Hardy Vision: Eat, drink and be Brady

Editor's note: Mr. Hardy has been advised repeatedly by CBSSports.com legal counsel that any ingestion of foods or drinks in the research of his Hardy Vision column is done so at his own risk. Hardy Vision readers should consult a physician before starting this or any other clearly unplanned dietary guide. Your individual results may vary.

Would you choose the Brady Quinn workout to get into shape?   66%  Of course     34%  Of course not     Total Votes: 98

New Year's Eve is never when I make my resolution to get in shape. It's around June or July when the "summer of love handles" rolls around that I'm motivated.

I try the usual stuff like jogging (I average 2 miles per run every eight months), sit-ups (an average of 20 or 30 every 30 days), and long-distance bike rides of 50 miles each Sunday (that's just a flat-out lie).

But I have been serious about watching what I eat. For instance, I've phased sour cream out of my refrigerator. I used to average one container of Breakstone's per week, because I would scoop the heavenly, creamy goodness out with whatever Doritos were on hand to act as my shovel.

Also, croutons had to go. Let's face it, they're just crusty nuggets of stale bread. I've read that pumpkin seeds are an energizing substitute. And it would finally give me an excuse to carve up the jack-o-lantern that's been rotting on my front porch since Halloween.

I've lost about 10 pounds in the past two months. The next step is to boost my overall energy level. To do that, I'm going to need vitamins, minerals, supplements, you name it. Basically, I'll try anything short of cocaine.

We live in an interactive society. There has to be a sports celebrity out there who endorses a line of products that combine the energy I need with the taste I desire.

Then it hit me -- I'm going to starting consuming the same energy food as Brady Quinn.

Why Brady Quinn? Because he's my new hero. And trust me, it's not because I have any devotion to Notre Dame football, nor am I a season-ticket holder in Cleveland's Dawg Pound.

But that's exactly my point -- if a quarterback who was selected with the 22nd pick in the NFL Draft, who has a 56.8 passer rating thanks to the one stint of mop-up duty in the final week of his rookie season can land a nationwide endorsement contract, then somebody must know something.

Since he has no track record, I had better get onboard before he becomes The Next Big Thing.

Brady Quinn is seen here explaining why he's being interviewed even though he's not a starting QB. (Getty Images)

Strong-arm tactics

Quinn's product brand is EAS. In one TV commercial, Quinn gets transported from his treadmill into another dimension that is colonized by rows of tires on the ground. On his endorsement page on the EAS website, the Mighty Quinn is shown to be not only as tall as a mountain range, but possessing the strength to slap other insouciant mountains into pieces.

(I might be reading too much into subliminal messages here, but I can't think it's a good prediction for Quinn's escapability in the pocket that he's depicted as having speed and agility comparable to granite.)

Anyway, the key instruction to these EAS products is to consume it within 30 minutes of the completion of a workout.

Let's see, when was my last workout? Well, when I left work, I took the stairs instead of the elevator. That's exercise, right? So when I get home, I'll pound an 11-ounce carton of the smooth and refreshing French Vanilla flavors of a Myoplex Lite shake.

Thirty minutes is also just enough time to swing by the liquor store and stock up on booze on the way home. I know I need Wild Turkey and some gin. I drink so much gin, I just buy the cheap stuff. Lately I've been picking up something called Barton, which goes for about $10 a 1.75. When I got to my driveway, I drank the shake. For a dessert, I tried a Myoplex deluxe Chocolate Chocolate Chip bar. Yes, that's chocolate twice. Because when you're a serious athlete, you can never consume too much chocolate.

But a few minutes later at my liquor cabinet as I was pouring the cheap gin into my empty bottle of Tanqueray, I felt a terrible pulse run through my body. I tensed, and the glass bottle shattered in my hand.

But that wasn't the strangest part -- I saw dozens of green shards embedded in my palm, but nothing hurt. The room started spinning. I felt dizzy. I had to get outside for fresh air. Maybe I would drive somewhere with the windows down.

I grabbed for my car door handle, and yanked hard. The next thing I knew, my car was skidding roof-first down my driveway.

What in the name of Charlie Weis was happening?

Next, I heard popping sounds from my midsection. I looked down and saw that my doughy stomach had been transformed into a rock-hard six pack of ab muscles. Now my head was pounding. Brain and body were screaming at me to run, fast, anywhere, anything to channel this incredible energy.

My biceps were filling up as fast as helium balloons, but they felt as hard as lead bowling balls. My shirt sleeves were ripping apart, and I thought, well, there goes that $35 for this shirt down the drain.

I started running through a forest. I couldn't risk the thought of rampaging through populated areas.

I'm running too fast to avoid trees, so a lot of the time I'm forced to punch my way through. At first, I could feel the bones in my knuckles crack and crush from the force of the punch. But they instantly healed by the time I needed to punch again. Punch, break, heal; punch, break, heal. Madness.

After eight miles in 12 minutes, I turned around to find that there was eight miles of devastated woodland behind me. I'm positively glowing with heat and energy. My sparks started multiple forest fires. Fortunately, I had to pee by this point, and that doused most of the acreage.

The choice

Along with my super strength, I found that my mental capacity was exponentially expanding.

Fructooligosaccharides are clearly the building blocks to physical perfection. (Getty Images)

I wanted to know what ingredients could have created this reaction. I knew I'd never be able to find the wrapper of the Chocolate Chocolate Chip bar at this point, but I didn't need it to know the ingredients. I could feel and distinguish each molecule in my body, just as how ordinary mortals can taste ketchup and mustard simultaneously on a hot dog.

Thus I knew that the bar contained MyoPro Protein Blend (Whey Protein Isolate, Calcium Caseinate, Milk Protein Isolate, Milk Protein Concentrate, Casein), High Fructose Corn Syrup, Hydrolyzed Gelatin, Glycerine, Maltitol, Cocoa (Processed With Alkali), Fractionated Palm Kernel Oil, High Maltose Corn Syrup, Milk Protein Concentrate, Sorbitol and Water.

It also contains less than 2 percent of the following: Fructooligosaccharides, Coca, Natural and Artificial Flavors, Sugar, Vitamin And Mineral Blend (Calcium Phosphate, Calcium Carbonate, Magnesium Oxide, ascorbic Acid, Ferric orthophosphate, dl-Alpha-Tocopheryl Acetate, Niacinamide, Zinc Oxide, Manganese Amino Acid Chelate, Copper Gluconate, Calcium Pantothenate, Chromium Citrate, vitamin A Palmitate, Pyridoxine Hydrochloride, Riboflavin, Thiamine Monoitrate, Folic Acid, Chromium Chloride, Sodium Molydbate, Biotin, Potassium Iodidie, Sodium Selenite, Phytonadione, Cyanocobalamin), Glutamine Peptide From Hydrolyzed Wheat Protein, L-Glutamine, Unsweetened Chocolate, Soy And/Or Canola Oil, Calcium Caseinate, Mono- And Diglycerides, Carmel Color, Soy Lecithin, High Oleoc Safflower Oil, Salt, Corn Maltodextrin, Cocoa Butter, Sucralose, Tocopherols and Ascorbyl Palmitate.

Holy Fructooligosaccharides! Two percent was more than enough for my needs by now.

But what of these powers? I had already proven that they could be used for harm and good. I need more time to think. But I had to escape. This kind of thing couldn't stay secret in my town of Columbia, S.C., for long.

I ran wildly, not realizing I was heading through the heart of downtown. Fire is now blazing from my mouth, like Godzilla.

This is bad. I can't burn down Columbia, S.C. -- that would be such a Civil War cliche.

But I make my way toward Williams-Brice Stadium, where the South Carolina Gamecocks play football. But why can I see into the stadium? Am I flying? No, the truth is that I've now grown taller than the stadium. If I were in a mountain range, I'd be as tall as them too.

Brady Quinn's website picture warned me of this! That was not hyperbole! It was truth in advertising!

In my confusion, I stomp on top of Steve Spurrier's football offices. Boy, I hope they were on summer break right now and no one was in there. I hear helicopters. They must have been dispatched from the Fort Jackson military base. They don't realize that the machine gun bullets that they're firing are incapable of piercing my hide.

I grab up the stadium's goalposts in each hand, trying to wave the choppers off. It's not their fault I'm indestructible, but this can't continue. That's when I notice an asteroid hurtling toward earth. I make a split-second decision. Rather than using the heat ray from my eyes to detonate the rock and risk showering the countryside with tiny meteoroids, I jump and grab the asteroid and throw it back toward space. Ooh, I hope it didn't hit the moon on its way back to deep space. Then my knees buckle. I feel my power slipping ... fading ... where am I? ... my Brady Quinn juice ... is there any left? No? Well, there's always the gin back home. Maybe cocktail hour is about all the workout I need.