Kevin Sherrington

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This is not how Sam Bradford envisioned it might end: pacing the Cotton Bowl sideline in a T-shirt instead of his famous No. 14, drinking left-handed from a water bottle, clapping gingerly, watching helplessly as a winnable game against Texas slipped away.

For the record, the last play by one of the greatest and most popular players in Oklahoma history was a boot: He rolls right on the Sooners' eighth play and his primary receiver, DeMarco Murray, gets hung up in traffic, allowing Texas' Aaron Williams time to catch Bradford and drive him hard into the turf and onto his right shoulder, the same one he sprained against BYU.

Game over, season over ...

His days at Oklahoma, too?

"I'm not sure," he said. "I can't answer that.

"I'll have to make that decision at the end of the year."

Many are now second-guessing the decision he made after last season. Had he come out then, he'd have been a top-10 pick. Maybe top-five. His shoulder wouldn't hurt. His legacy would be no worse. He'd be a rich man.

Instead, he came back to a Sooner team that had lost most of its offensive line and would lose more to injury. He would be without his favorite target, Jermaine Gresham. And he would get hurt not once but twice.

After the first injury, he came back sooner than expected. A prognosis is expected in a couple of days, but it's hard to imagine doctors clearing him now.

Critics already are questioning the wisdom of playing him in the first place.

"That's fair to say because he got hurt again," Bob Stoops said. "But Sam had a great week of practice. I saw him throw the prettiest 60-yard pass to finish our warm-up as I've seen him throw. We were going with good information from doctors. He understood the entire situation. Sam is a bright young guy.

"He knows what he wants, and unfortunately it just hasn't worked out very well."

No, it hasn't.

Bradford called his latest setback "extremely frustrating" but wouldn't say much else. His demeanor said it all.

Most of the game, he simply paced head down. Trolling the periphery of sideline huddles, he'd occasionally lean in, then wordlessly retreat. For the most part, his teammates left him alone. Unlike the last two years, when he lifted the Sooners to national heights, winning a Heisman in the process, the brutal truth of it was that Bradford no longer was any good to them. Not if he couldn't play. Not if he couldn't look over Will Muschamp's defense and pick it apart. Not if he couldn't pinpoint passes that few college quarterbacks have ever thrown.

"He's one of the best quarterbacks to play college football," Mack Brown said. "I was shocked at how well he played against us as a redshirt freshman. Four touchdown passes."

And if this was his last Texas-OU game?

"You know he'll have a great pro career whether he plays again this year or not."

If his shoulder proves sound, Bradford will probably still be a top-10 pick. His accuracy, as well as the ability to make a quick and seamless progression through reads, impresses scouts, even though he's the product of a shotgun offense.

You could say he should have moved on when he had the chance. You could say he cost himself a lot of money.

But if that's your argument, you don't get Bradford. The shame of it wasn't that he got hurt and cost himself a few million.

The shame was in how it ended: Sam Bradford, a mere extra on the type of stage he cherished most.

"You love these opportunities," he had said this week, eyes bright with anticipation.

"This is what you come to these universities for."

It was why he came back, which was reason enough. He'll get no criticism here.