disappointment. A single victory was like a life-giving rain that was enough to make them cheer and jump for joy. But this year, this rain was happening again and again. Everything was so beautiful that it didn't feel real. It felt more like a dream.
But even if it was a dream, so what? In this moment, they were going to fully and freely enjoy the beauty and happiness of the three consecutive wins!
Chris Wilson, standing in the crowd, looked down at me among the players. My black hair and yellow skin were very noticeable. Surrounded by a group of tall and strong players, a quarterback's physique was not at all an advantage. But it was this young and green rookie player who was creating a miracle.
Chris turned his head and looked at the young and energetic faces around him—Jeff Locke, Nate Chandler, Danny Reese, Cliff Hart, and Noah Parker. They all became 49ers fans because of me. But for Chris, it was the other way around. As a 49ers fan, he was once again feeling the joy of victory and a sense of hope because of me.
Deep down inside, a voice was stirring, and the quiet calls started to rise. Finally, it broke free and shouted, "Bambi, will you be our next Joe Montana?"
Joe Montana, the greatest quarterback in the history of the San Francisco 49ers, bar none.
He had led the team to the top and created the most glorious era in history, winning four Super Bowls, being named the Super Bowl MVP three times, and the regular season MVP twice. At the same time, he also held countless 49ers quarterback records, and the team had retired his number 16 jersey early on.
Even in the entire league, when people talk about the "all-time best," Joe Montana is an important member who cannot be ignored. Many people call him the best quarterback of all time.
But in fact, in the 1979 draft, Joe Montana was a rookie who nobody wanted. No one was optimistic about his career prospects. Countless scouts, experts, and coaches were all questioning his talent and ability.
On one hand, it was because he was too skinny. At 6'2" and 205 pounds, he couldn't withstand effective physical confrontation. On the other hand, it was because his arm strength was insufficient. In the scouting reports back then, on a scale of one to nine, with one being the lowest and nine being the highest, his arm strength was only rated at 6.5, which was widely questioned.
In the current era, the league has introduced many policies to protect quarterbacks. It is now the era of the passing offense, and the physical requirements for quarterbacks are not as strict. But back then, the running offense was all the rage, and the running back was the focus of the team's offense. Correspondingly, the quarterback's physique also needed to be stronger to withstand more physical confrontations.
Therefore, Joe Montana was considered a quarterback with not much of a future. In the draft, the San Francisco 49ers selected Joe in the third round with the eighty-second overall pick.
When he entered the league, the keywords people associated with Joe Montana were "small," "skinny," and "lacking strength." But the scouts' judgment was wrong again. Three years later, he won his first Super Bowl.
At this moment, Chris bringing up Joe Montana wasn't just because Joe led the San Francisco 49ers to create a dynasty and was an undisputed representative quarterback for the team. His question was also to ask me if I could become the creator of the 49ers' next dynasty. It was also because of the many similarities between Joe and me:
A relatively skinny physique, relatively inferior strength, and a relatively bad scouting report. Today, in a tough battle, I led the team to another victory. Of course, there was also "that catch" in the last game, where I recreated one of Joe's classic moments. All of this made Chris's idea take root.
I was a little stunned and had no idea that I would be asked such a question.
Joe Montana was a great Hall of Fame player, and in many fans' minds, he was the best of all time. I firmly believed this, but the era Joe was active in was not an era I was familiar with. Even "that catch" was something I had seen in old video clips.
Suddenly, a fan brought up Joe, and my mind didn't even have a chance to react.
But for the other fans and players, the meaning was much simpler. They naturally thought that after I led the team to three consecutive wins, the fans' comparison was just a way of expecting more victories. So, the players all started to cheer. "Hoo-hoo, Montana! Montana! Montana!"
The serious conversation turned into a prank-like clamor in a flash. Even the fans joined in, raising their fists and shouting.
"Guys, come on, hurry up!" Bobby Ingram jogged over quickly and interrupted the celebration between the players and fans. "Bambi, the reporters are waiting for you."
I looked up, waved to the fans again, and my eyes fell on that flag. Then, I gave a thumbs-up to the fan holding the flag. "Thank you." Then, I turned around and jogged quickly toward Bobby.
Standing among the fans, Cliff was carrying the big flag, and his arms were about to give out. He had been holding it for a few hours, and his physical strength was almost completely exhausted. Now, he wasn't holding the flag up; he was leaning on it, looking a little disheveled. It was indeed not an easy task.
All of a sudden, Cliff saw my thumbs-up. His eyes widened in shock, and he watched me walk away with his mouth agape. He looked at Noah, and then at me. Then he looked at Noah again, still not seeming to have come to his senses. Then he saw Noah roll his eyes. "Yes, Bambi saw it!"
"Bambi saw it! Bambi saw it!" Cliff finally found his voice and started to roar with a wild abandon. His body seemed to have found its strength again. He held up the flag with both hands and waved it vigorously, cheering, "Bambi! Bambi! Bambi!"
Gradually, the playful clamor once again came together and turned into shouts of "Bambi," like a victory song. The away fans' celebration was just beginning.
Chris's question was interrupted, and he didn't get an answer, but he didn't care. He watched my retreating figure, and his confidence was building up little by little. He turned his head and looked at the cheering fans around him. Chris also clenched his fists, raised them high, and cheered and celebrated to his heart's content.
And not just for this victory.
Bobby stood there. After I caught up with him, we walked side-by-side. Then, Bobby patted me on the arm and said with a big smile, "You played great today. Nice job!" Everyone loves to win and enjoys winning. That's a fact.
"Now, all the reporters are swarming the player tunnel. I'd say more than two-thirds of them are waiting for you. Enjoy it!" Bobby patted me on the back again and then said meaningfully with a nod, "I'd say it won't be long before the advertisers come knocking. Congratulations!"
Three victories in three games: one blowout, one comeback, and one tough battle. Everyone had seen it, and the fact that I was an undrafted rookie made it even more impressive. Step by step, I was earning my recognition with my performance. The road ahead was long, but at least the journey had begun.
From a distance, the heat and noise from the player tunnel came rushing toward us. The bustling crowd had completely blocked the entire tunnel, and the surging sea of people was enough to make someone with a fear of crowds' hair stand on end. I don't know who was the first to shout, "Bambi is here!"
In an instant, all eyes were on me. The burning gaze was almost enough to melt me. In the next second, all the reporters swarmed forward, completely surrounding Bobby and me. But Bobby patted me on the arm and then secretly slipped away through the crowd, "disloyally" leaving me alone with the reporters.
The constant chatter of questions was deafening. There was no chance for me to get a word in. The questions were thrown out one after another, and I couldn't keep up. Then, I caught a few words. "A lot of people are comparing you to Joe Montana now. What do you think about that?"
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