Sapp played like a man possessed Martin Fennelly, The Tampa Tribune, published 1 September 1997 This wasn't Tampa. This was Miami. This was the Hurricanes. It was college again, no dropping in the draft, no cop cars (well, maybe cop cars). But this was just defensive tackling. Holy terror. Owning the damn game. That's what it was. Knocked down two wings of the Hall of Fame. Up and bent the man of steel; yanked the greatest receiver in history from the contest and maybe the season. Helped bust up Jerry Rice's quarterback, too. Steve Young returned, but on his final play, he wound up on the grass again, chased down as one last pass sailed out of bounds. It was a perfect ending because as Young lay there, there was one man still nipping at his ankles. Anybody would have told you that 98 times out of a 100, the San Francisco 49ers beat the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. This was No. 99. Warren Sapp rolled away from Young and into the night. His night. He lay on his back, feet kicking the air like he was an overturned cockroach, except the Niners were the bug, the Bucs were the windshield. Sapp opened his arms as wide as his smile as if to tackle a stadium. One more sack. He drew a hand across his throat. Like a knife. Those guys were done. "I've been waiting on this one for a long time," Warren Sapp said. "I tell you no lie - a long time." By the time the Bucs stopped searching and destroying, Young was counting fingers, Rice was taking ice and Sapp was looking for Joe Montana's home address. Why in hell not? These 49ers had no touchdowns. That hadn't happened in six years. But this was a different day, when bottom turned to top, when a Buc spit on a 49er and lived to tell about it. Hardy Nickerson's saliva earned a penalty. But San Francisco's offense was still parched. Warren Sapp told his sack-happy team-mates in the huddle: "They ain't gonna score." Sapp would not let them. You can't stop Warren Sapp. You can only hope to suspend him. Off the field, there is legal limbo. But when you looked at Sapp on Sunday, you were looking at the law. There is alleged possession and there is absolutely possessed. It was more than the 11 tackles. More than 2 1/2 sacks. Warren Sapp did not deal in halves. He was the whole deal. He spread the credit, of course, pointing to Nickerson, Derrick Brooks and the rest of the defensive line. But all the time there was Sapp, yelling in that huddle, saying they weren't losing. The Buc offense had no choice but to win. They could not make you come away Sunday thinking just two words: Patrick Hape. This could not be about a fumble. This had to be about what Sapp was yelling. "Ain't no more ol" Bucs, baby. We gonna get it done." Sapp's week began with a simple premise: "I can run faster than any quarterback." He believed in practice and he believed it when Young rolled out early Sunday. Sapp closed and clobbered. A Nickerson knee to the helmet once again released Tweety Bird inside Young's skull. One down. On to the next man of steel. Sapp caught Rice as he tried a reverse. Sapp said he only poked Rice in the eye. It was called a face mask, a personal foul. Niners runner William Floyd, later spat at by Nickerson, said Sapp's play looked clean. Rice's left knee is not. He has never missed a game in his career. He'll miss some now. Two down. Warren Sapp did them both. Hearing about Rice's knee, Sapp said, "You hate to hear that." And he meant it. He'd wanted Jerry Rice in that game. The same went for Young. Warren Sapp wanted it all Sunday. When it was done, he and Young talked briefly. "We both said we respected each other," Sapp said. "He walked past me. I had to go seek him out." He caught him.