The other day I called Marlon McCree, a linebacker/safety from Kentucky, for a Magazine story on the NFL draft. I asked him what he knew about this weekend's Combine in Indy. "I hear it's a big meat market," he said. I told him he was right. There's more I wanted to tell him -- a lot more -- about the real significance of the workout. I wanted to warn him about what was in store for him. But he seemed so eager. "It's only a couple of days," he said. "I can put up with it." I'll call McCree again when he gets back. But in the meantime, I wrote him a letter:

Marlon,

Today, the suits will give you a pair of flimsy shorts, a numbered shirt with the NFL logo, and about as much frustration as you can handle. They'll parade you around that drafty, bubble-topped edifice (the RCA Dome), supposedly to test you for speed and skills. But really, they're looking for fear.

If scouts want to evaluate talent based on 40s, vertical leaps, shuttle drills and bench presses, they'll do so at the individual workouts -- after the combine. Your red-letter day is March 7. That's the physical fitness test.

The Combine is a mental evaluation -- a chance for the front-office people to send a not-so-subtle message about who the Man really is. (This sort of thing is not unique to football, of course. You'll see it in your next career too. It's the same message sent by the guy who has clandestine meetings with other people to discuss your career, but who rarely speaks to you.)

You've surely heard stories about the physical. All 31 team doctors, divided into groups of five or six, form an elaborate medical gauntlet. They will check your gums, hooves, and flanks for obvious defects. Each doctor will have a copy of your X-rays, and ask questions like: "Does this hurt? What about that?" For some, it will be the worst football-related experience yet. Was for me.

I remember Eric Davis' response to the physical. Exhausted after having his shoulder repeatedly poked by the healers, Davis quipped: "Damn, of course that hurts! You've been f------ with it for three hours!" Amen. But if you're smart, Marlon, you'll keep those thoughts to yourself.

You'll get through it. You won't leave Indianapolis with any scars -- at least not any visible ones. But you will come away with a new perspective on the NFL.

It ain't all about football.

Peace,
AG

Alan Grant, a former NFL defensive back, is a writer/reporter for ESPN The Magazine. He survived the '90 Combine, and was selected in the fourth round by the Colts. E-mail him at alan.grant@espnmag.com.