Someone asked Nick Faldo Tuesday morning about a fellow competitor, a generally consistent golfer who comes into this Masters Tournament after missing two consecutive cuts.

You may have heard of him. Guy by the name of Greg Norman.

``Write him off - quick,'' Faldo said, voice dripping with mischief. ``I think that's the end of him, really. He's gone.''

Faldo finally gave in and burst out laughing. So did his audience.

Everyone, Faldo included, knew how utterly ridiculous the statement was.

It doesn't matter how many cuts Greg Norman misses, doesn't matter how much globe-trotting he does, doesn't matter how many times he botches silver-platter chances to win major golf tournaments.

He will always be the favorite.

He's the one with the big swing, the big following, the big hat, the big expectations and the big - no, huge - earnings.

He's the one with the 1995 PGA Player of the Year award and the wherewithal to repeat. He's the one who works out six days a week, two hours at a time. He's the one who would surely grab the gold if the International Olympic Committee ever makes Versaclimbing a medal event.

He's the one with the outsized nickname - Great White Shark - and the game and the teeth to back it up.

He's the one with his face on the basketball court-sized billboard in Times Square, the one that advises the marching ants on the concrete to ``Attack Life.'' He's the one who lives that credo.

He's the one whose off-the-course business has branched out faster than Starbuck's coffee shops. He's the one with the clothing line and the natty neon shark logo and the golf course design business with 22 - yes, friends, 22 - projects currently underway.

Even at 41, Norman is the one.

With this mantle he seems entirely comfortable. Perhaps it's because of those repeated readings of Zen and the Martial Arts, the self-help book he carries around with him on tour. Perhaps it's because Norman, the one-time surfer dude from Down Under, has become quite adept at business deals. (When American Brands bought out Cobra Golf last fall, Norman pocketed about $40 million in profit from a $1.9 million investment.)

Perhaps it's the helicopter, the supportive wife, the two vibrant children, the mansion on the East coast of Florida. Perhaps it's the four tournament victories he has claimed since his 40th birthday, already more than every PGA player in history save two - Jack Nicklaus (five wins) and Sam Snead (17).

Whatever the reason, the guy has got it together.

``I think my life gets better the older I get,'' says Norman, who finished third in last year's Masters. ``I think that gives you greater peace of mind and comfort. I honestly think my best golf will be in my 40s. I really do. It just depends how far you want to push yourself.''

He speaks of something called ``excessive drive.'' Whatever that is, he seems to know it well.

``I don't think you should ever say to yourself, `I'm just happy the way I am,'ƒ'' he says. ``I always believe that you can find room for improvement, no matter what you do.''

In Norman's case, there's plenty still left on the table. He has won 70 times worldwide, but just two of those wins have come in the majors - the British Opens of 1986 and '93. He has never won a U.S. Open, never won a PGA Championship, never won here.

And, still, he steadfastly refuses to be drawn into the bog of obsession. The media keeps tugging, keeps nudging, keeps hinting at glass ceilings and invisible walls and ticking time clocks.

Norman doesn't care.

``I'm not a believer that whatever happened yesterday is going to affect what's going to happen today,'' he says.

He just sits there, unflappable, resting his chin on his clasped hands. He just sits there like the multi-millionaire that he is, fielding silly little questions from silly little people.

``I feel like I'm much more at peace with myself,'' he says. ``I don't have to go out there and prove anything. I just go out there and (play golf) because I love to do it. That's what I feel within myself, and time has done that for me.''

Time and an estimated net worth of $60 million.

So don't come at Norman with that weak stuff about the seven bridesmaid finishes in major championships, including two in Augusta. Don't come at him with that old line about his teetering place in the game's history, about how he needs one of those eye-grabbing green jackets for his collection before anyone can truly take him seriously.

Don't even come at him with that new line about those two straight missed cuts, something Norman hadn't experienced since he started playing the tour regularly in 1981.

``I think it was probably just one of those things in life that you can really kind of deal with,'' he says. ``I'm not really concerned about it. I think it might have been a blessing in disguise.''

Who knows? Maybe he's right.

Not only did Norman get to spend more time working with his swing doctor, Houston-based Butch Harmon, these past three weeks. Not only did he get to spend more time with his family, more time out behind the house, chipping and putting, with his dogs. Not only did he get to unwind and decompress and regenerate his enthusiasm and, as he says Tuesday, ``flick the switch.''

He also set up a most intriguing scenario. After all, Ben Crenshaw came into last year's Masters on a bit of a down note, too. You might recall, Crenshaw had just done something with which Norman is now familiar. He missed two straight cuts.