Following every Atlanta Falcons home game in 1998, linebacker Cornelius Bennett would hustle from the locker room at the Georgia Dome and to his sprawling residence in a well-heeled northern suburb, where he would then prepare a sumptuous post-game spread for his teammates.

Most of whom, particularly the white players, never showed up at Bennett's house. Not even once.

The food was wasted as was a golden opportunity for camaraderie. Yet there was no denying that the Falcons of that season, a team concerned far more with beating opponents than with being friends, enjoyed a magical chemistry inside the locker room during their Super Bowl year.

Whatever the size of Bennett's grocery bill, whatever the scope of the petty jealousies inherent to every locker room (that year's conflict: who should be credited with the invention of the silly "Dirty Bird" dance), the '98 Falcons were a tight bunch able to insulate itself from distraction. And that, insisted Bennett a few years later, was a hallmark of virtually every winning team for which he played during his celebrated career.

"Nobody is saying that you all have to go to dinner together, or hang out when practice is over, but you have to want to play together," Bennett said. "There has to be a kind of single (purpose). No matter what you think about the guy in the next locker."

While it is an underrated commodity, especially by people outside the game, team chemistry remains a significant component in the NFL. There are clubs capable of success even when mutual respect erodes but, for the most part, if the locker room is a volatile mix of personalities and the differences are not subjugated, a team can explode and the resultant shrapnel can cause wounds that are not easily healed.

	The Giants will soon find out if Strahan's verbal battle with Barber will effect the team.

On the flip side, some of the public enmity that exists between teammates is often overblown, and rarely dictates success or failure. Teams are more apt to fail because the mix on the field isn't right, not because the dynamics of a few relationships have become combustible. If there is a cancer in the locker room, it is often excised by the head coach, or ignored by teammates.

"If your right guard and right tackle go out for a beer together every day after practice, it still isn't going to mean much if they can't execute worth a damn that combination block you need," said Philadelphia Eagles offensive right tackle Jon Runyan. "Sure it's great if everyone gets along off the field but, with 53 guys in a room, not everything is going to be rosy. But you don't see teams falling apart very often because guys are taking up sides."

The rise or fall of the New York Giants in 2002, for instance, probably won't depend on whether defensive end Michael Strahan and tailback Tiki Barber are back on each other's Christmas card lists anytime soon.

It isn't as if the home locker room in Giants Stadium has been divided into Crips and Bloods sections. And really, outside of the initial verbal salvos launched by both sides, when is the last time that you heard or read about the conflict of philosophies between Barber and Strahan? The players are not speaking to one another but the cold shoulder has not affected either of the veterans' preseason performances, Giants coaches insist.

One Giants veteran termed the Strahan-Barber flap "a pain," but indicated it is not a feud stuck in the consciousness of the team.

Teammates of former Baltimore quarterback Elvis Grbac left little doubt about the disdain in which they held him in 2001. Outspoken tight end Shannon Sharpe was publicly critical, with no ambiguities, about his lack of regard for the veteran signal-caller. Offensive left tackle Jonathan Ogden once walked away from the quarterback, and offered a parting gesture, when Grbac refused to accept a helping hand after being knocked down on a sack.

"But that doesn't mean I didn't block just as hard for him on every play," said Ogden, who made his annual trip to the Pro Bowl game. "You still have pride in your team and in yourself. And whatever conflicts you have with a guy in the locker room, you have to let it go, at least for three hours every Sunday afternoon."

There was, a few Ravens players acknowledged, some psychological effect from the players' recognition that Grbac lacked the temperment and bearing of a championship quarterback. In their hearts, players knew Grbac could not rally the passions of the team, that he didn't enjoy the loyalty displayed toward Trent Dilfer the previous year.

"There probably was an erosion of confidence (in Grbac), but not because guys didn't like him as a person," said one player. "We just knew that he didn't have the (fortitude) Dilfer showed us the previous year."

From conversations with old-timers and modern-day players, it would seem that personal grudges lasted considerably longer years ago. A former Rams player of some note suggested that he and a teammate didn't speak a word for approximately six years because of what they decided after retirement was a relatively innocuous squabble.

Players of this era, motivated in large part by the economic realities of the game, are more pragmatic about personal spats. They may not speak, but they are less likely to allow a disagreement to impact their performance or that of the team, because the result could affect them financially.

There inarguably are teams, the '98 Falcons and 2001 New England Patriots to cite two, who advanced to the Super Bowl in part because personalities dovetailed so well on and off the field. But it would be ridiculous to suggest those teams were conflict free away from the spotlight of public scrutiny.

Come game time, however, those teams were able to bury their differences. It is not coincidence, allowed players from those teams, that each had a head coach able to focus the respective squads on priorities.

"When the big guy isn't about to (fool) with that stuff, you get beyond it," said Patriots safety Tebucky Jones. "The bottom line is, you only have to be one big, happy family one place, and that's on the field."

Len Pasquarelli is a senior NFL writer for ESPN.com.