Culture
This 49ers season is effectively over — and Kyle Shanahan bears plenty of responsibility
SANTA CLARA, Calif. — And in the end, after another postseason heartbreak, after an emotionally exhausting offseason, after the drama-filled holdouts and the gnarly wave of injuries and the personal tragedies, after a star player’s lash-out and, with a team’s hopes hanging in the balance, an infuriating and surreal tap-out, the San Francisco 49ers’ 2024 season finally collapsed under its own weight.
Buried under the wreckage, barely able to speak at an audible volume, was Kyle Shanahan — the man who had the most to do with the 49ers’ failings, and the biggest culprit behind a last-gasp attempt to extend an era that seemed doomed from its inception last February.
Shanahan, the Niners’ eighth-year coach, was standing at a lectern after the defeat that all but mathematically eliminated the defending NFC champions from playoff contention, one that came courtesy of his fiercest professional rival. With a 12-6 victory at Levi’s Stadium on Thursday night, Sean McVay’s Los Angeles Rams (8-6) boosted their playoff hopes while exposing the 49ers (6-8) as a team that lacked the purpose, precision and unity to play beyond the first weekend in January.
In the end, with desperation in the rain-filled Northern California air, Shanahan’s offense couldn’t produce a single touchdown, San Francisco’s special teams were typically sloppy and an uncharacteristically strong defensive effort was marred by veteran linebacker De’Vondre Campbell Sr.’s stunning refusal to enter the game when summoned in the third quarter.
All of that falls on Shanahan — that’s why he sits in the big chair — and he made no attempt to run from it.
“Not good enough,” Shanahan said of the offensive effort he coordinated Thursday, though the words applied to everything about this defeat and to this challenging season.
Those words also served as an epitaph to a six-season stretch in which the 49ers suffered two excruciating Super Bowl defeats to the Kansas City Chiefs, lost a pair of wrenching NFC Championship Games (including one to McVay’s Rams) and assembled a loaded roster stacked with some of the league’s most talented and resilient players.
Together, they built a formidable foundation, won a lot of big games and at times felt indomitable.
What we witnessed Thursday night was the NFL’s equivalent of rubble — and the group charged with cleaning it up, and rising from it, will look much, much different in 2025 and beyond.
GO DEEPER
A tale of two 49ers linebackers: Dre Greenlaw enters, De’Vondre Campbell exits — abruptly
“There’s been a dark cloud over us all season,” veteran cornerback Charvarius Ward told me after the game. “This will be a good offseason for this team to regroup, refocus and try to rekindle the spark.”
Ward, a second-team All-Pro in 2023, is headed for unrestricted free agency next March and is one of the many marquee 49ers who might not be on next year’s roster.
“I don’t know if I’m gonna be back,” Ward continued, “but I know this team is still gonna be great, with or without me.”
That remains to be seen, because Thursday’s faceplant — and, really, this entire season — has underscored how different this 49ers team is from its immediate predecessors.
Once again: Not good enough. Realistically, not even close.
The NFL is a production business, and Shanahan — who along with general manager John Lynch assembled this group, and was charged with coaching it up — will have to wear the stain of his team’s consistently substandard performances. The Niners have just two victories over opponents with winning records (the Seattle Seahawks and Tampa Bay Buccaneers) and suffered three brutal defeats to division foes after squandering late leads.
On Thursday, with a chance to stay in the NFC West race, they fell woefully short, and produced a lowlight reel in the process.
Wide receiver Deebo Samuel Sr., who complained on social media earlier in the week that he wasn’t getting the ball enough, had a brutal drop that likely cost him a chance to reach the end zone for a game-changing score. The 49ers were penalized for two illegal formation penalties on punts. Shanahan, after Brock Purdy connected with tight end George Kittle on a 33-yard pass early in the game — against a defense that had given up 42 points to the Buffalo Bills four days earlier — got weirdly conservative, calling three consecutive runs in Rams territory and settling for a 53-yard field goal by Jake Moody. And Purdy, coming off his best game of the season, struggled in the rain (a recurring theme) and later threw a brutal end-zone interception with 5:20 remaining and the 49ers in range for a game-tying field goal, essentially killing their chances.
Deebo Samuel had a chance to make a game-changing play for the 49ers. Instead, he dropped the ball. (Thearon W. Henderson / Getty Images)
And, amazingly, none of those gaffes came close to being the night’s most ignominious moment. That belonged to Campbell, a veteran linebacker signed in March as a placeholder for Dre Greenlaw — the passionate playmaker who tore his Achilles while running onto the field after a punt during the second quarter of Super Bowl LVIII, and who finally worked his way back Thursday night to try to help save San Francisco’s season.
He almost did, before his body betrayed him. The 27-year-old enforcer, one of the sport’s most criminally underappreciated stars, picked up where he left off in last February’s Super Bowl, before the farfetched injury that helped doom the Niners to defeat.
Had Greenlaw been rusty against the Rams, it would have made plenty of sense.
He wasn’t. Rather, he was the best player on the field.
Greenlaw had eight tackles, many of them prolific and sudden and violent, before leaving the game midway through the third quarter with knee tightness. At that point, Campbell was the next man up.
Campbell, however, did not exactly man up.
Apparently upset over losing his job to Greenlaw — hardly a shocking development to anyone in the 49ers’ locker room, or outside of it — Campbell, according to Shanahan and numerous players, declined to enter the game.
GO DEEPER
49ers’ De’Vondre Campbell refuses to play, quits TNF game in third quarter
“He said he didn’t want to play today,” Shanahan said. Campbell, who eventually was sent off the field and into the locker room — almost certainly never to return — was described as “selfish” by Ward and Kittle during postgame interviews.
“That was his plan,” Ward told me. “He had his mind made up. I mean, it’s crazy. He’s not a better player than Dre. You saw that today — (Greenlaw)’s the engine of our defense, the guy who starts everything for us. But you could see (Campbell’s decision not to play) coming for a while.”
The juxtaposition of Campbell quitting on his teammates with the resilience of players like Ward and rookie wide receiver Ricky Pearsall was staggering.
Pearsall, shot through the chest during a robbery attempt shortly before the start of the season, missed six games before returning and making his NFL debut. Ward missed three games after his daughter, Amani Joy, died in October, shortly before her second birthday. (Amani Joy was born with Down syndrome and a heart defect that required surgery.)
After Thursday’s game, Ward opened up to me about the trauma he and his family have endured, doing his best to affirm his commitment to his teammates while acknowledging that football isn’t the preeminent force in his life right now.
“It’s been hard for me personally to go to work every day, every game — even to practice or go to meetings,” he admitted. “I almost left a couple of times. S—, I know fans probably hate me (for saying that), but f— it, it’s real life. It’s bigger than football. This is the hardest time of my life for sure.”
In that context, a football team’s lost season pales in comparison. Yet falling short still hurts. Players and coaches channel an extreme amount of energy, intensity and devotion for the cause, and when they don’t reach their goals, they grieve. And that’s especially true for the head coach.
In the coming weeks and months, Shanahan will have to be real with himself as he reckons with how it all went wrong, and how he and Lynch can try to make it right in 2025, and in the years that follow.
In the meantime, there are three games to play, none of which will likely matter. While noting that the 49ers are technically still in playoff contention, reaching the postseason would require a series of hugely improbable outcomes, and Shanahan acknowledged that the dream of finally winning a championship with this incarnation of his team is basically over. “They say mathematically we still have a chance,” he said. “I’m not too concerned with that right now. … I want to come back and play better football and challenge the character of our team.”
Clearly shaken, Shanahan almost looked as though he had seen a ghost — which, metaphorically, was kind of true. Across the sideline Thursday night was the coach’s former franchise quarterback, Jimmy Garoppolo, now a backup to the Rams’ Matthew Stafford. And, of course, there was McVay, a former Shanahan assistant who has since challenged him for coaching supremacy, capturing the Lombardi Trophy that has eluded Shanahan and, after bottoming out in 2022, deftly reshaping the Rams on the fly in each of the past two seasons.
Last Sunday, McVay schemed up an offensive outburst that fueled a 44-42 upset victory over the Bills and kept the Rams in hot pursuit of the Seahawks (8-5) in the division race. On Thursday, after L.A. cornerback Darious Williams picked off Purdy’s overthrown deep ball for Jauan Jennings in the end zone with 5:20 remaining, McVay and his players became the closers that Shanahan and his 49ers have struggled all season to be.
When the Rams took over at their own 20-yard line up 9-6 with 5:20 remaining, McVay had no intention of giving the ball back.
“That’s the responsibility I felt,” he said as he walked from the visitors’ locker room to the team bus late Thursday night. “Now, (the 49ers) have a say in that, too.”
Soon, the Rams silenced them. Thirteen plays, 69 yards and only two third downs later, Joshua Karty kicked his fourth field goal to make it a six-point game. Only 20 seconds remained, and the 49ers’ last, desperate gasp ended when Purdy was sacked by Christian Rozeboom at his own 44-yard line with no time remaining — in the game or, for all intents and purposes, the season. Or the era.
“This wasn’t an easy win,” McVay said. “Their defense was really, really good; they were flying around all night. And the elements made it really tough, especially in the first half. But this is a mentally tough team. I like our resilience. I like that we can win in different ways. I like what we’re made of.”
Those used to be sentiments that Shanahan, in all sincerity, could express about his team. In 2024, if he’s being honest, they no longer apply. Shanahan’s players and assistant coaches bear plenty of responsibility, but most of all, it’s on him.
In 2024, the 49ers weren’t good enough, and neither was he.
(Top photo: Kelley L Cox / Imagn Images)
Culture
Poetry Challenge Day 2: Love, How It Works and What It Means
Maybe you woke up this morning haunted by the first four lines of W.H. Auden’s “The More Loving One” — or tickled by its tongue-in-cheek handling of existential dread. (Not ringing any bells? Click here to begin the Poetry Challenge).
This is a love poem. Perhaps that seems like an obvious thing to say about a poem with “Loving” in its title, but there isn’t much romance in the opening stanza.
Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.
Ada Limón, poet
Nonetheless, the poem soon makes clear that love is very much on its mind.
How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
David Sedaris, writer
The polished informality gives the impression of a decidedly cerebral speaker — someone who’s looking at love philosophically, thinking about how it works and what it means.
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
Reginald Dwayne Betts, poet
Musing this way — arguing in this fashion — he stands in a long line of playful, thoughtful poetic lovers going back at least to the 16th century. He sounds a bit like Christopher Marlowe’s passionate shepherd:
Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That Valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.
Auden’s poem, like Marlowe’s, is written in four-beat lines:
How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
Josh Radnor, actor
And it features strong end rhymes:
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
Samantha Harvey, writer
These tetrameter couplets represent a long-established poetic love language. Not too serious or sappy, but with room for both earnestness and whimsy. And even for professions of the opposite of love, as in this nursery rhyme, adapted from a 17th-century epigram:
I do not like thee, Doctor Fell
The reason why I cannot tell.
But this I know and know full well
I do not like thee, Doctor Fell.
There is some of this anti-love spirit in Auden’s poem too, but it mainly follows a general rule of love poetry: The person speaking is usually the more loving one.
This makes sense. To write a poem requires effort, art, inspiration. To speak in verse is to tease, to cajole, to seduce, all actions that suggest an excess of desire. That’s why it’s conventional to refer to the “I” in a poem like this as the Lover and the “you” as the Beloved. The line “Let the more loving one be me” could summarize a lot of the love poetry of the last few thousand years.
But who, in this case, is the beloved? This isn’t a poem to the stars, but about them. Or maybe a poem that uses the stars as a conceit and our complicated feelings about them as a screen for other difficult emotions.
What the stars have to do with love is a tricky question. The answer may just be that the poem assumes a relationship and then plays with the implications of its assumption.
This kind of play also has a long history. Since love is both abstract and susceptible to cliché, poets are eager to liken it to everything else under the sun: birds, bees, planets, stars, the movement of the tides and the cycle of the seasons. Andrew Marvell’s “Definition of Love,” from the 1600s, wraps its ardor in math:
As lines, so loves oblique may well
Themselves in every angle greet;
But ours so truly parallel,
Though infinite, can never meet.
The literary term for this is wit. The formidable 18th-century English wordsmith Samuel Johnson defined a type of wit as “a combination of dissimilar images, or discovery of occult resemblances in things apparently unlike.” “The most heterogeneous ideas are yoked by violence together,” he wrote; that kind of conceptual discord defines “The More Loving One.”
The second stanza is, when you think about it, a perfect non sequitur. A hypothetical, general question is asked:
How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
Mary Roach, writer
The answer is a personal declaration that is moving because it doesn’t seem to apply only or primarily to stars:
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
Tim Egan, writer
Does this disjunction make it easier or harder to remember? Either way, these couplets start to reveal just how curious this poem is. We might find ourselves curious about who wrote them, and whom he might have loved. Tomorrow we’ll get to know Auden and his work a little better.
Play a game to learn it by heart. Need more practice? Listen to Ada Limón, Matthew McConaughey, W.H. Auden and others recite our poem.
Question 1/6
How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
Tap a word above to fill in the highlighted blank.
Your task today: Learn the second stanza!
Let’s start with the first couplet in this stanza. Fill in the rhyming words.
Ready for another round? Try your hand at the 2025 Poetry Challenge.
Edited by Gregory Cowles, Alicia DeSantis and Nick Donofrio. Additional editing by Emily Eakin,
Joumana Khatib, Emma Lumeij and Miguel Salazar. Design and development by Umi Syam. Additional
game design by Eden Weingart. Video editing by Meg Felling. Photo editing by Erica Ackerberg.
Illustration art direction by Tala Safie.
Illustrations by Daniel Barreto.
Text and audio recording of “The More Loving One,” by W.H. Auden, copyright © by the Estate of
W.H. Auden. Reprinted by permission of Curtis Brown, Ltd. Photograph accompanying Auden recording
from Imagno/Getty Images.
Culture
What America’s Main Characters Tell Us
Literature
Oedipa Maas from ‘The Crying of Lot 49’ (1966) by Thomas Pynchon
“The unforgettable, cartoonish protagonist of this unusually short novel is a California housewife accidentally turned private investigator and literary interpreter, and the mystery she’s attempting to solve — or, more specifically, the conspiracy she stumbles upon — is nothing less than capitalism itself,” says Ngai, 54. “As Oedipa traces connections between various crackpots, the novel highlights the peculiarly asocial sociality of postwar U.S. society, which gets figured as a network of alienations.”
Sula Peace from ‘Sula’ (1973) by Toni Morrison
“Sula arguably begins to disappear as soon as she’s introduced — despite the fact that the novel bears her name. Other characters die quickly, or are noticeably flat. This raises the politically charged question of who gets to ‘develop’ or be a protagonist in American novels and who doesn’t. The novel’s unusual character system is part of its meditation on anti-Black racism and historical violence.”
The speaker of ‘Lunch Poems’ (1964) by Frank O’Hara
“Lyric poems are fundamentally different from narrative fiction in part because they have speakers as opposed to narrators. Perhaps it’s a stretch to nominate the speaker of ‘Lunch Poems’ as a main character, but this book changed things by highlighting the centrality of queer counterpublics to U.S. culture as a whole, and by exploring the joys and risks of everyday intimacy with strangers therein.”
This interview has been edited and condensed.
More in Literature
See the rest of the issue
Culture
Poetry Challenge: Memorize “The More Loving One” by W.H. Auden
Let’s memorize a poem! Not because it’s good for us or because we think we should, but because it’s fun, a mental challenge with a solid aesthetic reward. You can amuse yourself, impress your friends and maybe discover that your way of thinking about the world — or even, as you’ll see, the universe — has shifted a bit.
Over the next five days, we’ll look closely at a great poem by one of our favorite poets, and we’ll have games, readings and lots of encouragement to help you learn it by heart. Some of you know how this works: Last year more Times readers than we could count memorized a jaunty 18-line recap of an all-night ferry ride. (If you missed that adventure, it’s not too late to embark. The ticket is still valid.)
This time, we’re training our telescopes on W.H. Auden’s “The More Loving One” — a clever, compact meditation on love, disappointment and the night sky.
Here’s the first of its four stanzas, read for us by Matthew McConaughey:
The More Loving One
Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.
Matthew McConaughey, actor and poet
In four short lines we get a brisk, cynical tour of the universe: hell and the heavens, people and animals, coldness and cruelty. Commonplace observations — that the stars are distant; that life can be dangerous — are wound into a charming, provocative insight. The tone is conversational, mixing decorum and mild profanity in a manner that makes it a pleasure to keep reading.
Here’s Tracy K. Smith, a former U.S. poet laureate, with the second stanza:
How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
Tracy K. Smith, poet
These lines abruptly shift the focus from astronomy to love, from the universal to the personal. Imagine how it would feel if the stars had massive, unrequited crushes on us! The speaker, couching his skepticism in a coy, hypothetical question, seems certain that we wouldn’t like this at all.
This certainty leads him to a remarkable confession, a moment of startling vulnerability. The poem’s title, “The More Loving One,” is restated with sweet, disarming frankness. Our friend is wearing his heart on his well-tailored sleeve.
The poem could end right there: two stanzas, point and counterpoint, about how we appreciate the stars in spite of their indifference because we would rather love than be loved.
But the third stanza takes it all back. Here’s Alison Bechdel reading it:
Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.
Alison Bechdel, graphic novelist
The speaker downgrades his foolish devotion to qualified admiration. No sooner has he established himself as “the more loving one” than he gives us — and perhaps himself — reason to doubt his ardor. He likes the stars fine, he guesses, but not so much as to think about them when they aren’t around.
The fourth and final stanza, read by Yiyun Li, takes this disenchantment even further:
Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.
Yiyun Li, author
Wounded defiance gives way to a more rueful, resigned state of mind. If the universe were to snuff out its lights entirely, the speaker reckons he would find beauty in the void. A starless sky would make him just as happy.
Though perhaps, like so many spurned lovers before and after, he protests a little too much. Every fan of popular music knows that a song about how you don’t care that your baby left you is usually saying the opposite.
The last line puts a brave face on heartbreak.
So there you have it. In just 16 lines, this poem manages to be somber and funny, transparent and elusive. But there’s more to it than that. There is, for one thing, a voice — a thinking, feeling person behind those lines.
When he wrote “The More Loving One,” in the 1950s, Wystan Hugh Auden was among the most beloved writers in the English-speaking world. Before this week is over there will be more to say about Auden, but like most poets he would have preferred that we give our primary attention to the poem.
Its structure is straightforward and ingenious. Each of the four stanzas is virtually a poem unto itself — a complete thought expressed in one or two sentences tied up in a neat pair of couplets. Every quatrain is a concise, witty observation: what literary scholars call an epigram.
This makes the work of memorization seem less daunting. We can take “The More Loving One” one epigram at a time, marvelling at how the four add up to something stranger, deeper and more complex than might first appear.
So let’s go back to the beginning and try to memorize that insouciant, knowing first stanza. Below you’ll find a game we made to get you started. Give it a shot, and come back tomorrow for more!
Play a game to learn it by heart. Need more practice? Listen to Ada Limón, Matthew McConaughey, W.H. Auden and others recite our poem.
Question 1/6
Looking up at the stars, I know quite well That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
Tap a word above to fill in the highlighted blank.
Your first task: Learn the first four lines!
Let’s start with the first couplet. Fill in the rhyming words.
Monday
Love, the cosmos and everything in between, all in 16 lines.
Tuesday (Available tomorrow)
What’s love got to do with it?
Wednesday (Available April 22)
How to write about love? Be a little heartsick (and the best poet of your time).
Thursday (Available April 23)
Are we alone in the universe? Does it matter?
Friday (Available April 24)
You did it! You’re a star.
Ready for another round? Try your hand at the 2025 Poetry Challenge.
Edited by Gregory Cowles, Alicia DeSantis and Nick Donofrio. Additional editing by Emily Eakin,
Joumana Khatib, Emma Lumeij and Miguel Salazar. Design and development by Umi Syam. Additional
game design by Eden Weingart. Video editing by Meg Felling. Photo editing by Erica Ackerberg.
Illustration art direction by Tala Safie.
Illustrations by Daniel Barreto.
Text and audio recording of “The More Loving One,” by W.H. Auden, copyright © by the Estate of
W.H. Auden. Reprinted by permission of Curtis Brown, Ltd. Photograph accompanying Auden recording
from Imagno/Getty Images.
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