Salt Lake City ? He probably makes you crazy.

He tantalizes you. He plays defense. He rebounds. He blocks shots.

Then, he catches passes with his elbows. He dents the rim with his free throws. He bricks dunks. He makes lacing up his Nikes look complicated.

He goes South when the call is to the North. But, then, he reverses and returns. He hits jumpers. He lends an emotional boost. He denies drives to the basket. He cleans the glass.

Next thing, he pouts and mouths off to his coach and his coach runs him off his bench for insubordination. He’s the Big O.

Then, he’s the Big Ooooh Noooo.

He slows Shaquille O’Neal. Then, he gets slapped to the ground by him, pathetically crawling around, looking for a lost contact lens, instead of taking the measure of Shaq’s shot and retaliating like a man.

What kind of a wimp shies from that kind of a challenge?

What manner of man says, given his druthers, he would rather sit under a tree and feel a cool breeze blow against his skin, watching the leaves twirl to the ground on a sunny afternoon, than bang bodies in the gym under the bright lights, in the torrid heat of NBA competition?

When it comes to the needs and nuances of pro basketball, Greg Ostertag is so far beyond being an enigma, it would take a team of psychologists years to poke and probe to figure out who really resides helloooooo, is anybody in there? within his ample 7-foot-2 casing.

Taken as a whole, his career has been goofier than an old “Gomer Pyle” episode.

Hey, Goooooob. Remember when Ostertag said, after snapping out of an awful slump, that a squadron of aliens had kidnapped him into space, run experiments on him, replaced him with an imposter, before beaming him back at slump’s end?

As a basketball player, Yoda would kick his butt.

As a quality person, the good he would see.

When it comes to the truest test of being a man, turns out, Ostertag sheds his ambiguity.

Maybe you have heard that the Jazz center voluntarily will undergo surgery later this month to donate a kidney to his 26-year-old sister, Amy Hall, whose own kidneys have degenerated due to complications from juvenile diabetes.

When he was advised by doctors that he is a perfect tissue match for his sister, a newlywed who lives in Dallas, there was no fumbling, no hesitation, no clumsiness, no bricking. Just a clutch response.

“From day one, he was gung-ho,” Hall said. “He has never thought twice about it, never looked back, never said, ‘I shouldn’t be doing this because it could mess up my career.'”

He has acknowledged only a small bit of anxiety.

“I’m nervous,” he said.

Although the reality is that Ostertag’s chances for a full recovery are almost certain, that his NBA career will suffer not at all, his profound willingness to sacrifice to help his sister in a time of need is more than worthy of note.

It reveals his true character.

He’s no clown. He is a hero.

Not in some faux competitive sense, but in the context of what is significant, what is real.

It is far beyond the off-the-court equivalent of averaging 20 points and 10 rebounds for a season.

Everyone would sing his praises if he did that.

You would embrace him, and see him in a whole new light.

He would be not just a man. He would be da man.

Ostertag already showed new maturity in his playoff performances against the Sacramento Kings, during which he rebounded well and contributed to a strong Jazz defensive stand against one of the NBA’s best offenses. He was calm and collected and focused during that series, receiving accolades for the effort.

If he cannot sustain it, boo Greg Ostertag, if you must.

Call him a stiff.

Ask the Jazz to trade him.

Let him drive you insane. But do not question his heart.

It is one inner organ that has grown large in the imminent absence of another.