Jeff Maggert's win at last week's Match Play Championship was more than just the biggest win of his career, more than his first victory in five years, more than a triumph over the runner-up position, where he has been 13 times since 1993; it was a victory for professional golf and for everymen everywhere.

It wasn't just Maggert either, that inspired the underdog atmosphere of the weekend. Save the beknighted Tiger Woods, seeded first in the field of the top 64 players in the world (according to the Sony World Rankings), there were no players in the quarterfinals seeded higher than 24. Even golf fans had a hard time following some of the names on the bracket as the rounds progressed. Among the early casualties were red-hot second seed David Duval, who fell in the second round, and first-round casualties Davis Love, Mark O'Meara, Colin Montgomerie and Ernie Els, among many others.

Maggert is the poor man's Greg Norman. Not flashy and never a superstar, he has nonetheless remained a solid top-level competitor for the past decade. His game is one that relies on any spectacular single element, like John Daly's drives or Loren Roberts' putting. Watching Maggert it is never a highlight reel, and he does little to excite the hordes of new golf fans lured these past several years first by Daly's and then more so by Tiger Woods' amazing driving, and overall brilliance.

But to a dedicated golf fan, it is one of the most pleasurable things to watch when Maggert and many others like him are on their games. Precisely because they are not singularly gifted in any one facet of the game, every element must fall into place in order for Maggert and those like him to surpass the field on any given day, a field filled with experts in driving, ironplay, and putting and short-game wizards.

And to see a player hitting on all cylinders is truly spectacular; not spectacular in the sense of a 350-yard drive, a 2-iron to two feet or a 60-foot eagle putt. No, it is spectacular to watch a player progress through their round, hitting all the fairways and greens, making all the sand saves when necessary, dropping the 10- and 20-foot putts for birdies, and lagging the others for pars. And then dropping a chip-in for birdie on the 38th hole of the last match of one of a tournament with one of the most competitive fields and the biggest check ever, as Maggert did.

That is what is spectacular about Jeff Maggert: the fact that in almost every way he is so unspectacular. He's a guy that, once the sponsored clothing comes off and he changes into jeans and a t-shirt, only the most die-hard golf fan could pick out of a line-up. He's a guy who is about your height, about your weight, a guy who doesn't fly his own jet to tournaments, a guy who, if you didn't know better, you might think about challenging to a little match play at your local muni (so long as he gives you a couple of strokes).

That could be a mistake, though. Sure, you might lead for a couple of holes; maybe you know your course well, and the high handicap holes are easy enough for you to par and take with the strokes. He did, after all, trail in 48 of his 127 holes from Wednesday to Sunday, and in five of the six matches. However, he did win every match, bringing his career match-play record to 7-1 as a pro. But Maggert looks neither the part of the hustler nor the intimidator; he would look just as at home as a parent on the sidelines of your kid's Little League game as he did in the grueling 38-hole Sunday playoff at La Costa in Carlsbad, California last Sunday.

What the results of the tournament and the excitement surrounding it show is how far golf has come in so many ways. The mere fact of the $1 million winner's check was one sign of golf's popularity. Like it or not, the amount of money a sport generates and can pay its athletes is one of the measures of success nowadays. It was only a decade or so ago that lifetime earnings over a million dollars were a supreme sign of a successful career, and only a few years ago that there was the first million-dollar year for a player. Now, Maggert has scored a million-dollar single victory, and last year Duval set the new earnings record with upwards of $2 million.

But golf's newfound mass popularity rarely shines on the workhorses of the Tour, such as Maggert. Other than the occasional mention of "huge upsets," the first several days of coverage at the World Match Play Championships conceited mostly of Tiger-watching. However, when Maggert cut Woods' tournament short in the quarterfinals, the media stood up and took notice that he, Maggert, was at 24 the highest seed still playing. Indeed, he had been the highest seed save Woods still alive in the quarterfinals.

This last tournament says a lot not only about Maggert, but about the state of the game of golf. Maggert exorcised one of his most notorious demons - the second-place bug and inability to finish tournaments - by winning six match play contests in dramatic fashion. But the real test was of the Tour; would it be able to pull good ratings and keep interest when almost every big name was gone by the weekend? The answer was a resounding success, with Tiger sticking around just long enough to make people happy but exiting in time to remind everyone that he's still mortal (for now). The Tour proved that it is not just Tiger and that the product, not the packaging, is what is in demand.

You love him. You hate him. Or perhaps you merely observe him, deriving pleasure from his on-court heroics and his off-court eccentricities. He is Dennis Rodman, the resident freak of the National Basketball Association and the greatest rebounder in the history of the game. No matter what feelings he inspires within you, you cannot deny that he is entertaining.

During the past two years, Rodman has been better known for his wild antics than anything he has done in a Chicago Bulls uniform. Every game brings a new hair color, an average of 13.2 rebounds and the unpredictability of the sport's most colorful personality. Sure, he might dazzle crowds with his remarkable defensive play, but, more often than not, he is simply trying to steal the spotlight from his opponents - and teammates.

After 12 eventful seasons as one of the league's premier power forwards, Rodman has managed to garner five NBA championships, two with the Detroit Pistons and three with the Bulls. Despite the fact that he turns 38 at the end of the 1999 season, the 6'6" man-child is averaging 13.5 rebounds with his newest team the Los Angeles Lakers. Sounds like the perfect addition to a Lakers team that needs additional inside presence and veteran leadership, right? Wrong.

Rodman is an individual in a team game, which is basically a recipe for disaster. Sure, he is a winner, but his success can be more accurately attributed to the heroics of his legendary former teammates (Michael Jordan, Isaiah Thomas, David Robinson) than his occasional flashes of brilliance and childish behavior. When he plays the game hard and focuses on the task at hand, he can only be seen as an asset. When he comes to the court with his me-first attitude, however, his team inevitably suffers (remember his turbulent years with the San Antonio Spurs?). Maturity and consistency are worthy athletic attributes that all champions possess. Rodman has neither.

In this age of Jerry Springer and the exploitative trash that pollutes networks like FOX and UPN, the "Worm," as Rodman is affectionately known, is better suited to play with Carmen Electra's breasts than a basketball. (Actually, that sounds kind of fun, but that's a different story.) We all know that he wanted to play in Los Angeles because of his desire to become a multimedia superstar - hell, he even admitted as much during his final months in Chicago. The question now becomes simple: is Rodman the piece of the puzzle necessary for the Lakers to win an NBA Title? Probably not. If the Los Angeles brass is looking for maturity and leadership - things that the Lakers, as presently constituted, need desperately - they came to the wrong guy. After all, Rodman has been a follower throughout his entire career, never the leader. And if you really expect the Worm to push his team over the top during the postseason, think again. Certainly, he might buckle down every once in a while, picking up 20 rebounds and helping his team to a much-needed victory. But it's just as likely that he'll be on the sidelines, his head obscured by an oversized towel, attempting to make conversation with Jack Nicholson and all the other celebs who frequent the Forum. And that, friends, may prove to be even more poisonous to this young Lakers franchise than Shaquille O'Neal's pathetic free throw percentage.