The “whole marriage thing” was a common discussion/sore spot between Riley’s mother and himself. The conversation always seemed to boil down to his mom not understanding how someone who was as great a catch as her son could still be single.

“When are you going to settle down and start a family? Your father and I want to be able to hold our grandkids on our laps without fear of breaking a hip! And don’t tell me you can’t find anyone. The girls have got to be falling all over you,” his mother would say.

“Yeah, but not the kind of girls I’m looking for,” would be his reply.

His fame, his odd schedule of PFL and off-season air force reserves, and his general ineptitude with women all combined to make his chances of ever having a meaningful relationship with a young lady about equivalent to the Detroit Wildcats’ chances of ever having a meaningful relationship with the PFL Cup.

The cold dampness seemed to seep through the window, causing him to involuntarily shiver. Grabbing the remote control, he turned on Fox News to see if there were any further developments from the Mall of America attack.

As he sat on the edge of the bed, the 7 a.m. wake-up call came. He automatically picked up the receiver of the phone and dropped it back down, never taking his eyes off the screen. The graphic for FOX NEWS ALERT rolled onto the screen along with its accompanying sound effect. The talking head gave a quick intro and then threw it to Greg Peterson live on-site in Bloomington, Minnesota.

“The mood in the Twin Cities is somber today as people come to grips with the realization that suicide bombing has come to America. The FBI, Homeland Security, and local police are all declining to comment when it comes to details of the attack on the Mall of America. Through witnesses, we have learned that there were three attackers. One was subdued by law enforcement officials inside the mall; another was killed, also in the mall; and the third detonated his device in the north parking lot, which you can see behind me now. The police are keeping a wide perimeter, but we are told that at least fifty cars sustained damage from projectiles, and countless others lost windows and windshields during the blast.

“The two officers killed during the attack-twelve-year veteran Jonathan Weems and rookie Wesley Katagi-were both members of the Bloomington Police Department. Although the mall is closed today, people have been flocking to a makeshift memorial for the two slain officers just outside the mall property at 24th Avenue South and Lindau Lane. There they have been leaving flowers, cards, and other tokens of love and appreciation for the sacrifice these brave men made. Also, early word is out that a fund is being established for people to help the two widows and five children that are left behind. Back to you, Karen.”

Riley turned the TV off and hopped into the shower. I wonder if Pastor Tim is rethinking his pity for these terrorists.

At 7:25, he finished packing his bag and headed downstairs to the team meeting rooms for the chapel service. The chapel service was an important part of game day for quite a few players-though not always for the same reasons. Some attended chapel as part of their pregame superstition, and others came because they figured it was a good way to get God on their side for the day. But most came because worship was an important part of their faith, and chapel was the closest thing to church they could get on a game-day Sunday.

As Riley entered the hotel conference room, there were about fifteen other players scattered around in comfortable black swivel chairs. The mood was very somber; a few players conversed in low whispers, but otherwise the room was silent. This was not out of reverence, Riley knew, but out of nervousness for the day’s game. Everyone was already on edge. Riley nodded to a few players, shook hands with Walter Washburne, the Mustangs’ team chaplain, and took a seat next to Travis Marshall.

Washburne began the service with a recap of the mall attack. He spoke of the two officers who had been killed-men who had sacrificed themselves for others, who had died for something they believed in.

Then he began talking about the terrorists-also men willing to die for something they believed in.

Heads came up at this point. Where’s he going with this? Riley wondered.

Washburne continued, “The sad thing is that these men were willing to die for a lie. They believed the Koran tells them to kill those who don’t agree with them. Maybe it does and maybe it doesn’t-I’m not an expert in the Koran or in Islam. However, I know I’ve heard plenty of Muslims say that their beliefs don’t include this kind of evil. Whether it does or not, these men believed it did, and they put their lives on the line for their beliefs.

“In Philippians 1:21, Paul the apostle writes, ‘For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.’ Like these brave police officers and like these deluded murderers, Paul realized something. His life wasn’t about himself. This is one of the toughest things for anyone to learn, especially a professional athlete who constantly has praise heaped upon him. People around you are always saying, ‘It’s all about you! It’s all about you!’ A football player who is able to pick up a team photo and not look for himself first is a rarity. For any of you to be able to take your eyes off yourselves and put them on someone else is nothing short of a miracle.

“But some of you have had that miracle happen in your lives. Some of you have realized that this life is not about you but about Christ. You are living for others. That’s where the difference is between those brave policemen and those cowardly terrorists: the terrorists were only willing to die for their beliefs; the policemen lived out their beliefs every day until their lives were taken from them.

“Paul knew that dying was the easy part-it meant heaven for him. Living for Christ is the hard part-daily putting yourself second and others first. Let me encourage you, men, to keep your lives in perspective. It’s not about you. It’s about what you can do for God and for those He puts in your path.”

Washburne finished with a prayer for the families of the slain policemen. The men slowly grabbed their bags and filtered out of the room. Riley and Travis waited behind for the chaplain, who followed after gathering up his things.

“Good words today, Chap,” Marshall said as they made their way down to the team meal.

“Thanks, Travis. You think anyone really heard what I said today?” Washburne was a realist, and he knew that game day was not necessarily the best time to try to effect major life change.

“Well, you were given the opportunity to preach it, and you took it. The rest is up to God,” Riley offered.

They walked into the large ballroom and right up to the buffet. There was a huge assortment of breakfast foods and high-carb pastas, along with a large tray of steaks. At the end of the buffet was an omelet bar, where Marshall headed after picking up a couple of different kinds of sausages. Many players were too nervous to eat much before a game, so they just grabbed a piece of toast and some orange juice. Riley made himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, then sat down at a table and quietly ate his spartan breakfast.

After the meal, Riley, Ricci, Marshall, and Garrett Widnall headed toward the buses for the forty-five-minute trip across the bay into Oakland. The men quickly slipped out through the lobby door and up the stairs of the bus as frenzied fans reached out, trying to touch the players. Most of the guys already had their iPods playing and seemed to be gazing into a far-off land. Ricci slipped into the seat next to Riley. No one said a word.

The players prepared for games in various ways, but there was one general unspoken rule: no one talked on the buses. This allowed each man to prepare mentally for the game. For most, it had been this way ever since high school, and with each new level of play, the rule never changed.