PASADENA, Calif. — One play speaks to the greatness of Ryan Mathews and it's not the one they'll be showing on highlight shows.

It's fourth down, in the Rose Bowl, 3 minutes left to victory, his team needing 1 1/2 yards that might as well be 1 1/2 miles.

"We ran right off tackle," Fresno State coach Pat Hill said afterward.

Of course they ran right off tackle. Everyone knew they were going off tackle. The bunny runs off Energizer. Popeye runs off spinach. The Bulldogs run off tackle.

If UCLA had called timeout, wheelbarrowed out mortar and bricks and built a 10-foot wall over the right tackle area, it would have taken Fresno State's best shot.

"We run power," Hill said.

Quarterback Tom Brandstater turned and handed to Mathews. It looked like there was nothing there, probably because there was nothing there. He slammed into a sliver of light anyway, massive bodies scraping both his sides. He was a man late for work, trying to squeeze into a closing elevator. His foot caught. He stumbled, reached for the ground, balanced himself on a hand, then lunged forward for every inch.

The Bulldogs needed 1 1/2 yards. Mathews got 7.

The Bulldogs eventually knelt at the UCLA 4. The Fresno State band wailed. Hill waved a white flag with a red "W" on it. Bulldogs coaches hugged, not as if they'd hung on to beat an average team, 36-31, but as if they were Little League parents.

This was a California big shot, you know, one of those pompous schools that wouldn't play in the San Joaquin Valley for seven figures and all the wine those farm kids at Fresno State could barrel.

The Bulldogs had never beaten UCLA in the regular season, never beaten them in southern California, certainly never beaten them in the Rose Bowl, and so the 18,000 in the red-clad pilgrimage from Fresno took great pleasure in chanting and waving goodbye to the Bruins student section as it snuck out of its own stadium.

At the center of the field, 15 microphones, 10 scribbling pens and seven cameras surrounded Ryan Mathews.

This was the part he dreads. He doesn't talk much, not to anyone, but definitely not to strangers, and never to boast. He's well-spoken and pleasant, but as shy as the new kid in school.

By the time he answered all the questions, dodged all the traps to compliment himself, he walked toward the north end of the Rose Bowl, where five sections of Bulldogs fans were still toasting victory. On the way, a radio guy reeled Mathews in. By the time he got to the north end, another dozen reporters wanted him to talk.

He said things like, "I just wanted to get in the end zone," and "It's fun to play in the Rose Bowl," then he walked back, the last player off the field. Bulldogs fans chanted his name as he jogged into the tunnel. A 10-year-old from Sanger named Cody Mathison reached down for a high-five, and Mathews handed off his gloves.

Don't use those gloves for football, Cody. They're past the warranty and it only took one game. They went 166 yards in just 21 rushes and scored a touchdown. They caught a pass on third-and-22, hurdled a corner and scored another.

When he came out of the locker room, there were another dozen reporters and Mathews' head dropped. He turned and considered going back to his locker. They wanted to know about the highlight, the play where he'd jumped over UCLA corner Courtney Viney, landed and turned at the same time, then glided into the end zone.

"... A corner or a safety or something got around (a blocker) and I just had to make a play," Mathews said "It ended up working out good."

Yes, it worked out good. In much the way Pavarotti's singing and Poitier's acting used to work out good.

"He hurdled over me," said Viney, who was a four-star recruit from Edison High in Fresno, "made a really good athletic play, scored the go-ahead touchdown. It was just a missed tackle."

"Missed" would give the impression there was an opportunity. How do you grab a guy with a gymnast's balance and monk's personality?

When the reporters all left, he was asked if he's gotten used to the attention. "Not really," he said. Do you hate it? "Kinda," he whispered.

In high school, the quarterback got hurt and so they just hiked it to him every time. It's hard to imagine Mathews calling plays, being the vocal leader.

"Sometimes," laughs Mike Lewis, who was his offensive coordinator at West-Bakersfield, "he'd butcher the calls and just go back there and make something happen."

You can't be that good and hide, can't go for 166 and two touchdowns, leap a tackler in stride and grunt for the most important 1 1/2 yards of a game on national TV in the Rose Bowl in front of 73,000 and expect no one to notice.

Mathews was asked if the Bruins had recruited him and he said they had. They asked why UCLA lost interest and he didn't explain that everyone but Fresno State gave up on him qualifying academically. When he did get his grades up, USC tried to steal him at the last minute, but Pete Carroll wanted him to play defense.

Mathews wanted to bust through slivers of space with the game on the end of the plank. And like he says, that's worked out good.