Ian Rush...Superstar...How Many Goals Have You Scored So Far?

"The Continental Soccer Association is coming to Springfield! It's all here -- fast-kicking, low-scoring and ties! This match will determine once and for all, which nation is the greatest on earth: Mexico or Portugal!" -- TV ad that convinces Homer to give a new sport a try.

As my satellite settled on ABC for Saturday's D.C. United vs. San Jose Earthquakes soccer match -- a 90-minute sidebar, really, to the professional debut of 14-year old United forward Freddy Adu -- I, like most people, was curious as to whether Adu would provide substance to support the suggestion that he was indeed the latest, and perhaps most gifted, of America's athletic prodigies.

What I was not, however, was hopeful... hopeful that the teen-age phenom could generate for soccer what to this point has been unattainable in this country: mass appeal.

While Adu's story is certainly an intriguing one, the hard truth is, it simply doesn't matter. Freddy could have strolled out onto the pitch, weaved through lunging defenders like a pubescent Pele, and hung up a hat-trick in the first 18 minutes, and America still would have flipped to "Weird Science" by halftime. Here's why:

It's hockey without the gratuitous beatings: Contrary to popular belief, there are people capable of appreciating a 1-0 game. Unfortunately, none of them live in the U.S. Products of a one-hour photo, high-speed Internet, eight-minute abs society, we have come to demand instant gratification from every facet of our lives, sports being no exception. With no time to waste on build-ups or subplots, we require non-stop scoring and ample commercial breaks -- all the more opportunity to satisfy our meandering attention span. That's why football is king. Touchdown? Grab some food. Punt? Call your bookie. Time-out? Spend some quality time with the wife and kids. And if for some reason you miss anything, it's all wrapped up in a neat little 30-second package every six minutes on ESPN News.

Soccer, on the other hand, provides none of football's appeal. No commercials. Fewer goals than the Hilton sisters. Highlight shows that routinely feature near misses. (What American sport would try that? McGrady pulls up for three...Oh, that one was close!) No, to appreciate the subtle beauty of a well-played soccer match requires patience -- a virtue which, as we all know, was stolen by a wealthy advertising executive in 1950 and buried deep below Madison Avenue, where it can never bother us again.

As a result, America has pledged its allegiance to the "major" sports: football, for the reasons discussed above; basketball, with its 200 points and infinite TV timeouts; baseball, as the ideal background noise; and even hockey, for the off chance you'll see an unprovoked pummeling or, rarer still, the puck.

We have too many meats in our cultural stew: If soccer is so dull, why is it the most popular sport in every nation on the planet, sans one? It's simple. They've got nothing better to do, that's why. With no NBA, NFL, MLB, AOL, MTV, HBO, R&B, NKOTB, or X-Box, soccer is the only voyeuristic distraction for much of the world.

Not to oversimplify things, but in England, the athletic alternatives are either soccer or cricket, a game of which, I'm told, can last roughly as long as the O.J. trial. In Brazil, legend has it a young Pele, unable to afford a ball, honed his skills by juggling grapefruits. Kids in America don't juggle grapefruits. They spend $59.95 on a PlayStation game called "Extreme Grapefruit Juggling," play it for three days, then trade it for an extra chocolate milk.

There's also a darker side to much of the worlds infatuation with soccer. In countries where lawlessness has yet to become the norm, hooliganism is used as an outlet for aggression. Fans argue, fight, and even kill one another over team loyalties. In America, we don't need a lousy soccer game to release OUR pent up rage. If we want to drag some guy out of a car and beat the hell out of him, we certainly don't require an Arsenal upset of Manchester United as justification. A missing turn signal will more than suffice.

Uncontrollable ego: It's not just for Texas anymore: Here's the thing about Americans: While we like to believe we thrive on competition, what we really thrive on is domination. Since Rocky IV ended the Cold War, we've stood as the world's lone superpower. We've got it all: the richest economy, the best athletes, and a military that harbors both the arsenal and the inclination to bomb the hell out of anyone that forgets who's boss. As a result, we've grown spoiled. We've come to dismiss any pursuit that doesn't result in immediate supremacy in the same manner MENSA member write-off their inability to swap out a spark plug: If WE can't do it, it must not be important.

This, more than any other reason, is why soccer is doomed to fail in this country. As a people, we are unwilling to acknowledge the validity of a sport where the world pecking order is reversed; where nations in which we routinely finance revolutions are considered authority figures, with the U.S. relegated to the role of red headed stepchild. Just look at our history...

Our proudest moment came over half a century ago, when we pulled off a 1-0 shocker over perennial power England at the 1950 World Cup. How's that for irony -- the United States an underdog to the British, only years after single-handedly sparing England the fate of becoming -- as Kevin Cline put it best in "A Fish Called Wanda" -- "the smallest fucking province in the German empire."

To make matters worse, we didn't even qualify for the next ten World Cup tourneys. Qualify? This is the United States! We don't sit around pining for an invitation to hang out with the Argentina's of the world; we just show up at their door, grab a beer, and start grinding our muddy shoes into their couch like an insolent Rick James.

In 1988, we finally made it back to the sports biggest stage. Setting off raucous celebrations from San Bernardino to East L.A., the U.S clinched a spot in the 1990 Cup with an improbable upset of Trinidad & Tobago, a nation roughly the size of Stanley Roberts and not nearly as athletic. In the four tournaments since, we've suffered embarrassing results at the hands of such world powers as Czechoslovakia, Romania, Poland, Iran, and South Korea. South Korea! How sad is that? Eleven guys who spent the better part of their childhood toiling in sweatshops and stitching our Nikes, kicking our ass in front of the world.

Bottom line: With few "SportsCenter"-worthy moments, no commercials, ample entertainment alternatives, and regular international indignities, soccer will soon slip behind the World Series of Poker in the hearts of Americans -- and there's nothing Freddy Adu can do to stop it.

OK. Moving on...To avoid the luxury tax, I've been forced to make some cuts. Welcome to the new, improved, streamlined, 10 Things You Oughtta' Know...

10. Correct me if I'm wrong, but Jason Kidd's presence is more vital to the success of his team than any one player since Larry Bird...on the 1979 Indiana St. Sycamores. It's more than just Kidd's talent, leadership, and court vision. Without him on the floor, the Nets are forced to alter their very identity, morphing from the most dynamic transition team in the NBA to a team incapable of scoring efficiently from a half-court set. If they have to face the Heat in the first round of the playoffs and don't have a healthy Kidd, they're done.

9. What were the MLS and D.C. United thinking with the way they handled the Adu debut? You've got a nationally televised audience tuning in, many of whom have never seen an MLS game and whose decision to watch in the future will be based solely on Freddy's performance, and the kid doesn't even start? You could almost HEAR the simultaneous "click" emanating from remotes across the country when the news broke that Adu was sitting. Did the MLS really think the dazzling footwork of Jamie Moreno and Ben Olsen would captivate audiences for 60 minutes until Adu entered the match? They've got one marketing tool -- ONE -- in the entire league, and he's sitting on the bench for two-thirds of the game. I understand Adu's only 14 and you want to bring him along slowly. It's sound logic. Just wait until the next game to do it.

8. Random thought while taking in the Final Four: With bobbleheads giving way to Russian nesting dolls as the sports collectible du jour, is anyone sitting on a potentially bigger E-Bay windfall than the Duke basketball program? Imagine the demand for this "15 Years of White Guys you Love to Hate" collection, starting with the outermost doll:

Danny Ferry (breaks whenever you touch it)

Christian Laettner (where we always suspected -- inside another man)

Chris Collins (buy it and his dad will owe you a favor)

J.J. Redick (only looks good from 23 feet away)

Steve Wojciechowski (the other dolls are so much better, you won't really notice him)

Of course, Duke would have to issue the following caveat: Satisfaction guaranteed for four years -- after then you will be greatly disappointed.

7. As I was basking in the glory of a double victory Saturday night -- Duke goes down, in large part thanks to Redick's struggles down the stretch -- my glee was no match for that of my buddy Andrew, who had bet on Duke. Two point underdogs, Chris Duhon's 40-feet heave at the buzzer covered the spread, and saved Andrew next week's poker entry fee. One sports book made $630,000 in two seconds. It's nice work if you can get it.

6. Emeka Okafor will garner all the headlines after the come-from-behind victory over Duke, but the real hero for Connecticut was freshman forward Josh Boone. Without his offensive rebounding, interior defense, and opportunistic scoring while Okafor was sitting most of the first half with two fouls, the game might have been over by halftime. Boone finished with 9 points and 14 boards, twice as many as any other Husky. 5. Obligatory baseball predictions:

World Series: Florida over Yankees. Again. NL MVP: Jim Thome AL MVP: Vladimir Guerrerro NL Cy Young: Kerry Wood AL CY Young: Javier Vasquez Gutsy call: Boston doesn't make the playoffs. (NY, Min., Anaheim, Oakland) Total Wins Bets: Minnesota OVER 84, S.F. OVER 85, Reds UNDER 71, Mets UNDER 80.5

4. The "Did He Just Say That?" Quote of the Week: My brother Mike, providing his two cents on ESPN's coverage of the Final Four: "Having Dick Vitale and Jay Bilas cover Duke is like having R. Kelly cover a high-school cheerleading competition."

3. I know this isn't "exactly" sports related, but I did see the commercial on ESPN, so it's fair game as far as I'm concerned -- "Hootie and the Blowfish" are releasing a greatest hits compilation. How is this possible? Did they just change the album cover for Cracked Rear View and hope nobody would notice? Now, I can't back this with any official documentation, but the second "Hootie" disc joins these four as the "Top 5 Discs Most Likely To Be Found in the Used Section at Twist & Shout:"

1. Spin Doctors Pocket Full of Kryptonite: People really, really liked "Two Princes." Rest of the album? Not so much.

2. Anything by Stryper: Christian metal? What were we thinking? 3. Extreme Pornographiti: Everyone thought the rest of the album would sound like "More than Words." It didn't.

4. Traveling Wilburys Traveling Wilburys: Wow! The four worst singers ever on the same album? I've gotta' have that!

2. You've got to love the unbridled optimism that permeates every clubhouse during spring training. Case in point: In what has to be the most un-attainable incentive clause in the history of sports contracts, the Milwaukee Brewers, fresh off a last place finish in the N.L. Central, have agreed to pay Ben Grieve -- he of the .230 average, 4 HR, and 17 RBI in 2003 -- $500,000 in the event he's named World Series MVP.

1. Billy Martin, lead counsel for the defense in the Jayson Williams manslaughter trial, has done his best Lionel Hutz impression over the last few weeks. ("Don't worry, Mr. Williams...I saw Matlock in a bar last night...the sound was off, but I think I got the gist of it.") If the interchangeable series of John Grisham novels has taught us nothing else -- and it hasn't -- you don't promise the jury something and then not deliver. During his opening statements, Martin assured the jury they would hear Williams explain what really happened the night he "accidentally" shot his limo driver in the chest from close range with a shotgun, and if time permitted, they could spend a few moments basking in the glow of his innocence. Whoops. After a disastrous two weeks of testimony -- the defense's weapons expert was forced to concede it was extremely unlikely the shotgun malfunctioned and fired on it's own -- Martin, accepting that putting Williams on the stand was akin to rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic, declined to let his client speak and the defense rested. On the plus side, since the case wasn't wrapped up in 30 minutes, his legal services are free.

Bad News From Afghanistan

"You can do whatever you want with me, but in four years I'm gone. I've got things to do with my life." -- Pat Tillman, when informed by Arizona State coach Bruce Snyder at the beginning of Tillman's freshman year that Snyder planned to redshirt him, thereby extending his eligibility by a season.

Terrell Owens misses the deadline to file for free agency, points the finger everywhere but where it belongs (himself), has the audacity to compare himself to Rosa Parks, and eventually forces a trade to the Philadelphia Eagles.

Ty Law feels "insulted" by a multi-million dollar contract offer from the New England Patriots, and seeks sympathy by reminding us that, "he has to eat, too."

Eli Manning, the expected first pick in the NFL draft, has threatened to refuse to sign with the San Diego Chargers and sit out the year if need be, while the Philadelphia 76ers' Allen Iverson simply refuses to practice.

As sports fans, we are constantly reminded that today's athletes have completely lost touch with anything resembling humility or reality. It makes rooting for many of them an exercise that often times feels cheap and labored. Deep down, we all long to cheer, admire, and most importantly, believe in, someone more deserving of our deference. Someone we can relate to. Someone seemingly untainted by the pampered lifestyle that comes hand in hand with athletic brilliance. Someone who embodies all the ideals that we hold sacred, ideals we tell ourselves would not quickly be forsaken should all OUR dreams come true. Someone who would make Owens, Law, Manning, and Iverson stick out as the despicable examples of selfishness and greed they are, rather than just authors of another back-page blurb to which we've grown desensitized.

The truth is, there are athletes who fit that description. Most people just never get to know them. Sadly, arrogance and attitude will always sell more newspapers and magazines than modesty and morality. Compounding the issue, the few individuals that do stand out as extraordinary in their humanity, by their very nature, do not long for the spotlight. In an unfortunate Catch 22, their noteworthy acts go largely unnoticed. Perhaps that best explains why so few knew the story of former Arizona Cardinal's safety Pat Tillman before Friday. As news broke that Tillman, serving as an Army Ranger, was killed in action during a skirmish with Taliban and al-Qaida fighters in Afghanistan, I was devastated in a way that I can't adequately explain. While no more tragic than the 700-plus other lives that have been lost in the Middle East, Tillman's death put a face to the horrors abroad that I could identify with. As I tried to convey to my girlfriend just how special Tillman was, just how awe-inspiring a story his life was, is, and will be, I became unsettled at just how little she knew of him. I wanted her to know -- wanted everyone to know -- what I knew: When Pat Tillman lost his life in battle, the world lost a man worthy of all the respect and reverence we so often misplace, an athlete who didn't think words like "courage" and "hero" were intended for those that play on a sprained ankle or catch a pass over the middle. Maybe this will help...

Tillman arrived at Arizona State in 1994 on the school's very last football scholarship. An undersized project possessing only average athleticism, he vowed to coaches and teammates he would soon be a starting linebacker. Few believed him. Four years later, he left ASU as the Pac-10 Conference Defensive Player of the Year and a two-time Academic All-American, having graduated with a 3.84 GPA and a degree in marketing, earned in just three-and-a-half years. The Cardinals drafted him with the 226th out of 241 picks in the 1998 draft -- an afterthought, really. He didn't complain. He didn't feel sorry for himself. He didn't swear revenge on those that passed on him, as so many do. He just showed up at camp -- after running a marathon and a half-Ironman triathlon for the heck of it during the offseason -- and won the starting strong safety job as a rookie. Kind of makes you want to smack Eli Manning, doesn't it?

Quickly developing into one of the smartest and hardest hitting safeties in the league, Tillman had many suitors when his initial contract expired after the 1999 season. In a move that got exactly ZERO publicity, the 24-year-old free agent turned down a $9 million, five-year offer from the Super Bowl champion St. Louis Rams so he could remain loyal to the perennial losing Cardinals for one-third the money. Luckily, Tillman doesn't "insult" quite as easy as Law.

While those accomplishments are surely notable, they seem trivial when compared to the act of heroism and patriotism that would follow. In early 2002, Tillman, shaken and angered by the September 11th attacks, turned down the $3.6 million contract he had signed with Arizona to walk away from the NFL and take on a new challenge -- joining his younger brother Kevin in an uncertain quest to become Army Rangers. He was the first NFL regular to leave the game for military service since World War II.

At the time, I was not nearly as surprised as you might expect to learn a millionaire athlete was giving up a life of comfort and celebrity for $18,000 a year and the chance to fight for his country when it needed him most. You see, in the days and weeks that followed September 11th, as I too struggled to make sense of it all, I had stumbled upon an interview with Tillman on ESPN. Throughout the segment, Tillman repeatedly pointed out the insignificance and meaningless of his athletic pursuits. He spoke openly of his love for America and the freedom it represents, and of his family's proud military history spent defending that freedom. Tillman admonished today's athlete for fooling himself into thinking his accomplishments have value, are of great consequence, when in reality, as he put it, "I haven't done anything." I knew right then that Pat Tillman was the Anti-Owens, an athlete possessing the one trait that while exceeding rare, grows ever more vital as athletes increasingly serve double duty as role models: perspective.

When his decision was made, Tillman refused to give any interviews to explain his reasoning. There was no Sports Illustrated cover, no web site, no Tiger Woods "I'm going through four days of Army training to honor America" press conference -- just a man wishing to quietly slip away to do what he felt was right. The most I was able to learn about his decision was gleaned from an article I read, quoting Tillman as telling a family friend that he needed to "give something back" for the comfortable life he's been afforded.

Whatever his rationale, Tillman clearly was serious about his pursuit. He made the choice so quickly after 9/11 because the age-limit to become a Ranger, an elite Army unit, was 28, and another year would cost him the opportunity. Before he left, however, Tillman had some unfinished business to attend to: he married his high-school sweet heart Marie. They would have celebrated their second anniversary this May.

According to Army officials, when Tillman entered basic training in July 2003 -- the same time many of his former contemporaries were staging salary-driven holdouts and avoiding two-a-days -- he "wanted no special treatment, wanted no special attention, but wanted to be considered just one of the soldiers doing his duty for his country." Tillman recognized that being a professional football player didn't mean a whole lot when the guy next to you was just as willing, if not more so, to die for the cause you believed in.

As one might expect, Tillman advanced quickly, completing his individual training in October. He graduated from parachute school in November, and completed the Ranger Indoctrination Program in December. While the NFL was preparing for its biggest stage, the postseason, Tillman was quietly assigned to the second battalion of the 75th Ranger Regiment in Fort Lewis, Washington.

In March 2003, the 75th was deployed to Iraq. From there, they moved to Afghanistan, where Tillman's battalion was involved in "Operation Mountain Storm," part of the U.S. campaign against Taliban and al-Qaida groups along the Afghanistan-Pakistan border.

As is required with the Army elite, all subsequent deployments were shrouded in secrecy. Nothing was heard of Tillman again. Until Friday.

At some point Saturday, Kellen Winslow Jr., courtesy of the genetic gifts bestowed upon him and little else, will be drafted somewhere among the first 10 picks of the NFL draft. As Winslow hugs his family, shakes the hand of the Commissioner, and dons the cap of his new employer, ESPN will surely run an obligatory montage of Winslow's college highlights. I can only wish ESPN would instead air the now-famous locker room interview Winslow gave in October, when he irately referred to the game as a "war," spoke of "taking out the other guy before he takes you out," and declared himself -- despite the obvious fact that he had lived his entire life under the shelter of affluence and privilege that comes with having a Hall of Famer for a father -- "a f***ing soldier." Maybe then, in the shadow of the sobering events that occurred only one-day prior, Kellen Winslow Jr. can gain the perspective he so clearly lacks.

If Terrell Owens goes on to lead the Eagles to that elusive Super Bowl, if Ty Law gets the deal he craves and wins a third ring, if Eli Manning forces a trade to the Giants or Raiders or Browns and someday makes us all forget about Archie and Peyton, or if Kellen Winslow Jr. goes on to become a star, applaud them if you must -- for that is what we as fans need to do to feel a part of the action -- but please, save your adulation.

Save it --just in case -- you should be fortunate enough to stumble upon the next Pat Tillman while he is still an inspirational figure, and not just a tragic one.

In the meantime, stop and say a prayer -- for Tillman's wife, for his parents, and while you're at it, pray that Pat's brother Kevin, as well as all our troops serving overseas, gets home safe.

Lance Finally Loses

ESPN.com's "Page 2," apparently having grown weary of dishing out the latest on Ben Affleck's love life or extolling the virtues of "The O.C.", recently decided to try something novel and write about sports. Its first order of business? To settle once and for all the classic barstool debate: Who is currently the "World's Greatest Athlete?"

After establishing a field of 64 -- with candidates ranging from NFL superstars to Swedish cross country skiers -- the dirty work was handed over to the readers, who after whittling the group down to a final four of Michael Vick, Randy Moss, Lance Armstrong and Barry Bonds, voted Armstrong as the single greatest athlete in the world today.

Coming from the creators of ESPN Classic and the "Dream Job" reality series, it should surprise no one that what was, at its genesis, an intriguing concept, failed miserably in its implementation. You see, in its desire to involve its readers, "Page 2" ignored a well-established canon: Never hand a decision of any magnitude over to the public.

No offense, but as we've seen with "American Idol," the 2000 Presidential election, and the search to find the newest Lucky Charm, democracy is the governmental equivalent of the 2004 Phillies -- while it may look great on paper, it rarely produces satisfying results.

This column, on the other hand, is a dictatorship, and therefore free from having to place its trust in a nation that inexplicably allowed the purple M&M to triumph. So let me take you through -- systematically and indisputably -- who deserves the title of "World's Greatest Athlete."

Step 1: For starters, what makes someone an exceptional athlete? I guess you could say a gifted athlete is a lot like pornography, leprosy, or the infield fly rule: While you may not be able to describe it, you sure as hell know it when you see it.

Step 2: O.K., if we can't affix a Webster's to it, can we at least establish some criteria? Not only can we lay down some guidelines, we can make them so constrictive, only the Top 5 athletes on the planet will be left standing when we're done. Here we go...

1. With apologies to Vladimir Guerrero, Tiger Woods, and ... uh, that's about it ... no baseball players, golfers or NASCAR drivers. If I really need to explain my reasoning, we're off to a bad start.

2. At a minimum, you've got to be able to dunk a basketball, do a standing back flip, or outrun the Miami Police Department. Goodbye Tim Deboom (triathlon), Freddy Adu (soccer), and Ty Law (fugitive).

3. You've got to make it look easy. True story: My older brother Dave played high-school football with a genetic freak named Pat Davis. Despite earning All-State honors in football, basketball, and shot-put (His junior year he watched some of the guys go through the technique, walked up to the line, picked up the shot, and crudely hurled it 30 feet beyond everyone. Six weeks later he was a state champion), Pat refused to lift weights. Simply wouldn't do it.

During mandatory football lifting sessions, Pat would sit defiantly in the corner, an ever-present box of powdered doughnuts resting in his lap. Three times a week, exasperated coaches would implore Pat to join the rest of the guys, reminding him how "his physical gifts would only take him so far."

Now, Pat was as laid back as they come, but after a while, the constant badgering got to be too much. As Dave tells it,

"So Pat's sitting there, trying to eat his doughnuts, and Coach is in his ear. Finally, he stands up, walks over to where some players were bench-pressing, and mumbles, 'How much is on there?' It's 225 pounds, and these guys are struggling for one or two reps, but it's meaningless to Pat, because he's never been on a bench in his life. He looks at Coach, slides under the weight -- with a doughnut in his mouth -- and proceeds to throw out 18 reps, a school record. He stands up, removes the doughnut, looks at Coach, and asks, 'Am I done?" Coach just nods, turns, and walks away.'"

If some guy you've never heard of can pull that off, the Top 5 athletes in the world had better be effortless in their athleticism. Farewell, Jason Kidd (have you ever seen his jumper?).

4. You've got to inspire legend. During his rookie season, Jevon "The Freak" Kearse, at 265 pounds, ran down wide-receiver Quincy Morgan from behind. Ichiro gunned Terrance Long at third base -- on the fly -- from the right-field wall during his first game in America. Kevin Garnett repeatedly touched the top of the backboard while auditioning for scouts as a senior in high school. Bo Jackson did it all: Ran over Brian Bosworth with the Raiders, ran up the center field wall with the Royals, broke a bat over his knee in frustration. Heck, it's even rumored that Bo could catch flies with his bare hands. To make the cut for the final five, you've got to leave people talking.

5. No one-trick ponies. This is where it gets difficult, eliminating America's choice, Lance Armstrong. Let's get one thing straight: Lance is a freak. He's just not an "athletic" freak. (Although he did show incredible quickness in dumping his saw-me-through-cancer wife for celebrity/trophy Sheryl Crow.)

Lance is really more of a genetic anomaly, blessed with an aerobic engine that has been measured as one of the highest in recorded history. Armstrong has confessed to turning to cycling only when as a youth in ever-tolerant Texas, he showed no proficiency at any of the sports that rednecks recognize and revere - football, baseball or basketball. Lance is what he is - the world's greatest cyclist and most "dominant" athlete, but not the world's "greatest" athlete. Make sense? Put it this way: If you were choosing sides for pickup hoops or doubles tennis, would you choose Lance before Randy Moss, Roy Jones, or A-Rod?

The most rudimentary requirement of a true athlete should be his ability to excel at ANY athletic endeavor, and while speculation is easy, I prefer hard proof. If you haven't shown the ability to shine at a diverse array of athletic pursuits, there is no way you can call yourself the world's best. That means no more Lance, Michael Phelps, Ray Lewis, Brian Urlacher, Vince Carter, Kobe Bryant, or Barry Bonds.

6. No major or recurring injuries. This may seem a little harsh, but it makes sense, and it eliminates popular choices like Vick and Allen Iverson. Here's the logic: if you are truly one of the chosen, one of the Top 5 athletes IN THE WORLD, then I expect Terminator 2-type healing powers.

Think about it. If your physical makeup is so evolved that you can call yourself elite, you shouldn't be rolling an ankle or sitting out with bruised ribs, should you? Take Michael Jordan. We always heard he was sick, or saw him take a hard foul and thought he couldn't go on, but he inevitably went out and hung 47 on the Cavs or Jazz. Or Barry Sanders. They said you could put Barry's ankle in a vice and it wouldn't sprain. You never had to wonder if he was going to be able to go on Sunday. He just did. That's what we're looking for here.

So there we have it, the criteria that have left us with the five finest athletes in the world. Let's meet them...

5. Jeremy Bloom: Hold on a second. Before I lose all credibility for anointing a 5'9", 170-pound, 21-year old white kid the world's fifth greatest athlete, hear me out.

As a top-ranked freestyle skier, Bloom is an early favorite to win Gold at the 2006 Olympics. If you've ever strapped on a pair of boards and dropped into a bump run, you undoubtedly have an appreciation for the agility and strength necessary to become even a serviceable mogul skier. Now image pointing those skis down a pitch steeper than the AOL Stock Chart, ricocheting over snow covered VW Beetles at close to 40 MPH, only to be launched skyward, where after spinning 720 degrees or going inverted, you are mercilessly dropped right back into the mine field with zero margin for error. You don't think that requires freakish athletic ability?

Serving double duty as a member of the University of Colorado's football team, Bloom displays his explosiveness as a kick returner and wide receiver, and his elusiveness as the only Buffalo to not be accused of something illegal this spring. On his first collegiate punt return, Bloom danced 75 yards for a touchdown. Later that same year he added a school-record 94-yard touchdown reception on his way to being named Freshman All-American.

Clearly, being able to simultaneously lay claim as one of the world's best in one sport and excelling in another is remarkable. But where is the legend, you ask? Well, it depends on just how much TV you watch. In the Nitti household, Bloom cemented his place on this list during the 2003 Superstars competition, which my brother Mike and I stumbled upon one lazy afternoon.

What we witnessed was remarkable: A 20-year old Bloom -- the youngest, and far and away smallest competitor in a field that included NFL'ers Ahman Green, Will Allen, Charlie Garner, and Dexter Jackson -- absolutely destroying the field. He won the half-mile in a blistering 2:11. Finished second in the swim to Olympian Ed Moses. Then, in a moment Mike and I still talk about, ran away with the 100-yard dash, finishing .2 seconds off Joey Galloway's course record and leaving the heavy favorite Green with a look of shock rivaled only by that of Bruce Bowen after Derek Fisher's Game 5 dagger.

If you don't believe Bloom belongs, find the videotape. You'll see.

4. Julius Peppers: No less an authority than Ronald Curry, one of the most accomplished two-sport athletes in high-school history, has described his former North Carolina football and basketball teammate as, simply, "a freak of nature."

Here's all you need to know about Peppers. During a 16-month period spanning 1999-2001, I watched the former Tar Heel defensive lineman and power forward:

* Lead the nation with 15 sacks as a sophomore on his way to being named first-team All-American;

* Join an injury depleted Tar Heel basketball team in January and spark a mediocre squad to an improbable Final Four run;

* Against Clemson his junior year, take on two blockers, time his leap perfectly to tip a Woody Danzler pass at the line of scrimmage, then sprint around the blockers and lay out to make the most beautiful diving interception you'll ever see;

* Just weeks after rejoining the hoops team, hang 21 points and 10 boards on Penn State during a second-round NCAA tournament game.

While the college landscape has been replete with two-sport stars the past decade -- Tony Gonzales, Ryan Minor and Josh Fields come to mind -- none have displayed the athletic versatility of Peppers. At 6'6" and 283 pounds, he is as fast as Terrell Owens (4.6 40), as strong as Shaq (bench presses 225 pounds 30 times), and moves with equal grace whether chasing down quarterbacks or filling the lane. One NFL coach claimed, "I was in Detroit, and Barry Sanders is the only guy I ever saw who can stop and start like Julius." A 300-pounder compared to Barry Sanders? Now that's saying something.

After eschewing the NBA, where scouts assured Peppers he would be a high draft pick, Julius joined the Carolina Panthers as the second pick in the 2002 NFL draft. Since his arrival, Peppers has racked up 17 sacks in 28 games, winning the Defensive Rookie of the Year award along the way and leading the Panthers from 1-15 the year before his arrival to last season's Super Bowl appearance.

3. Thierry Henry: This is going to be hit or miss. If you've ever seen Henry perform his magic for Arsenal or France, then you understand how deserving he is of this lofty position. If, however, you are one of the more ... shall we say ... close-minded types that tend to dot this nation's sports scene, my selection of a soccer player as the third greatest athlete in the world could prove more difficult to defend than the little white kid from Colorado.

Think of it this way, if you were going to create the perfect athlete, wouldn't he be someone who:

* Does things in his sport that no one has EVER done?

* Looks like he's playing at a different level?

* Routinely makes you pick up the phone to ask a buddy, "Did you just see that?"

Well, I've got news for you. No athlete in sports today -- not Barry Bonds, not Michael Vick, not Vince Carter or Lance Armstrong -- fits the bill better than Henry.

Remember Vick's 46-yard overtime scramble that beat the Vikings and cemented his place among the pantheon of "freaks?" Well, Henry pulled that off FOUR times in an English League match against Leeds in April, taking off on piercing runs that left some of the world's best defenders shaking their heads in amazement. His package of athleticism -- think Vick's speed, Allen Iverson's quickness, Dante Hall's acceleration and body control, and Vince's hops -- is so far beyond that of his peers, it's like watching that neighborhood kid that developed three years before everyone else dominate your son's CYO league. He is soccer's Randy Moss, only with a smaller ego and a larger vocabulary. Those four tallys against Leeds were just part of Henry's league-leading 30 goals, as he guided Arsenal to the first undefeated season (26-0-12) in 115 years of Premiership football.

What clinched Henry's place on this list was not a breathtaking finish, in fact, it wasn't even a goal. Rather, it was something he did against Blackburn United while slowly walking back to defend after the rival goalkeeper had gathered an Arsenal shot. As the keeper ran by on his way to punt, Henry, in one motion, wheeled, and in the split second that the falling ball was between the goalies hands and his swinging foot, swiped it cleanly, spun around the keeper, and tucked the ball into an empty net. While the goal was called back for unsportsmanlike conduct (only in England), it didn't matter. I immediately called Dean in New Jersey, and we quickly determined that in the several thousand soccer matches we've played and watched, we'd never seen anything like it. It was just one of about a dozen "Henry is ridiculous" conversations Dean and I have had in the last six months, the ultimate measure of an athlete's excellence.

2. Randy Moss: Finally, an athlete that needs no anecdotal support. Moss is probably the closest thing on this planet to physical genetic perfection. They have yet to invent a sport Moss, with a weekend to assimilate, couldn't master. At 6'5" and 200 pounds, with a 39-inch vertical and a 4.25 40, Moss can't be defended on the football field. He has the goods to play in the NBA. In college, he won the 55 and 200 meters at the Southern Conference Championships after only THREE days of practice. Fortunately, God made him dumber than a Jayson Williams trial juror, or else he surely would have enslaved us all by now.

All the evidence necessary to validate Moss' place among the world's best can be found in the 1999 Nike commercial featuring Moss and his West Virginia high-school basketball and football teammate, Jason Williams. Cue the "Dukes of Hazard" theme song.

Scene 1: A 17-year old Moss, rising up to dunk over some helpless mountain- town inbred. (Moss would go on to be named West Virginia's Mr. Basketball TWICE, despite sharing the court with Williams, who is now one of the 10 best point guards in the NBA with the Memphis Grizzlies.)

Scene 2: Moss, now at Marshall, catching a flanker screen against Army at his own 14-yard line, hurdling over a tackler, then out racing everyone to the end zone by a good 30 yards. (After catching a Techmo Bowl-like 28 touchdowns in 15 games as a sophomore, Moss added 25 more in only 12 games as a junior. In the Motor City Bowl against Mississippi, with much of the nation getting it's first glimpse of the big talent from the small school, he opened the game by catching an 80-yard TD on the first play from scrimmage.)

Scene 3: During a Monday night contest as a rookie with the Vikings, Moss goes up over two powerless defensive backs and comes down with his third touchdown of the night. (Moss would go on to catch a rookie-record 17 scoring grabs.)

Scene 4: After catching a seemingly harmless six-yard out pattern against the Cowboys on Thanksgiving day, Moss turns up field, throws a stutter-step on Darren Woodson on the sideline, and blows by the rest of the secondary for a 50-yard touchdown, again his third of the day.

With a resume like that, how can Moss not be the choice for Number 1? Well, it all goes back to what I mentioned before: While I suspect that Randy Moss is the most gifted athlete in the world, the proof is in the pudding, and there is a man out there with Moss-like gifts and an even more impressive list of accomplishments. And that man is...

1. Antwaan Randle El: Someone explain to me how this guy didn't even make it into the "Page 2" field of 64? While I confess that 5'10", 185 pounds doesn't sound overly intimidating, Randle El is the most well rounded professional athlete since Dave Winfield.

Here's what you know about Randle El...

He was a one-man show while playing football at Indiana University, finishing his career as the most statistically productive dual-threat quarterback ever, his numbers dwarfing those of more heralded players like Vick and Eric Crouch. In 44 games, he passed for 7,489 yards and 42 touchdowns and rushed for 3,895 yards and 44 more scores, the only player in NCAA Division I-A history to reach 6,000 yards passing and 3,000 yards rushing and also the only player to pass AND rush 40 touchdowns. Randle El also experimented at wide receiver, where he caught seven passes for 90 yards and a touchdown before his coach sobered up and put him back behind center. For the heck of it, Randle El also punted 17 times for 569 yards (33.5 avg) and returned 16 punts for 149 yards. Perhaps a Penn State linebacker put it best, when asked what it was like to play against Randle El, he responded, "Have you ever tried to catch a rabbit?"

After being chosen with the 30th overall pick by the Pittsburgh Steelers in the 2002 NFL Draft, Randle El has continued to display his versatility, running plays at quarterback, wide receiver and running back, and handling all kick returns. As a rookie, he broke a 99-yarder on a kick-off, then forced this author to make one of those "Dad, did you just see that?" cross-country calls, when he took his second postseason punt return 66-yards to the house against the Cleveland Browns, breaking five tackles along the way.

Here's what you may not know about Randle El...

After earning All-State basketball honors for two years in high-school and leading the state of Illinois in assists during his senior campaign, Randle El went on to play two seasons for Bobby Knight at Indiana before deciding to focus solely on football. On the court, he was T.J. Ford before there was a T.J. Ford -- using his extraordinary quickness and omniscient court vision to penetrate and dish, and his agility and athleticism to dominate on the defensive end. Scouts predicted he would have been a first-round pick had he played out his career.

Here's what you definitely don't know about Randle El...

After a standout scholastic baseball career as an outfielder, Randle El was drafted in the 14th round of the MLB Draft by the Chicago Cubs. In case you think that may be a late pick, it is roughly 50 rounds earlier than future Hall of Famer Mike Piazza was selected by the Dodgers. They say Randle El was so fast out of the batters box, he could hit a grounder up the middle and get hit with the ball while sliding into second. He went on to play one season at Indiana before deciding Division I football, basketball, and baseball might be a bit much.

Perhaps Moss is more overtly gifted, Armstrong more singularly dominant, and Bonds and Kobe have developed their skills to unthinkable levels, but no one in the world of sports today has proven exceptional at a wider array of athletic endeavors than Antwaan Randle El. Give him his due. Sorry Page 2, but he's the World's Greatest Athlete.