He had to produce just one more score. And Alex Smith just couldn't do it.

By and large, the game had gone according to plan. The Saints' opening march was terrifying, but Donte Whitner both saved a touchdown and sent a message: the Saints might have one of the best offenses ever, but they wouldn't be leaving without some pain.

Smith came out passing, mercifully showing that we would be aggressive on offense as well. The philosophy paid dividends almost immediately, as Smith hooked up with Vernon Davis for a 50-yard score. But from there, of course, it was defense and special teams. Dashon Goldson gift-wrapped a touchdown (though Smith nicely buried our red-zone demons), Madieu Williams set up a field goal, and just like that it was 17-zip. (24 if you count the 7 that Whitner saved.)

Clearly, though, 17 wouldn't be enough, and as the Saints started to chip away, we kept awaiting that one more score, the touchdown that might put the game out of reach. But we just couldn't get it. Two field-goals, along with a truly heroic D, were enough to make it 23-17, but you can play with fire for only so long. And with barely more than four minutes to go, the Saints went ahead, almost predictably.

The game wasn't over, of course. A field-goal offense just needed a field goal. (And don't forget, semper fidelis.) But this O was approaching the limits of our patience. We couldn't demand an O like the Saints', but ours had rarely been more frustrating. Our defense and special teams had staked us to an incredible lead, and our lack of offensive explosiveness--our inability to get that one more score--had squandered it.

Fairly or not, this would fall upon Smith. In this magical year, he'd certainly proven that he could be good. With all he'd been through, that was no small achievement, but he'd largely been just a cog, in a generally unimpressive machine. Now, facing the heat of his first playoff start, he needed to prove that he could be more.

More. Since the day he'd arrived, so long ago now, we'd never stopped demanding more. He'd overcome insults, injuries, two of the worst head-coaches ever--and now he'd given us 13 wins, including a bunch he'd pulled out in the clutch. And, still, it wasn't enough. Regular seasons are nice and all, but the playoffs are where you prove your true worth. To keep alive our hopes and dreams--and to prove he could be our QB of the future--Smith now had to be more than good.

In a brand-new world, he had to be great. And he was, in a way that no one--not even the staunchest Smith-defender--ever could've dared to imagine.

Immediately, he showed that he wouldn't be crushed by the moment. Without a trace of the timidity that once had seemed to define him, he promptly unloaded his best throw ever: a back-foot bomb that settled right in Davis's hands. Then, when a cosmically awful huddling penalty threatened to put us back in our shell, the Niners perfectly executed perhaps the year's most inspired playcall, and Smith took the ball all the way to the house.

It was, without question, the biggest moment of Smith's career. Until, of course, a moment later.

It was almost unfair. Smith had already won this game, but our D, now spent, surrendered the lead in just 34 seconds, and Smith was forced to win it again. He had every right to be deflated (as those of us watching most certainly were). To throw up his hands and call it a day. To simply accept that his biggest moment--in perfect accord with his star-crossed career--simply wasn't biggest enough.

Instead, he just decided to top it.

After another 50-yard catch-and-run by Davis--on another supremely accurate throw--we faced a third-and-four at the Saints' 14. In a similar spot just a few weeks before, we'd elected to run, kick a field goal, and count on our D. This had led a certain writer to infer a lack of trust in Smith. (Of course, that same writer had inferred the end of Smith's career, on at least a half-dozen previous occasions.) As if in answer, the Niners eschewed the tying field-goal and prompted Smith to go for the win.

I've watched this play about 25 times. What impresses me isn't so much Davis's catch, though his Owens-like hands, toughness, and emotion were magnificent. What draws my eye, every time, is Smith's delivery. He seems to drive every ounce of himself--seven years of pent-up frustration--through that tight window. Steve Young's metaphorical monkey was nothing compared to the ape that was sitting on Alex Smith. And in delivering a postseason double that no one had ever delivered before--not Young, not Montana, not anyone--Smith did more than merely escape it. He declared, indeed, that he's here to stay.

Yet Smith is just the most notable symbol, of a team that just won't stop surprising. A mere nine days ago, I wrote that getting into a firefight with the likes of the Saints would be "certifiably suicidal." So then we went ahead and won one. I wrote that we'd never win 38-35. So then we won 36-32. From the offensive line to the secondary. From the draftees to the free agents. Anything and anyone you ever thought to question. Thanks to a certain superhero, it's all come together, in ways that simply defy belief.

Of course, this was no guarantee that we could do that most unlikely of things, which had loomed with menace throughout the year: go to Lambeau Field and win. As magical as this season had been, our magic just never seems to work there. And thus our euphoria was slowly replaced by a crucial realization: faith aside, our toughest task still lay ahead.

And then the Giants took care of that.

Out of the blue, the Niners will host the NFC title game, and though the Giants are on an intimidating roll (as were the Saints, it should be observed), the Niners find themselves favored to win. You wanna talk about miracles? Just think about this: unless there's an upset--and there won't be, of course--the Niners will go to the Super Bowl.

There's pressure there, to say the least. But no more pressure than Saturday night, with 4:02 to go in the game. We were not unaccustomed to playoff drama, yet nothing could've prepared us for the magic that we were about to see. In moments like those, so much can happen. Championships can be won or lost. Legends can live, or they can die.

In those moments, a man can be, at last, redeemed.

And on a singularly unforgettable day, those moments belonged to Alex Smith.