HOUSTON -- Spent the weekend at Champions Golf Club in Houston. Not only did I see George and Barbara Bush inside the ropes WITHOUT a media sticker (gate crashers!), but I also stumbled into some parallel universe where, apparently, Tiger Woods is not the PGA Tour Player of the Year.

I'm baffled. Tiger not the best?

I thought he was supposed to dominate those Player of the Year elections the way Saddam Hussein used to dominate those Iraqi elections, where Al-Jazeera would show the results of exit polls before the entrance to the polls even opened:

With 100 percent of precincts reporting:

Saddam: 100 percent.

	Former President Bush? Or Grandpa Simpson? You decide.

Any Soon-to-be-Executed Delusional Clown Who Dares Put His Name on the Ballot: 0 percent.

(Speaking of Saddam, I should note that I spotted former Pres. Bush wearing a sport coat, gray flannel slacks ... and white socks. I find this oddly amusing. He is a former CIA director and Washington insider who probably knows bone-chilling secrets about the history of our national security, and he dresses, ultimately, like Grandpa Simpson might.

Anyway, back to the golf. I thought Tiger ruled his world the way the Mafia ruled Sicily, or the way Sinatra ruled the Rat Pack. If Ernie Els or Phil Mickelson as Joey Bishop or Peter Lawford tried to usurp Sinatra's power, they'd lose their spot in the corner booth at the Sands, never to be seated with the Chairman again.

Apparently, I was wrong.

Over the course of the last 10 months, a seismic shift has rattled the golf world. Players are standing up to Tiger now, not unlike that lone Chinese dude who stood in front of the tank in Tianamen Square.

Stirring, yes. But ultimately, a tank crushes a lone Chinese dude, right?

Not this year. Tiger had to call Nike and tell them to fit a pair of golf spikes for his feet of clay, while players liberally helped themselves to the bowl of Kryptonite in the players' lounge at each Tour stop.

To wit: Tiger didn't win a major. Tiger didn't win the money title. Tiger may have won five tournaments, which is more than anybody else did; but for the first time in five years, players are saying, in effect: Yeah? So's your caddie!

All weekend, I heard players say their votes for Player of the Year will be based on empirical data, and that this is -- all together now -- not a popularity contest.

Players said it so much that I knew not to believe them. Of course it's a popularity contest. Who'd you vote for in your high school's race for student body president? The technology geek who spent lunch hour in the biology lab and promised to provide Internet access in the school bathroom? Or the smoking hot brunette bird who was running simply to beef up her college application extra-curriculars and whose campaign platform consisted of, "Vote for Courtney: I Want to Go to an Ivy League School"?

I thought so.

So ... let's perform a Page 2 service and break down the Player of the Year race the real way -- as a Popularity Contest. You know that's how the 150-plus players are going to vote. Here, then, is a breakdown of the Big Four candidates in key categories:

TIGER WOODS

Will he play a practice round with you and make you feel special?

	Unless you're in his posse, don't expect to get a ride with Tiger on his jet.

Don't hold your breath, Mr. 101st on the Money List. Tiger plays with a select few: Mark O'Meara, John Cook, Adam Scott, Charles Howell, Thomas Bjorn. The rest? If you get within 15 feet, caddie Stevie Williams is instructed to disable you, posthaste, and can and will use any club in the bag.

Will he let you fly to a major in his private jet?

Yeah. Sure. He'll tell Elin to fly commercial just so you can have her seat and play PlayStation2 with him on the way to St. Andrews. TWA -- Tiger Woods Airlines -- has been known to allow the likes of David Duval and O'Meara on; but if you're not part of the posse? Metal Detector City, pal. Get ready to take off your shoes at the security checkpoint and suffer like the rest of us cattle.

Does he carry the air of the Cool Kid in high school -- the one everyone liked?

In spades. Tiger has been able to overcome the Golf Geek Syndrome. Not only is he sculpted with a Greek god-like torso; but he has such uber-star quality that everyone -- players, reporters, fans -- helplessly and haplessly kiss his hind end. Even old Prez Bush was fawning over him like he was a Halliburton CEO. The kid's got it.

Would he have been cool enough to host a kegger in high school if his parents were out of town?

Sadly, no. If Tiger's parents went out of town, he'd have practiced flop shots on to his parents bed, putted all night on the kitchen's linoleum floor and stayed up late watching his version of porn -- old footage of Jack Nicklaus' Masters wins.

Do chicks dig him?

Oh, yeah. The Greek-god body is one thing. The $400 billion Nike contract might be a factor, too.

Summary: Players might vote for him so Tiger will like them. ("Hey, Tiger, I voted for you! Really! Here's a copy of my ballot! Please look! Can I ride on your airplane now? Please!")

VIJAY SINGH

Will he play a practice round with you to make you feel special?

	Vijay can't fool us with the subtraction of his glasses and the addition of his facial hair.

You'd think Surly Vijay would blow everyone off; but the big Fijian is such a golf freak, he hunts up practice rounds just so he can get some money games going. Vijay will play a practice round with you, allright: He'll just want to beat you blind and take your cash, and do so bloodlessly. Other than that, a warm fellow.

Will he let you fly to a major in his private jet?

Get within 40 feet of Singh's private plane and he'll fire punched 5-irons at you, machine-gun style, until he fells you.

Does he carry the air of the Cool Kid in high school -- the one everyone liked?

There is no possible way to overstate this: Not in a million years. Think of the geekiest kid in school. Give him a bag of golf clubs and point him to the driving range. That's Veej. His recent makeover attempts -- contacts instead of Coke-bottle glasses, a hilarious soul patch under his lip -- are just spit balls at the battleship that is his geekdom.

Would he have been cool enough to host a kegger in high school if his parents were out of town?

Yeah. Right. Instead of kegs, he'd have giant bins full of range balls and demo clubs lined up in the living room on a Friday night. Whoo! Party on!

Do chicks dig him?

Um ... not really. Next question.

Summary: Veej better really hope it's not a popularity contest.

DAVIS LOVE III

Will he play a practice round with you and make you feel special?

	Davis could have been cool enough to throw a kegger.

Sure, why not? Davis has his pre-Tiger clique buddies, sure, and he and Freddie Couples often try to be the cool kids in class who didn't always embrace the geeks in the front. But for the most part, DL3 is democratic in his good will. So yes, Anonymous Tour Player, Davis just might go peel it with you.

Will he let you fly to a major in his private jet?

Jet? Who said anything about a jet? Love is a fan of the Motor Home. He'd rather go Albert Brooks in "Lost in America" and skipper his rig to Augusta, Ga., than waste jet fuel. If you're lucky, you can hitch a ride and hear all the stories about how he and Freddie dominated everything until that killjoy Tiger came along.

Does he carry the air of the Cool Kid in high school -- the one everyone liked?

That's a reach. He's a nice guy, and popular; but if you're going to break down the Freddie-Davis rubric we're working, Freddie would definitely be the guy with whom dudes wanted to play Quarters and girls wanted to hook up. Davis would wind up being the girl's best friend after Freddie dumps her.

Would he have been cool enough to host a kegger in high school if his parents were out of town?

He might've. He just would've put the brewski out back where the spillage couldn't stink up the house. Plus, he'd give you a few "House Rules" when you came to the crib, and he'd probably shoo everybody out at 1 a.m. But hey: A kegger is a kegger, right?

Do chicks dig him?

See the Freddie-Davis scenario above.

Summary: If it's a popularity contest, DL3's got some juice. Watch out, Tiger and Vijay!

MIKE WEIR

Will he play a practice round with you and make you feel special?

	The Man in Black -- Johnny Ca ..., er, Mike Weir.

Of course. What choice does he have? Mike Weir won the freaking Masters, and still probably has to go around the locker room looking for practice partners. He can remind them, "Hey, it's Weirsy. I won the Masters. Remember? Wanna go play?" He's as low-maintenance as a big name gets.

Will he let you fly to a major in his private jet?

He might, but a couple of things would have to happen: One, you'd either have to prove your Canadian citizenship or, failing that, bring the Rush CDs and a case of Labatt's to make up for it. And two, you'd have to watch him wear the green jacket the entire flight -- during dinner, watching a movie, playing cards, heading to the john ...

Does he carry the air of the Cool Kid in high school -- the one everyone liked?

No, he doesn't. Weir isn't disliked, but he doesn't have the Wayne Gretzky/Charisma Overload Thing going, either. If you'd known him in high school, hadn't see him for years, and then turned on the Masters, it would be like: "Oh, yeah! I went to high school with that guy ... I think he was on the golf team, or something!"

Would he have been cool enough to host a kegger in high school if his parents were out of town?

Of course! He's Canadian. That law is on the books in Maple Leaf Land: When your parents are out of town in high school, the kegger is on you. Bonus points for "Weirsy."

Do chicks dig him?

In a bit of an upset, word is that some babes find his sharp features rather handsome. Maybe chicks do dig him. He wears all-black outfits, meaning he's channeling either Johnny Cash or Gary Player. Interesting play.

Summary: Little Weirsy has some things going for him. If there is a groundswell of support in the Tour locker room to send an apology to Canada for the Acid Rain fiasco of the late '70s, Weirsy could sneak in as a sentimental favorite.

Brian Murphy of the San Francisco Chronicle writes every Monday for Page 2.