famine.”
McNiff sipped his wine. “Nice.” He knew as little about wine as did Koesler. “So,” McNiff returned to the previous topic, “you joined a Bible discussion group. As the leader, I suppose.”
“Nope; just a member. Not even first among equals.”
“Not the leader! Then why in God’s green world would a priest join a Bible discussion group? The other members can’t all be priests!”
Koesler smiled as he swallowed a morsel of potato. “No, they are by no means priests. As a matter of fact, they all belong, in one way or another, to that team we saw get beat this afternoon. As for the reason I joined, it probably has a great deal to do with my inability to say no.
“All Cougars!” Three surprises in one mealtime were not good for McNiff s digestion. “Come on! Come on!” he gestured, fingers curling into his palm, “let it all out. You’ll feel better for it.”
Koesler touched a napkin to his lips. “As I said, my parishioner, Kit Hoffer, asked me to join this discussion group. I’m not sure why. But I’ve got a hunch he feels a little insecure in that group for one reason or another. So he wants his friendly parish priest along.”
“Well, one incredibility after another. Who’da thought that a pro football team would have a Bible group?”
“Not that surprising when you get into it. It’s kind of an offshoot of the Fellowship of Christian Athletes. . you’ve heard of them?”
McNiff nodded.
“They sponsor prayer meetings, especially on the mornings of game days. It’s a very active, nondenominational organization. Actually, there are three discussion groups among the Cougar personnel. But ours-we call ourselves the God Squad-is the only one of the three that has allowed in an outsider.” He paused. “I guess that’s not so odd when you look at the disparity of our members.”
McNiff s expression invited amplification.
“There’s Kit-and me, of course-Jay Galloway, Dave Whitman, Jack Brown, Bobby Cobb, Niall Murray, and Hank Hunsinger.”
McNiff whistled softly. “What a conglomeration! The owner, the general manager, the trainer, a priest, and four players. How did-”
“I’m not sure. I think it was organized by Brown, the trainer. As for his motive, I can only guess at it. For one thing, I think he wanted to bring management and player personnel together. Management is certainly represented by Galloway and Whitman. But why he singled out the players he did is beyond me. Come to think of it, he may have invited other players to join. In any event, I assume he picked Cobb because he’s the hub of the team. And Hunsinger is the most notorious-or should I say he seems to be most in demand as far as publicity is concerned. Murray, as an immigrant and rookie, and Hoffer, as a rookie and backup to Hunsinger, would have to be about the least secure members of the team.” He stopped, then added, “I’m not claiming that these were Brownie’s reasons. But it’s the best scenario I can come up with.”
McNiff finished his entree and was sipping coffee while being very thoughtful. “The one who seems most to stick out like a sore thumb in that group is Hunsinger. If you can believe what you read in the papers, the guy’s an out-and-out hedonist. And, on top of it all, I think I read that he’s a Catholic!”
“Right on both counts. He is a Catholic, though certainly not a practicing one. He alone of the group always seems rather cynical. I’m only guessing, but I think the reason he’s in this bunch is that he wants as few things as possible going on behind his back. I think he knows he’s nearing the end of his career. So any meeting that Kit Hoffer attends, Hunsinger is probably sure to be found there.
“As for the rumors about his private life, I guess there must be some truth to them. Our meeting last Tuesday evening was at his apartment. Talk about a swinging bachelor’s pad! Until I saw the Hun’s place, I’d only read about things like that. Mirrors everywhere, especially in the bedroom-even a mirror on the ceiling above a bed that’s set up on a platform.”
“What for-the mirrors, I mean?”
“It enhances the sexual experience for some people. Or so I’ve been told.”
McNiff pondered that for a moment. “You met on Tuesday. Do you always meet on Tuesdays? Weekly? Monthly?”
“Weekly. And, yes, always on Tuesday evenings. Tuesday is sort of the football players’ day off. Next Tuesday we meet at Galloway’s home.”
“Any chance they would allow another member?” McNiff would be so proud to tell his parishioners that he was rubbing elbows with and dispensing theological opinions to real professional football players. “After all, if I get myself a business manager, I’ll have a little extra time on my hands.”
Inwardly, Koesler winced. He wished McNiff had not asked that favor. The group was already of a size where it was difficult for each one to fully express himself. And then, too, it was just not the sort of group wherein McNiff would be comfortable. With a lay bunch such as the God Squad, McNiff would inevitably attempt to enforce his interpretation of Scripture. Except that it wouldn’t work with these men.
“Tell you what, Pat. The first time there’s a chance to bring this up with the group, I’ll do it. But I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you. I don’t get the impression they would let anybody else into the group. As it is, it’s a bit unwieldy. But I will give it a try.”
Koesler meant what he said. McNiff seemed satisfied with the promise.
Meal completed, they settled the bill, going Dutch.
McNiff had met Koesler in the restaurant parking lot before the game. Koesler had driven them to the stadium and back. They now parted, each taking his own car.
En route back to St. Anselm’s, Koesler thought about this odd Bible group. It certainly was composed of provocative but strikingly different personalities. He had gleaned a few new insights about the Bible from the group’s discussions. But, being a student of human behavior, he had learned a great deal more about the men who participated. Each was interesting in his own way. Especially interesting was their interrelationship.
It was Koesler’s understanding that Galloway and Whitman had grown up together in Minnesota. He would have expected theirs to be a more fraternal relationship. It didn’t appear to be. Neither seemed to hold the other in much respect.
Kit Hoffer was, of course, Koesler’s parishioner. But he was surprised at Hoffer’s attitude during the meetings. He seemed to resent Hunsinger, which, given Hoffer’s position on the bench behind the Hun, was natural enough. But Hoffer’s resentment appeared to spread to both Galloway and Whitman, as if it were their fault he spent so much time on the bench.
Niall Murray, fresh from Ireland, was obviously not entirely at ease in a strange land and in a mostly foreign game. Outside of kicking a ball, he knew little of the refinements of pro football. And he seemed somehow oddly dependent upon Hunsinger.
Just from his interpretations of Scripture, it was clear that Bobby Cobb needed to control any situation in which he found himself. A practical attitude for a quarterback. The fly in Cobb’s ointment was Hunsinger, who was not one to be heavily influenced, let alone controlled.
The trainer, Brownie, seemed the catalyst. Frequently, he bridged the gap between management and employees as well as between the players. This did not surprise Koesler, since it was Brownie who had initiated the group.
Finally, there was Hunsinger. One of the more interesting and flamboyant characters Koesler had ever met. It seemed likely that the Hun was doing his best to negate his Catholic upbringing. Koesler had known a few people like that, but none to compare with Hunsinger. He seemed the least likely of any of the members to be part of a Bible study group. Why had he accepted Brownie’s invitation to join?
As he had explained to McNiff, Koesler believed that the Hun realized he was nearing the end of his physical ability to compete and couldn’t afford to have anything going on behind his back. Especially anything that he might even remotely construe as potentially threatening to his position. Particularly with a group that included his employers, his quarterback, and his probable replacement. In this, the Hun resembled the slow-witted person whose eyes are in constant motion because he cannot afford to miss anything.
If there was a common denominator to this group, it was that the feelings of everyone, with perhaps the exception of Brownie, toward the Hun ranged from dislike to contempt. This negative atmosphere bothered Koesler greatly. He had the premonition that something evil would come of it.
