In the southwest corner of the field at Qualcomm Stadium , just off the path where Chargers players enter and leave the playing field, Eric Weddle will prolong the inevitable.

When Sunday’s game against the Miami Dolphins is over, Weddle will head to that spot where the seats reach almost to the turf and the railing is low. He will sign autographs and pose for pictures and shake hands and hug until there is no more demand – or security’s overtime has been stretched to its limit.

The Beard will hold court, giving back. The man beneath it will be taking every last bit of adulation and shared admiration.

“I plan on being out there until they usher all the fans out,” Weddle said. “Most likely, this is my last game at Qualcomm. I’ll still be with my teammates the last two games, so there is no need to rush back in (to the locker room).”

Weddle was speaking Monday afternoon in front of his locker at Chargers Park.

“This is it,” he said. “This week.”

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Weddle is one of just five Chargers – along with Malcom Floyd , Antonio Gates , Philip Rivers and Mike Scifres – to have been with the Chargers for more than six seasons. They are, with defensive coordinator John Pagano , who has been with the team since 2002, really the only on-field personnel with deep ties to San Diego.

There are players so crucial to a cause we just assume they’re going to be around forever. A Southern California kid whose parents have made the drive from Rancho Cucamonga to be at every home game, Weddle’s ninth season was supposed to just be another step toward an entire career spent with one team.

We recall, though, the ugliness of the spring, when it became clear his employers took Weddle’s resilience and leadership for granted and were disinterested in talking contract extension. An eminently prideful man, Weddle endorsed his agent’s declaration this would be his final season in San Diego.

Nothing really has changed. But much like the Chargers organization, which could remain in San Diego another year if it doesn’t receive the approval it seeks to move to Los Angeles, there is a chance Weddle isn’t finished with the team that drafted him in the second round in 2007.

“I wouldn’t say impossible,” Weddle said. “A lot depends on who wants me. That’s a big thing. It’s not so much about what I’m perceived to be worth. That’s not the issue here; it never was.”

Weddle plans to make free agent visits. He and his wife have resigned themselves to relocating the next few years as he finishes his career, even though the home they are building in Poway is due to be completed a year from now.

“It’s just a lot,” he said. “We’re ready to go. It’s exciting. But there’s uncertainty. … I can see myself (taking) the next step. But then when I get talking with Philip, it breaks me to think he’s going to be here alone without me. That’s where the other side comes in – can I swallow my pride for guys like him? It’s tough. I’m going to have to weigh everything.”

This possible relenting should not be seen as a concession but rather a declaration of love and reluctance to break bonds. Weddle has had nightmares about what it will be like to not be a Charger anymore. Actual nightmares, waking up and wondering how he says goodbye to his brothers.

“If I end up playing somewhere else,” he said, “and we know that is probably what is going to happen, I’m not going to regret anything here.”

That is how passionately he feels. He’s been angry, bitter even. Still is. But to some extent, his has been the sneer of a clown. He’s hurting on the inside.

“Every day, honestly,” he said. “Mmmhmmm.”

He nodded slowly as his voice betrayed him.

“It’s always been on my mind,” he said later, his voice losing its volume, as it would several times. “It’s just more so now that this is my final home game. Now I can just enjoy it and embrace it. I have so many people coming to this game that have come over the last nine years that want to be there for me, people traveling across the country. Having that, knowing this might be it, it’s ...”

Chargers Eric Weddle greets a soldier. — Eduardo Contreras / San Diego Union-Tribune/TWEETS @contreras_ed

Weddle was rushing through his words. The hurry wasn’t because he wanted to stop talking but because he didn’t want to start crying. Like a nervous little boy with something important to say, whose tears you can see brimming throughout and voice you can hear trembling when it hit certain consonants and who you’re rooting for to finish while at the same time hoping the raw display of sincerity never ends.

Friday, as he sat outside the locker room, Weddle was less raw. He was almost ebullient. He’s soaking in his remaining time with teammates, at times seeming to push against what he knows is around the corner even as he knows he is about to slam into it.

“I’ve still got three games, so it’s hard to completely reflect on everything,” he said. “I don’t want to really open up about everything. Still, it’s emotional because this is most likely my last game. You still want people to know how much it means to you.”

And so on Sunday he will share with whoever wants to know.

“I feel like as much as I’ve been a part of the Chargers, they have too,” he said of the fans. “It’s my one chance to say, ‘Thank you,’ tell them I appreciate them, I love them. The support helps you go through the tough times, it helps you go through the great times.”

If you think that is not sincere, you never have been wearing a “32” jersey in public and had a bearded guy who looks an awful lot like Weddle come up to you and say, “Hey man, where’d you get that jersey? I’ve got to get one.”

Yes, he does that. On Sunday, you’ll see once more that is who he is.