Anderson's time slowly running out Gary Shelton, The St.Petersburg Times, published 8 November 1993 You want to believe. You stare into the deep brown eyes, and they do not blink, and you want to see what Gary Anderson says he continues to see. You hear the gentleness in his voice, and you listen to the confidence that remains, and you want to nod as he talks of Sundays to come. He is among the most likable of the Tampa Bay Bucs, a genuine, almost shy man. So when Anderson sits in his locker, his shoulders slumped, and swears to you that he is not finished, you want to concur. Sometimes, however, it is difficult. Sometimes, like Sunday, it appears Anderson's running days are over. In another painful afternoon for the Tampa Bay Bucs, featuring a 23-0 loss to Detroit, this perhaps was the saddest sight. Anderson struggling for a yard here, for another there, failing to make significant gains on either his carries or his career. Once, he was the guy with the electric feet. Now, this is what remains: Gary Anderson unplugged. The Bucs needed Anderson, the old Anderson, against the Lions. With Reggie Cobb injured, with a quarterback who still is learning as he goes, the Bucs needed someone with Anderson's resume and skills to stand up and claim one more day from his career. He needed to be the ghost again, the guy who used to fly through the hole and leave linebackers grasping at where he used to be. Yet, as Tampa Bay again looked like the Bucs of old, it was Anderson who looked the oldest. He finished Sunday with 15 yards on six attempts, only 2.5 yards per carry. Considering that two of his carries went for 6 and 8 yards, that left four carries for the remaining yard. The Bucs could not run, and because they could not run, they had to leave the game in the hands of Craig Erickson, who cannot yet carry it. No, you cannot assign this loss solely to Anderson. Of course not. All Anderson can give is what he has left. Once again, this is a problem with the construction of this team. If an NFL team is going to lack an outstanding quarterback, and it always was obvious this one would, then it needs to collect running backs as if they were trading cards. The Bucs needed a stockpile of three or four. When they needed one Sunday, all they had was Anderson. Compared to the magic of Barry Sanders, it didn't seem like much. "People keep asking me if I have anything left," Anderson said, his voice almost as quiet as the empty locker behind him. "Of course, I do. If I didn't, I'd retire. I would. I'm as fast as I ever was. I can do the same things I always did." You want to believe. But the fact is, Anderson isn't doing them. He has only 26 yards on 23 carries, and his rushing total has dwindled each of his seasons with the Bucs. He doesn't seem to hit the hole - when there is one - with the same recklessness, with the same amount of raw speed. "It seems like I'm one step away," he said. "It's been that way the last two or three weeks." Time Anderson with a clock, and he still can scoot. He ran a 4.5 earlier this year, coach Sam Wyche said, and center Tony Mayberry says he is still "amazed" at Anderson's speed and quickness at practice. But as players get older, they sometimes don't play at the same speed they clock. Anderson is 32, which is dangerous business on a team going nowhere. Being an older player with a big check and diminished skills are the same symptoms that did in Steve DeBerg earlier in the week; it is not unfair to wonder if the same future awaits Anderson. "You can't worry about it," Anderson said, shrugging. "If you do, you'll think about it all day. They're going to do what they're going to do." What Anderson still can do, he insists, is slip through a sliver of a hole and turn a defense's head as he speeds downfield, or turn a short catch into a long one the way he once did. "The big plays are still inside me," he said. "I know they are. I need the right opportunity at the right time, and I'll show people." You wish you could agree. After all, he is a likable man, with a likable career. You would like to think there is something left in the tank. The longer you talk, the more you want to believe him. And not your eyes.