Greg Norman's Friday news conference ran a tad lengthy, what with all the inquiries about this new David Duval approach to golf he's preaching, and his current third-place Masters position heading into today's third round.

Augusta National member Carl Reith, the moderator, asked for one more question.

``Norm wants to go hit some balls,'' Reith explained.

The media chuckled.

As the Shark said goodbye after his impressive 4-under-par 68, ``Norm!'' cascaded from the scribes in unison, as if George Wendt walked through the double doors.

It's fitting, though. Norm's back exactly where he should be, sitting on the comfortable stool, his stool, drinking up his return atop the Masters leaderboard.

This is a newly constructed Norman, a man with a repaired shoulder and a repaired psyche, and if you followed him Friday, a repaired image. He is golf's martyr, golf's lovable loser.

Galleries that once thought him arrogant and full of conceit now realize how unfulfilled a champion he is, and that his internal clock is ticking at a double-time pace.

``I'd like to see Greg win a green jacket because it would be the biggest Masters win since Jack in '86,'' said David Leadbetter, Norman's swing doctor.

``Obviously, the losses have an effect. We're trying to eradicate those. ... But I can't control the brain.''

At 44, Norman stands where very few believed he could again, three shots from leading the major tournament he usually walks away from lugging his greatest and deepest scars.

When Norman collapsed in 1996 in that Sunday finale that felt more like a four-hour car crash televised in slow motion, we called for the reading of his last rites. When his right shoulder needed extensive repair a year ago, as his joint kept sliding out of his socket, his golfing obituary could be globally written.

Now here he is, resurrecting his aura, redefining his place among golf's ruling class by acting with the patience and care he's never displayed before.

``I'm not in a rush,'' he said Friday. ``Urgency is something where you're trying to force the issue. Right now, I'm not trying to force it. I'm not in any rush.

``The sense of urgency is from the pure fact that if I stopped playing golf now, if I couldn't tee it up tomorrow and decided never to play again, I've taken a lot out of this game. This game has given me a tremendous amount. But I'm not in a big hurry anymore to do too many things. And the same with the game of golf. Golf is not everything.''

On his hat are the words ``Attack Life,'' a phrase that more than aptly defines who Norman was in the all-out pursuit of his own agenda.

In 1999, almost a year removed from surgery and eight months without the sport that defined him, it seems he's embraced a more ``Enjoy Life'' demeanor.

It's taken him a season without the spotlight to realize how much fun his life can be.

Seventeen years he's been suited to become the Masters champion, a man with blond hair and pearly smiles and shoulders broad enough to carry the weight of his expectations. With all his losses, his psyche should be held together with scotch tape.

Listen to those who follow him Friday, and you sense they want Norman to finally step into immortality.

``Sentimental favorite. How do you determine that?'' he asked. ``From '96 or because I'm getting old?

``I don't know what my destiny is. All I want to do is just go play well. Somebody asked me the question `Does this place owe you one?' I don't believe in things getting owed to you. I think you go out there and play well enough to get them yourself.

``You know, what is the definition of destiny? I've played out here enough to see things happen for me and against me.''