They have always been divas: preening, strutting, operatic. Like runway models, their job demands it. Who can help gawking at what they do? Removed from the crush of the line, racing downfield, leaping and stretching and tiptoeing on the sideline, they perform the most delicate, coordinated, beautiful act in the sport, maybe in all of sports -- catching the football on the fly.

Being divas, they're never satisfied. No longer content to just run under the ball and snare it, or to cradle it along the sideline, they've found new ways to steal space on the marquee. In the West Coast and run n' shoot offenses, they carry the ball now, so they can brag about "yards-after-catch" when they're matching stats with the running backs. The most telling NFL number of 1999? The 150 100-yard receiving games (with two weeks left) compared to 158 all of last season. The number of 100-yard rushing games? Just 94 (144 in '98).
The tight end, once everybody's favorite all-around player, these days operates more like a third guard, protecting the QB from incessant blitzing. Honorable work, but it's taken him out of the passing game. Just three TEs have been top-10 draft picks since 1980, while 11 WRs have gone top 10 in just the last decade. The tight end's demise means more grunt work for wideouts, like catching three-yarders over the middle and blocking strong safeties and linebackers. But the divas don't whine; they brag about that, too.

And they've literally grown in the spotlight. In another time, Keyshawn Johnson (6'3", 212) and Germane Crowell (6'3", 213) might have been beefed up and moved to TE, or even DE. Today's larger wideouts are not only faster, but more studious, too. Receivers like Isaac Bruce and Marvin Harrison follow the blueprints drawn by Jerry Rice and Cris Carter, whose playbook knowledge matches X for O that of their QBs. And this revolution opened new opportunities for the likes of Jimmy Smith and Ed McCaffrey, both scrapped by teams in the early '90s because they were tweeners -- neither speed receivers nor possession guys. Today their versatility -- fast enough to play "in space," big enough to create space -- makes them hotter than dot.com stock.

The bottom line? Wideout is now the game's focus. Not so long ago, the NFL ecosystem revolved around the QB: their tight spirals the stuff of kids' dreams; their independent grace under pressure the American ideal of leadership. But then coaches started calling the plays -- and delivering them through helmet speakers. Once the game's auteurs, QBs are now reduced to the horrible coachspeak phrase "managing the game."

There is still, luckily, one place where style and substance thrive, where the whole world is watching, often in awe. It's out wide. Where stars strut and jaws drop. Where divas rule.

WIGGLE Isaac Bruce isn't even the biggest or fastest WR on the Rams, but he's got the best hips. He runs precise routes, but his wiggling body sends a different message: Don't be so sure you really know where I'm going. Another king of wiggle room: Buffalo's Eric Moulds.

NERVE Ed McCaffrey takes a weekly beating over the middle, wears Pop Warner-size shoulder pads, can't depend on John Elway anymore -- and is still having a banner year on a losing Broncos team. Doesn't matter what you're packing in those cleats; McCaffrey won't hear your footsteps. Looking for a tough guy you might see in January? Try the Jags' Jimmy Smith.

MOUTH Keyshawn Johnson says he always wanted to be like Vin Scully, and one day his mouth might just lead him to the broadcast booth. What good does it do him now? Key does his Ali thing and it pumps him up just the way it did the champ -- and leaves it to Jets opponents to figure out where the hype ends and the bad truth begins.

MUSCLE Michael Westbrook ('Skins) and Moulds seem to be sculpted out of Michelangelo's marble. All the better to shed pesky corners by "ragdolling" them. But line up a big safety on 'em and -- boom! -- they blow right by. Don't even try catching them from behind, either. By the way, if you get a shot, better wrap up. Arm tackles make for fools in the dust.

MITTS Strong enough to hold onto the ball in a murderous crowd. Soft enough to handle a fastball from a QB threading the needle. Supple enough to never let the ball control the catch. If you're at this level, you've got hands. If you're Cris Carter (Vikes) or Keyshawn, you've got hands that can pry a first down from an overthrown bullet or a carnivorous safety.

LEGS It's one thing when you can run. It's another when you can run away. Minny's Randy Moss and Seattle's Joey Galloway have a gear that scares every DB in the league. Back off or be sorry. And if Moss gets stuck in a crowd, he's got the hops to make like Marcus Camby and pluck a ball out of the sky.

VISION Marvin Harrison doesn't have eyes in back of his head, but the ones in front work like radar. They see everything (the ball, seams in the coverage, Peyton rolling right) and give away nothing. Just ask those poor DBs trying to read this Colt's mind. Watch Marvin and Manning work a "scramble drill" when a play breaks down. It's one of the NFL's great improv acts.

SMARTS Starting at the top? Try Tim Brown. He's grabbed at least 80 balls every year since 1993, despite catching them from about 10 different Raider quarterbacks. That means adjusting to coverages and for the different way all those QBs lay the rock out. One glance at the D, and Brown is heading where you can't find him -- but where his QB can.

FEET If your legs get you going, your feet help you stop. It's about balance: Good feet provide the counterweight to all that high-speed torque. Harrison and Bruce can dance along the sidelines, step lightly through the corner of the end zone and turn on a dime to execute a perfect timing route.

This article appears in the January 10, 2000 issue of ESPN The Magazine.