Number of That Truck Was 33

The date: Jan. 1, 2000.

The time: 5:25 p.m.

The city: Pasadena.

The suspect: Ron Dayne.

The alleged crime: Leaving cleat marks on the faces of Pacific 10 team in the conference’s biggest game for the second consecutive year. Leading a Big Ten team to an eighth Rose Bowl win in the last nine years.

The scene: A football player built like two kegs walks off a spongy Rose Bowl field accompanied by thousands of red-clad and red-faced fans singing a beer song.

His red Wisconsin uniform is soaked and stained down the middle, but clean on the shoulder pads. His knees are green, his bare shins are scarred, but his step is fresh.

It appears he ran over somebody in Wisconsin’s 17-9 Rose Bowl victory.

It appears it was Stanford.

First witness, Stanford Coach Tyrone Willingham.

What did you see, sir?

“Coming into this game, no one had stopped Ron Dayne. But our guys accounted for themselves very well.”

Sir, Ron Dayne gained 200 yards, the fifth-best rushing effort in 86 Rose Bowl games.

Sir, he scored the eventual winning touchdown on a four-yard sweep in the third quarter, brushing off defenders as if they were dandruff.

“We had a couple of things slip through.”

A couple of things, sir?

Would one of them be the 20-yard run that began Wisconsin’s first scoring drive in the second quarter?

Would another be the game-breaking, 64-yard run at the start of the second half that led to his touchdown?

“For the most part, we played good defense.”

Next witness, Stanford safety Tim Smith.

What did you see, sir?

“He’s a big guy.”

He is, sir, and in more ways than one.

Dayne has captured this game and this stage like few running backs before him, nearly gaining in two games (446 yards) what Charles White gained in three (460) and tying a 98-year-old record with five career Rose Bowl touchdowns.

He has also set the unofficial record for most Pac-10 safeties dragged through Old Town Pasadena with 17.

Not to mention, becoming perhaps the first running back to become part of a cheer.

When the public-address guy announced his name after he carried the ball Saturday, the Wisconsin fans shouted it back.

“A seven-yard run by Ron Dayne.”

“Ron! Dayne!”

Ron Dayne was so overpowering, he was an echo.

“But we felt we could play with him. And for the most part, we did.”

The bottom half of the rose for you, Mr. Smith.

Next witness, Stanford defensive coordinator Kent Baer.

What did you see, sir?

“I think we kept him under control.”

And how was that?

“Our kids were really in tune with their blocking schemes, we really read the keys well.”

You certainly held the Wisconsin offense to nearly 100 yards less than its 425-yard average, and well short of its 36-point average.

“I thought our game plan worked.”

But Ron Dayne gained nearly 60 yards more than his career per-game average.

“How many yards did he get?”

Two double zero, sir.

“Amazing.”

Amazing on many levels.

That a player can pile up evidence of domination, yet not be acknowledged for that domination, might be evidence of something else entirely.

Could one of the reasons for the Pac-10’s recent failures in this game be an inability to admit that this is a game still won by power football?

Could this lack of proper recognition for a boring but efficient player be yet another sign that the Pac-10 refuses to play boring but efficient football?

Is it possible that Ron Dayne was representing not only his school and his state, but his entire conference’s state of mind, while Stanford was sadly doing the same for the Pac-10?

Lately, it seems as if the Big Ten is Ron Dayne. And the Pac-10 is the ill-equipped guy trying futilely to wrap him up.

This raises a question about the Pac-10’s domination of this game in the 1970s and ‘80s.

Would any of those teams allow a 200-yard rusher from some cold Midwestern city and claim they played well?

Those are questions for another investigation.

Next witness, Stanford linebacker Sharcus Steen.

What did you see, sir?

“He wasn’t really consistently able to go against us . . . “ Enough, enough.

Next witness, Wisconsin tackle Mark Tauscher.

What did you see, sir?

“Ron Dayne is amazing. You have to keep moving, because he keeps moving. I remember one time, he ran right up my butt.”

Next witness, Wisconsin tight end John Sigmund.

What did you see, sir?

“Most of the time what Ron does just speaks for itself. But sometimes, you can see it in the other team’s eyes. By the fourth quarter, he just wears them down.”

Perhaps that is it. Perhaps Ron Dayne is given surprisingly little credit for a Heisman Trophy winner because he doesn’t pose like that winner.

He wears people down, he doesn’t dance around them. He carries the ball, he doesn’t spike it. He beats you with those coffee-table legs and stony silence.

Next witness, Wisconsin running back Ron Dayne.

What did you see, sir?

“I saw a hole. I ran through it.”

No further questions.

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Bill Plaschke can be reached at his e-mail address: bill.plaschke@latimes.com.