GAINESVILLE -- For four years now, we have tried to proclaim Tim Tebow superhuman.

He was the freshman so hyped that we were in awe when he converted the shortest of plays. He was the sophomore who was so statistically dominant that he broke the Heisman sophomore jinx. He was the junior who won a second national championship, this one his own.

And now he is the senior who brought the Gators to 12-0 for just the second time in team history, doing it with the least amount of help he has had in his UF tenure.

Super?

Sure.

Human?

Absolutely.

In fact, it's the human side of Tebow that we probably will miss more than anything else, now that the greatest Gator ever has played his last game at Ben Hill Griffin Stadium.

One UF senior after another came out of that tunnel Saturday afternoon, some with clever tricks (Wondy Pierre-Louis pulled the grandest stunt, with a LeBron James-like powder toss), some of them with straight faces.

Tebow came out with tears. Before his name was called, there were tears. Before he ever stepped onto the field.

By the time he actually was making his way through the band and toward his emotionally drained coach, Tebow was crying like a child. The type of crying where you can't even control the muscles in your face because you're just letting go.

That's no man of steel. That's a man of heart. A man of true passion. A man of devotion who knows his four years are almost up, and he soon will actually have to let go.

That's why Tebow, the person, has been beloved for as long as he has been on the UF campus.

It's a connection with fans that no other player -- not even Danny Wuerffel -- was able to establish.

``I've never seen anything like it,'' Gators coach Urban Meyer said. ``I can only hope we get to see that again.''

We might never see anything like this again. That's why this particular Senior Day experience was so emotionally intense, and somewhat surreal.

GETTING A GLIMPSE

The flash bulbs started in the fourth quarter of the blowout. Cameras from all parts of the stadium were going off, hoping to capture even the tiniest, indecipherable picture of Tebow's Swamp finale.

It was entrancing, in part because of how unexpected it was.

Then as the contest came to a close, you started to notice that no one was leaving.

In a blowout on a cold night, almost every seat remained occupied, not just for the final whistle, but for the entire postgame celebration.

The team did its thing, singing the fight song with the band in one corner. And still, nobody left their seats other than a handful of folks near the top of the stadium, and even they were probably just trying to get a better view of the field.

When Tebow started his traditional lap around the stadium, preparing to slap the hands of those lucky enough to own front-row seats, the speakers blared the song Party Like a Rock Star, which couldn't have been a more inappropriate song to send off the humble Tebow.

As he worked his way around, girls cried.

``A girl who normally comes out there after our Sunday meals, she was crying,'' Tebow said. ``I was trying to say, `It's OK, I'll be around.' I couldn't cheer her up.''

Boys cried.

``There was a boy, Luke, who comes to a lot of our practices who I gave a hug to, and he was crying,'' Tebow recalled.

Members of the Florida State band waved goodbye, not in a ``Good riddance'' sort of way, but in an ``Even I don't want to see you go,'' kind of way.

And one Gators cheerleader collapsed. In pain, actually.

``When I got to the part of the cheerleaders, I think I stepped on one of their ankles,'' Tebow said with a chuckle. ``She went down hard. I felt terrible. So I gave her a big hug. But they were all laughing, so I think she's OK.''

THIS LOVE IS ETERNAL

It doesn't matter how his NFL future plays out (for those who don't believe he has NFL potential, Tebow had at least four NFL-quality passes in Saturday's game).

It doesn't even matter if he loses next week in a game against Alabama that will decide if this season was a failure or success for these Gators.

None of it possibly could affect the relationship Tebow has with Florida fans, and fans of good people in general.

``He made unselfish a cool thing,'' Meyer said.

Four years later, we realize he's not superhuman at all.

Tim Tebow is actually great at being human.