A scourge is sweeping across the NFL landscape.

It boasts the preening of Terrell Owens, the showboating of Chad Johnson, the sneer of Randy Moss.

They are appreciated and even celebrated in some corners; condemned and vilified in others.

Pampered yet petulant prima donnas, thy name is wide receiver, and they have become the game's brightest celebrities and, oftentimes, biggest headaches.

So what makes receivers such different cats who crave attention with the same hunger they want the ball? And why are they megalomaniac animals in the wild kingdom that is America's national obsession?

"They just don't know who they are," former Cal and Minnesota Vikings quarterback Joe Kapp said. "They know they're better than defensive backs because if you can't make it as a wide receiver, you become a defensive back. And they're not running backs because they're not getting the ball 15 times a game. They're lonely.

"That's why they're psychos," Kapp added with a howl. "It's always been that way, and leopards can't change their spots."

All over the league, drama on a team's roster is usually found near the receivers.

If it's not Owens, as a 49er, celebrating on the Dallas Cowboys' star at midfield, then it's the artist known simply as "T.O." pulling a marker from his sock to autograph a ball after a touchdown. Or doing sit-ups in his driveway for the benefit of the media. Or overdosing on pills. Or crying like a baby in need of a midnight feeding when defending his quarterback. Or implying previous quarterbacks were either gay or throwing up in the huddle during the Super Bowl.

Yes, he's done all that, and more. And yes, the 49ers get another first-hand look at Owens, their third-round draft pick in 1996, today in Irving, Texas.

Or it could be Moss admitting he has smoked marijuana "every blue moon" since entering the league and saying he takes plays off.

Or it could be Johnson legally changing his name to Chad Ocho Cinco to reflect his uniform No. 85 in Spanish, when, in reality, it should be Chad "Ochenta y Cinco."

"As you look at it today, it's become a high-maintenance position," former 49ers general manager John McVay said with a giggle. "They require a lot of maintenance."

Who can forget Joe Horn making a cell-phone call after a touchdown? And how about the hubris of Keyshawn Johnson, writing a book titled "Just Give Me the Damn Ball! … " after his rookie season?

Carolina's Steve Smith served a two-game suspension after punching a teammate this summer. Even Indianapolis' Marvin Harrison, the purported classiest of the bunch, found himself in a gun-related drama last offseason.

"Only we understand us," Ocho Cinco told the Dallas Morning News.

Drama queens? Psychos? How about a more clinical explanation? Noted sports sociologist Dr. Harry Edwards said a receiver's psychology should begin with the player's positioning on the field – as a figurative island.

"You're talking about a unique position in the quintessential team sport," Edwards said. "The wide receiver, on almost every play, is by himself. He has a stage to himself, and when he catches a ball and scores a touchdown, he most certainly has a stage to himself."

Consider: When a running back crosses the goal line, he often is at the bottom of a pile of humanity. The receiver? Not so much, though the payoff is the same.

"Having not been touched gives them a sense of privilege to themselves," Edwards said. "At the end of the day, you have a person that has been molded by the position. The mentality and the personality evolves in time with the position."

Care to guess, then, which position is credited with giving birth to the celebratory spike and end-zone dance? "It's not an accident these are receivers," Edwards said with a laugh. "It is a psycho-athletic dimension of the game. There's a dimension to the position that tends to dictate disposition."

The study of such attitudes has been ongoing for generations, or at least since the Raiders and 49ers last were relevant.

Call The Bee's Paul Gutierrez, (916) 326-5556.