So much more to tackle Gary Shelton, The St.Petersburg Times, published 1 September 1997 On one of the most amazing afternoons a defensive tackle ever had, the most amazing thing may have been that Warren Sapp had energy left when it was concluded. He danced off the football field, and he invited the fans to dance with him. He smiled, and he dared them not to join him. He held his hand aloft in triumph, and for once, the fans could do the same. Sapp stopped, and he held out his arms, as if to embrace the stadium. The noise rolled over him, and he smiled again. He had just dominated a football game, and the fans were in love with the sight of it, and his face looked very much like a man who had come home. For Sapp, this is the way football used to be. The sweat dripping off him, one drop for each great play behind him. For Sapp, this was satisfaction. For Sapp, this was joy. Most of all, for Sapp, this was fun. If you are looking for reasons why the Bucs beat the San Francisco 49ers 13-6, look no further than No. 99. If you have trouble picking him up, he's the one treating the 49ers' offensive line as if it were an open gate. He's the one taking a hammer to the Hall of Fame, the one typing out his own invitation the Pro Bowl, the one who spent more time in the 49ers' backfield than Garrison Hearst. This isn't supposed to happen anymore. Interior defensive linemen are not supposed to dominate a game the way Sapp dominated San Francisco on Sunday. Defensive ends do it occasionally, or outside linebackers. But tackles? He had 11 tackles. He had 2 1/2 quarterback sacks. He knocked a pass down. He helped knock Steve Young out of the game and Jerry Rice out of the season. And he breathed voltage into the defense with every play he made. "I just played to a level I expect me to and the coaches expect me to," Sapp said. "My teammates look to me for energy. I said I was going to lead them, and if you say you're the leader, you've got to put it on the field. Because nobody follows a talker. Coach (Tony) Dungy put it to us this week. `Don't be a talker, be a leader.' I've got one of the biggest mouths on the field, so I have to go out there and play." Man, did he go out and play. It was Sapp riding a quarterback to the ground. It was Sapp stuffing Hearst for no gain. In the end, it was Sapp walking toward the sideline and looking upward, then slowly drawing his finger across his neck to signify the 49ers were done. "Cut the jugular, baby," is the way he puts it. By the conclusion of the game, you could have mistaken Sapp for a DeBartolo, because he owned the 49ers. He has been good before, and he has made big plays before. But this was a player we have not seen before, a player just short of obsessed. Odd, because most of us believed Sapp had arrived last year, when his nine sacks made him one of the league's premier tackles. But talk to Sapp about last year, and he makes retching noises. He talks about how long his first two seasons have been, with injuries and weight problems and off-the-field problems that overshadowed his play. "I've been waiting on this for a long time," Sapp said. "I didn't want to let a game pass me by. I look at film from last year, and I'm just disgusted at what I see. I was just ... yuck. My whole life, I've been accustomed to taking over a game. I wasn't doing that. I was spotty. I told myself in the off-season I didn't want that to happen again." From the first play, it was obvious it wouldn't. Sapp could not be blocked. He kept dancing, and the 49ers kept watching. Hold him, cut him, double-team him, it didn't matter. This was a man staking his claim as the league's best defensive tackle. In his heart, Sapp believes that. After this game, a lot of others are going to believe it, too. "A lot of guys out there get things done," Sapp said. "But I don't think any one of them combines what I do on the run and the pass. I mean, Johnny Randle is a hell of a pass rusher, but I don't think he plays the run the way I do. There are other guys like Sean Gilbert and Eric Swann, but I don't think they combine the way I play and my knowledge of the game. Maybe they do and maybe they don't. I'm going to let my numbers talk for me. But personally? I don't think there's anyone out there who is better than I am." The 49ers probably would agree. After all, he knocked their season out of bounds. Young went to the bench on the third play of the game (he later returned), when Sapp pulled him down from behind and Hardy Nickerson's knee banged into Young's helmet. Rice went out, probably for the season, when Sapp threw him for a loss on a reverse. You got the feeling that if Ronnie Lott had shown up, Sapp would have knocked him out of the game, too. He was on a legend hunt. "You hate for that to happen," Sapp said. "I wanted both of them to come back. You want the big guns out there when you play, so the other team doesn't have any excuses. But in this game, people do get hurt." He was somber for a moment, but only a moment. Then the smile returned, and the quick-fire speech. This was his day. This was his celebration. Someone asked him how this game ranked with others of his pro career. "It's No. 1 until next week," he said. "I still have something else for you." He laughed, and he walked out of the locker room, took two rights, and walked out into the night. And there was something else most amazing. Dozens of fans, still leaning over the ropes, still shouting his name, still feeding off his energy.