Monday, September 12, 8:20 a.m. EDT

Ashburn, Virginia

There were the expected things—a Gatorade bucket in his locker, a Monopoly Get Out of Jail Free card, a pile of dollar coins, a musical greeting card that played “They’re Coming to Take Me Away, Ha-Haaa!”

But two items did stand out from the crowd. One was an underwater phone—a device that Riley could not think of a single practical application for. The second was a guillotine that was supposed to allow you to cut off your hand, then magically have it reappear attached to your wrist. The trick looked pretty cool. However, as hard as he tried to find volunteers, he couldn’t find anyone willing to give it a shot.

Despite the joking around Riley’s locker, the mood in the locker room was fairly subdued. Everyone knew what was in store for them, and when the time came, Riley filed down the hall with the rest of the team to the main amphitheater to watch film. If you had a good game, film time was wonderful. There was praise from the coaches. There were high fives from your teammates. It was a fun event and a great ego boost.

However, if your game was bad, three hours in the film room could seem like the worst eight hours of your life. Every mistake was played and replayed. You were expected to give answers to unanswerable questions, like “Why’d you let that happen?” and “What were you thinking?” It was frustrating and humiliating.

Because of the horrendous game the team had played, the film time went much as expected. The only positive for Riley was that the whole team had stunk, so he wasn’t consistently singled out. However, he did get his share of onscreen lowlights.

Sitting in the cool air of the amphitheater, he often found himself wondering what had happened. His mistakes were rookie mistakes—missed coverages, bad reads, weak tackles. At one point, he watched as an easy interception bounced right off his numbers, eliciting a groan from the entire room.

As much as he told himself he didn’t really care about football, he was still embarrassed. I can’t believe that however many millions of people watched me suck this badly! I’ve got friends and family who saw this. And I can’t imagine what the blogs are saying. I guess my only hope is that my on-field suckiness will be overshadowed by my off-field stupidity.

Mercifully, the film got to the fourth quarter, and he tuned out the analysis. He closed his eyes, put his head back, and slowly twisted back and forth on his swivel chair.

But then, after the final play, he felt an elbow to his arm. He looked up to see the screen filled with him dumping the phone into the Gatorade bucket.

A few players hooted, then quickly fell silent as Coach Medley glared at them. Next came the coin incident with Jonny Wiens. One player called out “Presto” when Riley pulled the coin out, causing snickers throughout the theater.

The film ended, and the lights came up to full.

Coach Medley stood in front of the team, arms folded, looking straight at Riley. Finally, he said, “Gentlemen, I think Riley has something to say to Mr. Bellefeuille, Mr. Wiens, and the rest of his team.”

What? What is this? Come on, Coach, this isn’t how to play this! Don’t be forcing my hand this way!

All eyes were on Riley, and he was steaming inside.

He eased himself up. With a penitent look on his face, he slowly pivoted so that he had a chance to look at everyone on the team. “Mr. Bellefeuille, Jonny, my fellow Warriors. It was a strange day all around yesterday. Things were done, and stuff was said. And I guess . . . I guess I probably need to clear the air. When I was with Jonny, the word I said was abracadabra, not presto, as is currently being reported in the press. I just wanted you all to know that.”

The theater erupted in laughter. Riley gave small, contrite waves and nods as he settled into his seat. Looking around at the team, he spotted Coach Medley glaring at him. With a smirk, Riley locked eyes with him until eventually Medley turned away.

All around him, players were calling out to him and giving him thumbs up. Apparently, the fear of retribution had flown out the window. Riley took it all in with smiles and waves. But inside he was thinking, Well, that’s strike three, son. It’s going to be interesting to see if you’ve just struck out.