Patrick Kerney, seen here living out every defensive lineman's dream, had 6.5 sacks for the Falcons last season. AP

He plunged his fork into the heaping pile of fettuccine noodles, alfredo sauce slowly dripping off its sides. Then Patrick Kerney, the Atlanta Falcons' sixth-year defensive end, began the slow, repetitive process of chewing and swallowing the large bite of food, an act that is as important to his NFL survival as lifting weights, studying film or staying awake in meetings.

Kerney and I were eating dinner at the ESPN Zone in Buckhead last Thursday night, not so much because he was hungry or excited about the menu but because it was time. "I have to eat dinner at 6:30," he explained, "so I can eat again at around 9:30, right before I go to bed. I usually have a plate of pasta just before I fall asleep."

You kids out there who aspire to be healthy, well-toned citizens -- disregard this and everything else you're about to read. In an era in which carbs are as feared as weapons of mass destruction and fad diets are the rage, Kerney is one of those naturally slender NFL players who defies the trend. "I am the anti-American," he said, laughing. "Everyone is into no carbs and 'make it small' and losing weight, and here I am stuffing myself so I can survive in this league."

Some guys are large-bodies who fit right into the NFL's expanded universe. Others are so massive they constantly have to watch their waistline. Then there are reluctant chow hounds like Kerney, a guy who will probably drop 50 pounds two months into retirement.

It's not as if Kerry was in the midst of a binge designed to allow him to withstand the rigors of the trenches. No -- he has been saying 'Supersize Me' for the past 12 years. As a 10th grader at Princeton (N.J.) Day School, Kerney was a 6' 2 1/2", 160-pound linebacker on an 0-9 team. "It was a disaster -- we had a really good tailback who couldn't get a scholarship offer anywhere because we were so bad," Kerney recalled. "My friends started calling me 'Beanpole,' which was around the time I started lifting weights. I knew I'd have to bulk up if I wanted to do something about our situation."

Eventually Kerney evolved into a 230-pound freshman at Virginia, a university he attended on a lacrosse scholarship. He walked onto the football team and ended up seeing action, and now here he is at 27, a 6-foot- 5, 273-pound lineman who has started 65 consecutive games. In addition to a strict weightlifting regimen, Kerney fills himself with food on a constant basis. He eats five meals a day, plus snacks, virtually every day of his life.

"I almost never experience actual hunger," he conceded. "With me, it's basically force-feeding."

At dinner, Kerney started with a chicken Caesar salad, complete with several slices of garlic bread on the side, before tackling the large plate of fettuccine. He mastered his meal with dogged persistence, following his initial burst of consumption with a steady, workmanlike assault on the main course.

For the first 30 minutes of our meal I, too, could only focus on food. Among the incisive culinary questions I threw at him was, "Dude, what do you do on dates?"

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"I have a girlfriend now, and she's down with the program," Kerney said. "But before we hooked up, if I had a date with someone, I'd eat dinner beforehand, then order something light on the date, like a salmon fillet, so she wouldn't think I was a total pig."

That one made me laugh aloud: I'd heard virtually the same thing from many of the well-toned young women on the Cal swim team, with whom I've been hanging the past 13 months in anticipation of a book I'm doing with Olympic champion Natalie Coughlin (Rodale Press, fall of '05, thank you very much for asking). These women routinely complete two grueling workouts a day -- then eat with a vengeance. "Swimmers are notorious for eating before dates," Bears co-captain Amy Ng told me last fall. "Guys usually aren't that comfortable with a woman who eats more than he does."

Because he is light for his position, Kerney is certainly more comfortable in the 4-3 defense installed by new coach Jimmy Mora and his astute defensive coordinator, Ed Donatell, than he was in the 3-4 scheme employed by Donatell's equally crafty predecessor, Wade Phillips, the previous two seasons. Now freed from the rigors of lining up on the inside shoulders of mammoth tackles, Kerney can utilize his quickness and natural knack for getting to the quarterback. He had just 6 1/2 sacks last season after recording 10 1/2 and 12 the previous two years, and he hopes to get back into double digits in 2004.

One thing aiding him in that pursuit is his typical training camp regimen: Chasing Michael Vick. The Falcons' quarterback is so fast and elusive that Kerney regards the process of trying to tackle him as an optical illusion.

"I'll come around the corner and flush him forward, and then I'll angle to the spot where he's headed," Kerney said. "But by the time I get there, he's in a completely different spot, running backwards and away from the play and creating on the run. He's like Nightcrawler from X Men 2 -- he can make himself invisible and reappear in a different place. After running after Mike, no other quarterback seems that elusive by comparison."

Kerney and I kept talking for awhile, long after my plate had been cleared away. Kerney, meanwhile, kept at it with the fettuccine alfredo before hitting a long lull. Finally, he focused and took one final, massive bite of the rich pasta. "Here's one more for the job," he said, laughing, before swallowing and dropping his fork to his plate.

"That's it," he declared. "I'm done."

At least for a couple of hours, until it was time to dig into that last plate of pasta before bedtime.

You're the Guy?

Michael Vick completed 13 of 22 passes in Atlanta's opening week win over San Francisco. Robert Beck/SI

While talking to Michael Vick for a story in this week's magazine, I asked him about the first time he met Jimmy Mora, who was hired as the Falcons' coach last January. "It was about three weeks after he got hired, and they set up a dinner at the Lake Lanier Resort (near the Falcons' training complex in Flowery Branch)," Vick recalled. "I was sitting there with (offensive coordinator) Gregg Knapp, who I'd already gotten to know, and when Jim walked in I just thought he was like a regular guy off the street. I was like, 'That's  him?' Then we started talking like we were old friends. All during dinner, I was thinking, 'This s--- is gonna be real cool. A lot of guys are gonna dig this.' It was exciting."

Look at it from Vick's perspective: His head coaches, to that point, had been Frank Beamer and Dan Reeves. Those guys were grandpa types to Vick; Mora, 42, is more like a fun uncle. "It's very exciting to be a part of what this new coaching staff is trying to accomplish," Vick said. "To have a coach who's high-energy and enthusiastic, it's something a lot of guys on this team were looking for. A lot of guys kind of fell for him when he came here."

Woulda/Coulda/Shoulda

Mora, after seven years as a 49ers assistant, returned to San Francisco for his first NFL game. "When the schedule came out and I saw that, I laughed," Mora said last week. "I knew everyone would try to make that game about me, which was silly. Hey, I've played my dad four times. Now that's something. It's an awful day, win or lose. Someone in the Mora family is guaranteed to lose, and that's an awful day."

The elder Jim Mora (the two are not Jr. and Sr., as they have different middle names) was one of 42 people for whom the new Falcons' coach bought tickets to the game at Candlestick. I happen to be a huge fan of the man who, among other brilliant press-conference rants, forever changed the way many of us pronounce the word "playoffs." Will Mora's son be tempted to go off in public when things get tense? "It's in the genes," Jimmy Mora said, laughing.

Have a Seat

If I were asked to preside over the Frank Francisco trial -- and being an Oakland resident, I feel like I'm somewhat qualified -- here's what I would propose as punishment: Have him take a seat in that folding chair, in the spot from which he threw it, until Sunday's Raiders home opener against the Bills. Then, as the game was set to begin, I'd have him stand up, carry the chair a few feet over to the edge of the 'Black Hole,' and hoist it into that section of Halloween celebrants. And then? Que sera, sera.

Oh Please, Football Gods

Wouldn't it be great if an official disallowed a replay challenge by Tom Coughlin (no relation to Natalie, who pronounces her name 'COG-lin') because the Giants' coach didn't throw his flag early enough?

And Another Thing

If I'm an NHL player, I go to Gary (This Hurts Me As Much As It's Going to Hurt You) Bettman's house and stick some Krazy Glue in the keyholes, if only for the delicious irony.

Skip This Section if You're Not a Cal Fan...

But since I know many Golden Bear supporters read this column, indulge us for a moment: Regarding the hiring of Sandy Barbour as athletic director, we enthusiastically welcome her to the world's greatest institute of higher learning and offer her our support. That said, we have some concerns. First, it is troubling that given the massive accomplishments of the outgoing regime, including executive associate athletic director (and strong AD candidate) Mark Stephens, there is very little possibility of continuity at a time when it should have been valued. To that end, we deeply hope that executive associate athletic director Teresa Kuehn, who is in charge of non-revenue sports, be given an increased role. Secondly, it is imperative that olive branches be offered to those big-money donors who felt offended by the way the process played out -- especially anyone who might be asked to write a $35 million check toward a potential $175 million renovation of Memorial Stadium. Thirdly, since football coach Jeff Tedford's presence over the past three seasons has been slightly good for business, it might be a nice idea to keep him in the loop.

In the meantime, thanks to Hurricane Ivan, the 10th ranked Bears don't play until Oct. 2 -- meaning we can likely enjoy this top-10 thing for at least a little while.

Welcome to the City of Brotherly Love

Did you see that massive hit Eli Manning took from the Eagles' Jerome McDougle toward the end of Philly's 31-17 victory? In giving Eli a first-game introduction to remember, McDougle seemed to be channeling the feelings of, say, every NFL fan in San Diego. The most striking thing of all was this realization -- when have you ever seen Peyton Manning take a hit like that? Didn't think so.

Sports Illustrated senior writer Michael Silver sounds off weekly on SI.com.