JACKSONVILLE, Fla. — The pity is that no one will realize just how great this really was. Late Sunday night, Patriots receiver Deion Branch was propped at a dais with the words "MVP" plastered on a wall behind him. He had a fine Super Bowl and, on a Patriots team devoid of individuality, he was as good a choice as any for the big award.

But the MVP can be a meaningless award sometimes. Too often it is given to a player on the winning team simply because he was on the winning team. And while Branch smiled at his fortune on the night he won the Super Bowl jackpot, the best player in this Super Bowl quietly made his way down a corridor beneath the stadium.

Deion Branch had a good Super Bowl.

Terrell Owens had one for the ages.

In a week that was all about him, Owens should have been the story of Super Bowl night. Not only did he play on a recently broken leg and an ankle so severely sprained it needed surgery, but he was the best player on the field. Nobody could have expected this. Not rationally, especially when he nearly won the Super Bowl for the Eagles.

With a single game, he recast himself from football villain to Super Bowl hero. But the metamorphosis was lost under the march of another Patriots championship parade. The great tragedy of this Super Bowl is that one of its greatest performances was an afterthought.

It has been hard to love Terrell Owens over the years. He always has been so much about himself. He has been the game's most dominant pass catcher, running over defensive backs like they were mere toys thrown onto the field. On balls thrown up for grabs in the back of the end zone, he almost always has come away with the catch. There probably hasn't been a play he couldn't make.

But he has done things that have made people grit their teeth. When he scored those touchdowns in Dallas and then spiked the ball on the midfield star at Texas Stadium, a country shook its head. When he pulled the pen from his sock and autographed a ball in the middle of a game at Seahawks Stadium, jaws dropped. And when he grabbed a cheerleader's pompoms or posed like Atlas, flexing his arms, everyone rolled their eyes and tuned him out.

All that should have changed in a night, the biggest night of his career. Owens said he was going to play despite the futile pleas of the doctor who refused to clear him to appear in the game. Then not only did he play, but he caught nine passes for 122 yards and probably could have done more had coach Andy Reid not bungled the last few minutes of the game, moving his team slowly down the field as time ticked away.

If his ankle hurt, Owens didn't show it. He jumped over Patriots defenders, made leaping catches, absorbed tackles that pulled him out of bounds and yet never went down. All around him, teammates had to be helped off the turf, carried away on the shoulders of the trainers. But the most injured of them all — the one with the broken leg and weakened ankle — stayed on his feet.

It should have been one of the most inspired performances in the history of sports — like Willis Reed hobbling onto the court in the NBA Finals or Kirk Gibson limping around the bases after his game-winning home run. But the Eagles didn't win, so Owens walked through the shadows on Sunday night.

They weren't supposed to win this game. It wasn't even supposed to be close. And without him, the Eagles probably would have lost 30-3. Donovan McNabb made terrible throws, the running game was non-existent and the Patriots adjusted well to Philadelphia's blitzes.

The only player who kept the Eagles in this game was Owens.

"Nobody but me knew I was going to play this game," he said after the game. "The doctor — I give him all the respect in the world — you guys believed what he said that I couldn't play. A lot of people in the world didn't believe I could play. But my faith all alone, the power of prayer and the power of faith carried me all the way."

Watching him on Sunday, it was hard to disagree.

There is probably a danger in glorifying Owens for ignoring the word of his doctor. But sports is loaded with moments in which star players defied all the best medical advice and wobbled out for the big game.

On Sunday, Owens should have been that big moment, too. He reinvented himself before our eyes, walking out of the Super Bowl with newfound respect. Unfortunately his greatest trick yet was an afterthought.

And when the game was over, he walked back to his locker room. Alone.

The best story was simply a footnote.

Les Carpenter: 206-464-2280 or lcarpenter@seattletimes.com.