LOS ANGELES -- This is a work of science fiction. It's about building the perfect football player.

First, you need a breathtaking athlete. One who bench-presses more than 400 pounds and runs 40 yards in, say, 4.35 seconds. Proportions? How about 6 feet 4, 230 pounds.

Next, he must love football. He must drop other sports he dominates so he can focus on nothing else. His brightest dreams must include bone-jarring hits, sweat and grass stains.

Can't leave out the head. He must be smart, otherwise he won't get into a college (at least in theory). He must enjoy the tactical side of the game and obsess over his playbook as though it were Jessica Biel's complete portfolio. This is where he will separate himself from other breathtaking athletes.

Finally, his hobby would be ... thinking about football. Nightclubs, parties, dating, a social life? That's not for perfect football players. That's where trouble happens. That's how babies are made out of wedlock. That's where a smart, breathtaking athlete can get all mushy ... or locked up.

This is not a work of science fiction. That was a fib. But Washington fans already sniffed that out. For them, this is actually a horror story. It's about the one who got away. And who's coming back -- cue the music from "Psycho" -- on Sept. 29 when USC visits Husky Stadium.

It's about Taylor Mays, the son of two Huskies and a product of O'Dea High School who spurned Tyrone Willingham's most aggressive entreaties, and then almost immediately started at safety for USC and earned numerous Freshman All-America honors last year.

"He's the fastest, biggest, strongest, jumpingest guy in our program," USC coach Pete Carroll said. "He's an extraordinary athlete. There's nothing to hold him back."

OK, Mays isn't perfect. His coaches told him to lose weight last spring. Sure, his body fat was just 6 percent, but he tipped the scales at a linebacker-like 242 pounds. The concern was a muscle-bound Mays might lose lateral quickness and his open-field tackling could suffer.

And Carroll's Trojans, the consensus No. 1 team entering the 2007 season, showcase lots of fast, big, strong, er, jumping guys. Despite being a freak of nature and earning a closet full of accolades, Mays is fighting for his job this summer. That's how they ride over at Heritage Hall.

See 6-foot-1, 215-pound junior Josh Pinkard. He's the guy Mays replaced in the starting lineup. Pinkard, who suffered a knee injury in the 2006 season opener at Arkansas, is generally known as one of Carroll's favorite players.

See 6-1, 225-pound junior Kevin Ellison. He started at strong safety beside Pinkard and then Mays last year and saw plenty of action as a true freshman before a knee injury cut short his 2005 season.

All three will one day play in the NFL. But there are only two safety spots.

"You've got three guys ... at least," Carroll said without stifling a grin. "As well as Taylor played, he's going to have to do well to hold Josh off. I don't know how it's going to work out."

Mays, who led the Trojans with three interceptions last year, said he knows how it will work out.

"I know I can make the plays that great safeties make," he said.

That's one reason he switched jersey numbers from 29 to 2. Why? That's the number Deion Sanders and Charles Woodson wore in college (no matter that they were cornerbacks).

If it sounds like Mays is getting ahead of himself, he's not. That would mean he was unfocused. And Mays takes focus to absurd lengths.

He claims he almost never goes out. When that notion is challenged -- he's a goodlooking guy, a star football player and lives in L.A. -- he notes that when he goes out for a sandwich, he chooses to eat inside the store because that makes him feel like he's getting away from things.

Paris and Lindsey are not on his speed dial.

"I understand what I want to do and where I want to go," he said. "I don't want to let stuff get in the way of that. The ultimate fun to me is accomplishing goals and being successful in this football thing.

"I used to think if I went to parties or hung out with girls, it would make me a worse football player. That's probably an irrational thought, but that's how I thought. I didn't want to be associated with that. I wanted to further myself as a football player."

And now?

"If I didn't have a good practice, then I can't have a good night," he said. "If I'm not taking care of everything that has to do with football, then I could never be social. It would be like having fun while I'm not taking care of what's really important to me."

This attitude is all the more surprising when its plush underpinnings are considered. Mays doesn't need football like many of his teammates do. He doesn't need to provide an extended family with NFL riches. He comes from a privileged background. His dad, Stafford, a former UW and NFL defensive lineman, is an executive at Microsoft. His mother, Laurie Black, is an executive at Nordstrom.

Affluence doesn't mean easy, though. His mother made him tend to his studies. His father emphasized discipline and a work ethic. "Don't settle for average," they said collectively.

That's why he hates watching his freshman game tapes. He sees too much that isn't special. He prefers tapes of Steelers three-time Pro-Bowl safety and former Trojan Troy Polamalu. He believes that's how he should play ... this season.

No, Mays isn't writing science fiction.

He's aiming for history.