The dog toys will soon be flying at Donovan McNabb's face with frightening speed. It's just after 10 a.m. in Phoenix, and the thermometer has already bubbled over 105° on the burnt-dry football field where last year's MVP runner-up is about to begin another bizarre off-season workout. Already this week, McNabb has thrown passes from a balance beam, rehearsed his drop attached to a bungee cord and run a mile twice -- once in the sand and again in a pool. Now McNabb is going to work on his manual dexterity by defending a goal made out of football dummies while assistants fire what looks like half a pet store directly at his skull.

How could McNabb possibly improve on a season where he accounted for three-quarters of Philadelphia's offense (3,365 yards passing and 629 rushing, 27 TDs) while leading the Eagles to their first playoff win in five seasons? Apparently the answer lies in a combo of desert heat and bouncing dog toys. McNabb shoots a crooked look at a visitor, as if to say, I'm paying a grand a month for this while my 'mates are chillin' in Fiji? Then he dutifully drops into a linebacker's stance, brings his palms together and lets out a howl.

The rubber chewies begin to hit the turf, and in a flash the first 11 toys bounce into the air and then disappear in McNabb's giant hands. "Oh my god, you feelin me?" he shouts. A crowd begins to gather. Nobody ever catches more than half, someone whispers. Nobody meaning all the other pro athletes, Olympians and college jocks who subject themselves to the rigors of hell week with the sometimes sadistic Rehab Plus physical trainers. Shuffling his feet with such speed and power that the air begins to fill with grass clippings, McNabb snatches 16 in a row ... then 17 ... 18 ... 19. "I'm Derek Jeter out here, baby, Derek Jeter!" he declares. This is McNabb at his magical best: The Joker and The General, all at once funny and focused. McNabb nabs 23 straight before a purple Michelin Man thingy darts between his hip and left hand. Onlookers are clapping, but McNabb is not pleased. He wanted 25, and 23 does not qualify.

"I play this game to be the best," he says. "And the only sure way I know to be the best is to out-work everybody else. Some people take one step toward their dream, accomplish a little something and then feel like that's it. Not me. I'm never satisfied. We had a great year. But I want it all."

Out in the middle of the desert, the 6'2", 225-pound McNabb is giving a rare glimpse of what has pushed him to become the game's most dangerous weapon after just two years in the NFL. The drive and work ethic are obvious, as is his break-the-mold combination of size, skill and savvy. "He's a four-tool QB," says Eagles tight end Chad Lewis. "He's a threat with his arm, his legs, his brains and his heart." But what really makes him special is the way he can shift gears in the huddle, moving from taskmaster to toastmaster without missing a beat or losing an ounce of authority.

McNabb can be a competitor and a contemplator, a character and a killer, all at the same time. Most quarterbacks are either rigid or raucous; only a rare few can be both. Maybe that's why McNabb has been able to conquer everything thrown at him -- even dog toys. "They say Joe Montana was joking with guys in the huddle as he was taking the 49ers down the field to win the Super Bowl," says Eagles coach Andy Reid. "Montana had it. Brett Favre has it. And now Donovan has it too."

Yes he does. Last season, backed up on his own 23-yard line in the third quarter of the Eagles' wild card game against the Bucs, McNabb was barking signals when he noticed Tampa Bay All-Pro safety John Lynch creeping toward the line of scrimmage. In midcall McNabb swung his face mask around like he was one of the Three Stooges. A smile spread across McNabb's face as wide as his chin strap. Then he winked at the Bucs headhunter. As the play clock clicked down, McNabb audibled, Lynch backed off and halfback Chris Warren busted off tackle for a seven-yard gain. Gotcha. "We're out there trying to kill him and, yeah, he's intense and focused," says Lynch. "But at the same time he's hanging loose. You don't rattle a guy like that."

McNabb's multiple personality dates back to his days in the Chicago suburb of Dolton, Ill., where, as the youngest son of Wilma (The Joker), a registered nurse, and Sam (The General), an electrical engineer, he was a prep All-America at Mt. Carmel High. "My dad was always the serious one. My mom was the calm one," says McNabb. "Dad was the planner, the work-ethic guy and the critic. Mom was the soother, the one who always kept the jokes cracking. I guess you can see those two sides from each of them in me."

McNabb came of age during Michael Jordan's heyday in Chicago, and those closest to him, like his older brother, Sean, are convinced he has been mimicking MJ's incessant drive, his joy of competition, his wicked sense of humor and his craving for crunch time ever since. McNabb then attended Syracuse, where he was the Big East offensive MVP three times and was, according to Michigan coach Lloyd Carr, "impossible to sack with a four-man rush." McNabb could be found running stadium steps for extra conditioning before a meaningless scrimmage or break-dancing in the locker room before a bowl game. None of that has changed.

In fact, McNabb has dealt with the most tenuous moments of his young NFL career by channeling both The Joker and The General. When the Eagles selected him with the second pick of the 1999 draft, many fans -- coaxed by Philly mayor Ed Rendell -- booed McNabb because he wasn't Heisman Trophy winner Ricky Williams. Instead of pitching a hissy fit, McNabb laughed it off and later handed the red-faced mayor an Eagles jersey with Williams' No.34 on the front and his No.5 on the back. Meanwhile, on the limo drive from New York to Philly later on draft day, McNabb loosened his tie, opened the Eagles' Atlas-size playbook and began studying the chapter on cadences. The General was back at work.

During his rookie season, McNabb perfected an impersonation of 58-year-old offensive coordinator Rod Dowhower (equal parts Jerry Lewis, John Wayne and Richard Nixon) that still brings teammates to tears in the huddle. At the same time, he was also putting in 12-hour days at Veterans Stadium, often getting in film study and a full workout before the rest of the team arrived. "Every day since we drafted him, Donovan has begged coaches, 'One more thing. Just give me one more thing to get better today,' " says Reid.

Of course, there is never a shortage of things to work on. Reid's version of the West Coast offense is so complex, some game plans include more than 100 plays, each with several variations. That's one reason most QBs take four years just to get comfortable in the system. This season will be McNabb's third. If you ever want to make an NFL cornerback wet his bed, tell him this: Dowhower estimates that McNabb is still playing 25% below his potential.

In Phoenix, McNabb's encyclopedic knowledge of the offense was on display while he tutored Eagles rookie wideout Freddie Mitchell. "Next time take one more step before breaking," McNabb shouted. "Okay, give me a Z route ... Now let's try a Dagger ... Spread it wider ... Wider ... Don't fade that route so much ... Good! ... Stop reaching, man. Stop it! ... Better ... Uh-huh, yes ... That's better ... You're getting it."

So is the rest of the NFL -- finally. With every outing last season, McNabb weakened the final unspoken barrier for black quarterbacks in the NFL. "Around the league, a lot of coaches who run the West Coast offense are still scared of that [black QB stereotype]," says one NFL head coach. "But he is changing people's minds."

He certainly had the Eagles sold by the end of his rookie season. McNabb took over the starting job from Doug Pederson in Week 10 of 1999, and showed some sporadic signs of promise during the next four games, before spraining the MCL in his left knee during a loss at Dallas. With an $11.5 million bonus in the bank and the Eagles headed for the season finale at 4-11, the easiest thing for McNabb would have been to pack his knee -- and what was left of the season -- on ice, and beat the boo-birds to the beach. But instead, he rehabbed relentlessly, showed up before dawn on game day to persuade the trainers, then badgered coaches until Reid let him play. Then he gallantly gimped through a 38-31 win over the Rams that included a then-career-high three touchdown passes.

"As a teammate you just want to go out and lay it on the line for someone like that, because you just watched him lay it all on the line for you," says Lewis, who has gone from the waiver wire to the Pro Bowl under McNabb. "I see a lot of Allen Iverson in him right now. He's a guy who plays with so much emotion, heart, intensity and joy that his team just feeds off that."

Last November the Eagles gorged themselves on it. At 5-4, and with running back Duce Staley out for the season with a wrecked right foot, the Eagles rode McNabb's magic into playoff contention with four straight wins. During the streak -- which included three comebacks, two of which were OT victories against Dallas and Pittsburgh -- McNabb accounted for 373 of the team's 450 fourth-quarter yards and scored seven of the Eagles' 9 TDs.

Donovan's definitive moment came in a 23-20 win over the Redskins, in which McNabb put the Eeee! in ESPY with 125 yards on the ground and a rare tackle-breaking trifecta. On a 21-yard TD run, McNabb dusted defensive end Bruce Smith, deked safety Mark Carrier and then dragged defensive back Matt Stevens in from the 5 for the score. Later, McNabb's 54-yard run set up the game-winning field goal. Afterward Smith called him "the most elusive QB in the world," Deion Sanders coronated him the "prototype for the 21st-century QB" and Carrier, after sending out an APB for his jock, compared him as a runner to Barry Sanders.

For defenses, dealing with McNabb's versatility is like choosing between the guillotine and the firing squad. Either way you're having a bad day. When defenses load the line of scrimmage to stop the run or try to rattle him with stunts, he simply sucks them in with his shifty feet and lofts leather rainbows over their heads. And if teams squat back in coverage and wait for him to make a mistake, they end up lunging at thin air formerly occupied by McNabb.

Ultimately, McNabb's ability to dictate to defenses is what will define him and set him apart as a pro. In the NFL the edge belongs to teams that can set tempo and tactics. And starting in 2001, the league will be setting its clock by Donovan McNabb's watch. "With a normal quarterback, you call the right play, you set the right coverages, and you expect to get to second-and-10 because they'll throw the ball away," says Tampa Bay coach Tony Dungy, whose Bucs host the Eagles on Sept. 16 in the best early-season showdown of 2001. "Donovan won't do that. He's gonna make plays normal quarterbacks can't. That's what the great players do, they dictate how you have to play them."

First, of course, he'll have to beat the Giants. Last year the Eagles lost three times to New York, including a 20-10 smackdown in the second round of the playoffs, when McNabb went 20 of 41 for 181 yards with a pick and one measly mop-up TD. The Giants spied him with a linebacker, pulled back the reins on their defensive ends to contain him outside and had their defensive backs stick with their coverages. They dared McNabb to beat them, and for perhaps the first time since he picked up a football, he couldn't make the plays. "Those losses still irk me," says McNabb. "Any time we get tired at practice this year, it's gonna be, 'Damn, you guys, we lost to the Giants three times. Let's get back to work.' Trust me, we have something special coming for those guys."

What the Giant losses illustrate is that as a pure passer, McNabb still has a lot of work to do. Bill Walsh, the former 49ers GM and quarterback guru, says McNabb and other young passers in the league will not be considered elite QBs until they stop relying on their running ability (McNabb bolted out of the pocket 86 times last year) and complete at least 60% of their passes for around 7.5 yards per attempt, with a TD-to-interception ratio near 2.0. Last year McNabb completed 58% of his passes for a 5.91-yard average and a 2.3 TD/INT ratio. McNabb keeps tabs on all of those knocks on "athletic" quarterbacks; that's what got him out of bed every day in Arizona.

"Everyone spent the summer game-planning for Donovan," says Reid. "That's why this was a big off-season for him. I was curious how he would handle the success. And he has handled it just like all the other challenges in his life: He worked like a madman all summer long."

In early July, McNabb was back in Arizona for a few more weeks of pre-training-camp torture. It was mostly General time, but The Joker made an appearance or two (or three). When a young defender began puking after a tough drill, McNabb stood over him and yelled, "Hello, you've reached EEAAARRLLLLLL. I'm not in right now but please leave me a message and I'll call you right back."

Before heading back to Philly, McNabb jotted down his goals for the season on a piece of paper. "The goals I didn't reach last year, I rewrite," he says. "And the goals I did reach, I scratch off and rewrite tougher." Last year the list included: Come into camp in great shape (scratch); be a team leader (scratch); make an impact on offense (double scratch); play in the Pro Bowl (scratch). This year's rewrites: be a unanimous selection to the Pro Bowl; take the team deeper in the playoffs. And at the bottom is one more item:

Be the best player in the NFL in 2001.

(Scratch).

E-mail David Fleming at flemfile@aol.com.

This article appears in the September 3 issue of ESPN The Magazine.