It is a recipe for death.

At Detroit Lions training camp in Saginaw, Mich., new coach Marty Mornhinweg is not pleased with his team's effort so he throws his sunglasses down to the ground, orders the team off the field and drives away on his motorcycle. The message is clear: he wants his guys to work harder. The same night, at Carolina Panthers camp in steamy Spartanburg, S.C., coach George Seifert screams at his team for its lack of hustle. He demands the same thing as Mornhinweg: more effort.

And on this day what sticks out to me amid all the coverage of Vikings' lineman Korey Stringer (who died from heat stroke Wednesday at the age of 27 -- should I repeat that? -- at the age of 27), is that the 6'4", 335-pound former Pro Bowler forged his reputation during -- and then died because of -- the same kind of grueling workouts in the tough, hot, early days of camp that most coaches demand.

In the NFL this time of year, as the mercury rises and the heat from coaches, fans and teammates increases, the two elements combine to create a dangerous atmosphere of over-the-top machismo that often blurs reason and bubbles over into the danger zone.

Working out on Tuesday, a day when the 90-degree heat and stifling humidity drove the heat index as high as 110 degrees, Stringer vomited at least three times but continued to practice and finished the workout. Later, he became comatose and his organs failed throughout the day until his heart stopped beating at 2:50 a.m.

So if we are to learn anything from Stringer's horrific and tragic death, let it be this: When the decision to come off the field is left up to the individual, football players do not think the same way that you and I do. They would rather drop than quit.

And so the very thing that drives them to the pinnacle of their profession is the same mentality that can drive them to their death.

This is part of the reason that 19 players in high school, college and the pros have died from heat-related trauma since 1995. In fact, just a week before Stringer died, incoming Florida freshman Eraste Autin expired from complications related to heat stroke six days after collapsing on the field and slipping into a coma in Gainesville, Fla.

Understanding the culture and mentality of football, I think, is more than half the battle in trying to prevent this from happening again.

Let's make one thing perfectly clear: Stringer's death is the first such incident in the NFL in 22 years. This is not an NFL issue as much as it is a football issue.

What this reminds me of is the string of deaths in collegiate wrestling in 1997 when three athletes died while trying to make weight. Like football players, wrestlers consider toughing it out through drastic and dangerous workouts some kind of sick badge of honor. That attitude, coupled with the shrinking number of scholarships and an already intensely competitive sport fosters unnecessary risk-taking.

To its credit, though, the NCAA stepped in and made drastic and sweeping changes that have probably rescued the sport and saved lives.

Will football do the same?

Or will a sport that generates billions and billions of dollars continue to fund things like Matrix-like TV coverage while offering heat-ravaged athletes cold towels and pickle juice?

Help me to believe that the medical technology exists to bring a player back from a completely shredded knee in less than six months ... but somehow it's beyond our grasp to monitor a player's core temperature during practice?

Why is it that so much technology and money goes into keeping football players warm -- heated benches, practice domes, thermal clothing -- when it appears only a fraction of the effort is given to protecting them against the heat?

This afternoon representatives at the highest levels of the NFL held a conference call to begin a dialogue on the subject.

Let's hope some changes are made.

For starters, no one should be allowed to practice when the heat index reaches the danger zone above 100 degrees. Go inside. Watch film. Lift weights. Run the steps in the arena. Do a walkthrough in the cafeteria. It's one stupid practice. (I mean, how sick is it that we have national programs for educating pet owners on the risks involved in leaving your dog in a hot car, but we expect our football players to just suck it up and tough it out?) How about mandatory specific gravity urine testing, which can detect dehydration?

Perhaps it doesn't even need to be that drastic or complicated. I do not mean to sound flippant but, hello? Has anyone ever thought to use ... a thermometer? It was invented 350 years ago and you can pick one up at any corner store for a couple of bucks. And it might save a player's life. When he arrived at Immanuel St. Joseph's-Mayo Health System in Mankato, Stringer's temp was up over 108 degrees.

But obviously, implementing the ideas, safety guidelines or new equipment isn't the tough part.

The tough part is creating a culture on all levels of football where a player feels comfortable signaling his coach and begging out of practice for a few measly minutes to sit down in the shade and get relief (or a bit of monitoring) from the heat.

Yeah, I know, a 300-pound ass-kicker lounging in the shade fanning himself like a woman in church is hardly the gladiator image we all love so much from our NFL warriors. But I've got no problem at all watching l00 players sitting in the shade if that's what it takes.

It sure beats seeing one more lying in a coffin.

David Fleming is a senior writer for ESPN The Magazine. E-mail flemfile@aol.com.