With the Super Bowl 96 hours away, it should come as no surprise that the biggest questions hanging over NFL Nation relate to health. Specifically: Can Tom Brady get back on his feet in time for the Nation-al championship? Will Drew Bledsoe, who nearly died from a hard hit earlier this season, become the mythical, hospital bed-to-MVP-type hero? Is Brady healthy? Is Bledsoe nuts?

See, health is measured in relative terms in NFL Nation. Athletes are fit, but not especially well. In reporting my Body Shop feature for The Magazine, I developed a case study with Dolphins guard Mark Dixon.

In December Dixon, 31, had the ninth surgery of his four-year career. At different times he's taken injections of novocaine to his shoulder, elbows, and even his fingers in order to compete. "Even with the shots you still have pain," he says. "But in this game you just have to be able to function."

A broken right fibula ended his season, so Dixon knows what he's saying when he contends that it takes nothing less than a fractured limb to sideline most citizens of NFL Nation. "Everyone who plays is hurt to some degree," he says. "You just have to keep the pain in the back of your mind. If you're focused on it, you can't do your job."

That's the deal. In a game founded on pure and sustained violence, you can't ever expect to feel, you know, good. Just examine the jargon in any weekly pregame injury report.

Out -- means even with a painkiller, the player cannot perform because one of his major limbs isn't functioning correctly.

Questionable -- means the player will play despite the chance that doing so may worsen his condition and increase the possibility of him spending his golden years with a noticeable limp or permanent damage to a limb. (Come to think of it, most players fall into this category.)

Probable -- means a normal human probably wouldn't engage in any athletic activity, but the player in question will do so anyway.

In my last preseason game of '92 for the '49ers, I sprained my right ankle. After each practice for the first four months of that season, the joint would swell to the size of a baseball. But since it was functional -- meaning I could still run, cut and jump -- I stuck it in an ice bucket for 20 minutes, took a shower, and went home.

I kept going because I could. It was a minor injury and I trusted that my body would hold up through a six-month season, just as it always had. I was fortunate, though. I never had an injury that required surgery. For other players, like Mark Dixon, allowing a doctor's scalpel to invade his body is just about as common as protecting his quarterback. That requires another kind of trust.

When you just can't give any more, when neither a painkiller nor a powerful dose of denial can halt the slow decline of an athlete's body, it's time to see ... cue spooky background music ... the team doctor. This is not something you look forward to. As any player will tell you, two types of men come into the locker room: Those who wear jerseys and those who wear suits. A suit may have a medical degree, but he still has to earn your trust.

Dixon says the doctor-patient relationship in NFL Nation is a delicate one, and one based on faith. "You just have to be sure the doctor has your best interest in mind, and not the team's," he says. "If something goes wrong, your immediate response is, 'he screwed me'. And if that gets around the locker room, no one wants to deal with that guy."

Keep this in mind: There's seldom a question of trust between teammates. Most players I know have little issue taking the field while injured -- it's part survival instinct, but it's in no small part because they are programmed to put their teammates' best interest before their own. Every man wants to be a hero. There's an unwritten code that requires you to play hurt, but only if you can play. If limping onto the field at less than full strength means your team will suffer, you're no hero -- you're selfish. Worse than selfish, actually -- you're a detriment.

But, as Dixon says, "If you're hurt and you play well, then you're special."

Is this a great country, or what?

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