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.
