Fascinated by Tim Tebow on More Than Sundays Tim Tebow will lead the Denver Broncos against the New England Patriots on Saturday. On Saturday night in Massachusetts, a Jim Thorpe-Fabio hybrid in a New England Patriots uniform will emerge from the Foxborough shadows with all the confidence granted by good looks, athletic gifts and the home-field advantage: Tom Brady, the quarterback ideal. A three-time Super Bowl champion. Married to a world-famous model. So laserlike in his throws that he could hit the 11 bus in Boston, 30 miles away - in the numbers. No question. Brady, 34, is living an American male fantasy, a Faustian swirl of physical prowess, sexual aura, weekly heroics and fame. He's so cool that he can wear Uggs and get away with it. But when the Patriots meet the Denver Broncos in a divisional playoff game at Gillette Stadium, Brady will not be the most riveting athlete on the field; he won't even be the most riveting quarterback. That honor will belong to a young Bronco named Tim Tebow. Perhaps you've heard of him. Tebow, 24, is the quarterback question mark; he'd rather run than throw another wobbly pass that wouldn't make a Midget football highlight reel. He is an unmarried, self-declared virgin with no supermodel on his arm. He is a devout Christian who thanks his Lord and Savior so often that a recent "Saturday Night Live" skit had Jesus telling him: enough already. Yet, somehow, this N.F.L. sophomore - who has been Denver's starting quarterback for all of 11 weeks - has upended cynical assumptions about professional athletics to become more than an unlikely playoff contender and the country's favorite active athlete, as declared by a recent poll by ESPN Sports. Tim Tebow is now a cultural touchstone. ESPN's "SportsCenter" dedicated an hourlong program to Tebow on Thursday, triggering a case of nationwide Twitter hyperventilation. Some fans are wearing Broncos jerseys with Tebow's number and Jesus's name. Around the world, people are "tebowing" - kneeling in prayer, with head resting on one hand, oblivious to surroundings, just as Tebow does after scoring. Still, when a wedding party tebows in Las Vegas, or a couple tebows on Abbey Road in London, or two scuba divers tebow underwater in Belize, it can be hard to tell whether they are celebrating or mocking him for his virtuous ways. What, exactly, is it about Tim Tebow that so fascinates and provokes us? Why do some people project onto him the best of this country (humility, tenacity, plain old decency) - and the worst (sanctimoniousness, overexposure, political intolerance)? Part of the answer may lie in the way he seems oblivious to the throaty roars that envelop him on and off the field, as though Tebow is always tebowing, whether kneeling or standing up. It seems a stretch to interpret his calm indifference as a particularly arrogant strain of piety. More likely, it is his way of saying that none of this - the rah-rah football Sunday, followed by the weeklong football Kremlinology - is what truly matters. Tebow may not think that Tebow is what matters, but much of the country apparently does. Legions of pundits, writers and insomniac callers to late-night radio have analyzed the subject. But maybe no investigation or deep sociological inquiry is required. Maybe the key to the Tebow phenomenon is just this: He wins games. What's more, Tebow tends to win in the closing minutes, against considerable odds and amid the persistent doubts about his ability by the football establishment. He often can seem like a regular guy suddenly thrust into the middle of a professional football game, only to win by summoning a superhuman will that we all wish we had. Finally, and it cannot be denied, Tebow's very public conviction about his faith resonates (Isn't he a model for how to live?), intrigues (How can he be so certain?) or annoys (Can't he keep it in the church pew?). If he were not in the playoffs, few would care. But since he is, his extraordinary athleticism and proven heroics - including two college championships and a Heisman Trophy - are routinely forgotten in favor of a more mystical possibility. To date, there's no hard evidence of any divine intervention. Instead, the Tebow effect conforms to a more familiar narrative: that of fans seeing what they want to see - hero or villain, the genuine article or another fraud - in a person who plays sports for a living. Tebow's background reads like a movie script rejected for being too improbable. The son of Christian Baptist missionaries. Born in the Philippines after his mother rejected recommendations to end the life-threatening pregnancy with an abortion. Home-schooled in Florida. On to a public high school to play football. On to the University of Florida, where he placed Biblical citations - John 3:16 or Philippians 4:13 - on black bands beneath his eyes.