Ever been part of a group of guys checking out women at your local bar? Heads are on a swivel and eyes bug out as you hear the words: "Damn, did you see the body on that one?" or "That one's young, but she's got some real potential."

It was pretty much the same thing this week in Indy, across the street from the RCA Dome. The only difference is that the objects of desire aren't young, nubile lasses sporting silicone-enhanced upper bodies -- they're muscular college football players sporting sub-five second 40s.

Every coach, scout, and agent in football land has gathered in the lobby of the Crowne Plaza Hotel to get his gawk on. The defensive linemen, done with their workout in the Dome, meander through the lobby. "Oh, he looks really good," says an Eagles scout. "I had no idea he was that big," says a Raiders rep.

Patriots coach Bill Belichick, still basking in the glow of the Super Bowl, is here to check out the talent. So is his counterpart, Rams coach Mike Martz. Although Martz oversees perhaps the most talented crew in football, he, like everyone else, has to have more. And therein lies the proof that the Combine is governed by men's rules of possession: It isn't about what you already have, it's about what else you can get. The order of business every winter in the RCA Dome is identical to the order of business at a smoky, poorly lit watering hole -- predominantly middle-aged men looking for something fresh and new.

An editor once asked me about the Combine and the draft: "So guys already in the league must get excited around draft time, because it means their teams are looking for ways to make them better," he said.

"Quite the contrary," I laughed. That's like asking a devoted wife if she's excited about her husband sprinting out the door on his way to the local strip club.

Your average NFL player gets to enjoy his offseason for approximately three-and-a-half months. But as draft time approaches, the veteran player's perspective is not so different from that of an unappreciated spouse.

I say that because every coach, GM, scout, and director of player personnel who comes here momentarily forgets the proven performer he left at home in order to flirt with the flavor of the month. Peep the interview process here at the Crowne Plaza:

A coach sees a player walking by and invites him into one of the conference rooms for a chat. In that context, "Can I speak to you for a few minutes" becomes nothing more than a substitute for "Hey, sweet thing, let me buy you a drink."

Don't get me wrong. I know this exercise is not totally without purpose. There's always some special player whose talent separates him from the rest. Lawrence Taylor and Deion Sanders forever changed the linebacker and cornerback positions, and Jevon Kearse, in his first pro season, became the standard for the modern defensive end. But for each one of those special players, there are hundreds of others who aren't necessarily better than the players who already occupy NFL roster spots -- they're just, well ... different.

There is one standard which, for the most part, remains constant. The quarterback. The '99 draft, which featured Donovan McNabb and Daunte Culpepper, supposedly signaled the arrival of a new type of quarterback. No longer would the big-armed, heavy-footed drop-back passer be considered the model. No way. We were entering the era of the multi-dimensional, more athletic (read: black) quarterback.

But based on the two players creating the most buzz at this year's Combine, McNabb and company seem nothing more than accidental tourists in the annual pageant of signal callers.

The two most coveted principals in this year's draft? Fresno State's David Carr and Oregon's Joey Harrington. Both were outstanding college players. But mobile? Nah. Elusive? Don't think so. Harrington clocked a pedestrian 4.8 40. Makes me think the traditional, drop-back quarterback is the football equivalent of the busty blonde-haired, blue-eyed chick who, without saying a word, is always guaranteed to stop conversation when she enters the joint.

What's she about? Don't know. What does she bring to the table other than her looks? Who cares?

"Hey, sweet thing, can I buy you a drink?"

Alan Grant, a former NFL defensive back, writes football for ESPN The Magazine. E-mail him at alan.grant@espnmag.com.