Writing ultra-masculine books about football-playing counter-terrorists for a Christian audience takes a little imagination. Because so much locker room chatter is unfit for women and children’s delicate ears, an author must employ creative license and poetic feats of language. In this excerpt, Jason Elam shows us the delicate, Edith Whartonesque phrasing necessary to convey the scene when one is unable to employ the words “ball sweat”:

As Riley wiggled out of his uniform and pads, he noticed a familiar smell beginning to permeate the room. The postgame locker room odor was something that all veteran ball players were used to, though for the novice it could be quite overwhelming. There was always an underlying rank stink - mostly sweat mixed with doses of whatever else might come out of a body during its various stress-related processes. After a loss, the stench sometimes seemed overpowering. But after a win, the locker room had the smelly pungency of victory. Today, the steam that clouded up eyeglasses and camera lenses didn’t seem quite so bothersome; the humid heat that flattened fabric of any kind against skin seemed a little less sticky. The piles of equipment and wads of tape strewn across the floor seemed a little less hazardous. Victory made everything and everyone more beautiful.

Yes, friends, the Colorado Mustangs have won their penultimate game of the season against the dastardly Bandits. At 10-5, playoff fever has swept the Rockies! Elam denotes this momentous achievement by suddenly introducing us to almost a dozen new characters, most of whom are so arbitrary to the overarcing narrative that it’s instantly obvious that they’ll be dead within fifty pages:

Michael Goff, a meatball-loving security guard who’s sacrificed everything to bring his beloved son, Kevin, to the game. How did Goff procure these highly sought-after ducats?

“Larry Gervin had these two tickets he was looking to trade away. In exchange, I promised to cover his shifts on Christmas and New Year’s Eve.”

Marti slapped his arm. “You’re going to be gone Christmas?” Then, after a few seconds, she leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the side of his neck. “You’re a good dad, Michael Goff. … Go, Mustangs! Go, Mustangs! Go, Mustangs!”

Marti Goff, I regret to inform you that your husband and son will soon be dead. Their sins? Idolatry. The game would have looked better in HD anyway.

“The Buckaroos,” a middle-aged tailgating consortium comprised of four couples: Paul and Carol Marks, Doug and Abby Rawlins, Andy and Liv Newman, and Gil and Somebody Ashton. Gil’s wife doesn’t get a first name as far as I can tell, which in this book is an excellent sign that she is marked for certain death. Here I present entirely too much information on the Buckaroos’ automotive choices and tailgating setup:

One corner of an awning was attached to the top of Paul and Carol Marks’s Suburban, with the other connected to a corner of the shell on Doug and Abby Rawlins’s Dodge Ram pickup. The awning was long enough to fit eight chairs and a barbecue, which the Rawlinses brought each week in the back of their truck. The only element that varied was the food. There were eight home games each season, so each couple was responsible for bringing the meat two times.

This week promised to be an experience. Andy and Liv Newman, always the adventurous couple in the group, had recently bought Steven Raichlen’s The Barbecue! Bible and were anxious to try out some recipes. This week they brought evapi - a Bosnian burger recipe that blended beef, pork, and lamb with various ethnic spices. Carol was excited about trying it out, but Paul grumbled to Gil Ashton about how no one seemed to be able to just bring brats soaked in beer anymore.

Oh, Buckaroos. I regret to inform you that by the end of this Monday Night Football tilt against the Baltimore Predators, you will all be dead. Your sins? Gluttony, not to mention that the swine, though he divide the hoof, and be cloven-footed, yet he cheweth not the cud;

HE IS UNCLEAN TO YOU. OF THEIR FLESH SHALL YE NOT EAT, AND THEIR CARCASS SHALL YE NOT TOUCH.

Gil Ashton was right. Brats instead.

Todd Penner, hot cocoa vendor and all-around good guy. We know that Todd Penner’s gonna play a role in this, because Elam spends more than a cursory couple of paragraphs on his back story. And what a back story it is! Todd loves Dr Pepper, but not as much as his girlfriend Jamie! Todd drives a shitty car, but it isn’t as shitty as the engagement ring he just bought her with his hot cocoa vending money!

He had the proposal all planned out. On New Year’s Day (a perfect day for a new start), he would drive her up to Red Rocks Amphitheatre. That was their special spot. They had seen concerts there from everyone from Kelly Clarkson (her choice) to Evanescence (his choice). The best concert of all, though, was back in 2003 when they spent an evening listening to James Taylor. Sure, he was possibly older than the rock formations themselves, but he was a favorite with each set of their parents. Thus, both Todd and Jamie had grown up on JT’s music. The summer night had been perfect, with thunderstorms way out to the east providing a light show to accompany the legend’s exquisite voice. It was an evening they would tell their grandkids about.

Hey! Get fucked, Todd and Jamie!

Anyway, what’s on Todd’s mind as he’s en route to his part-time job at Chili’s this frosty Denver afternoon? Why, those go-go Mustangs, of course.

He clicked on his AM radio and tuned it to 950. Sports analyst Jim Rome was on a tirade about the pitiful Bandits and their choke against the Mustangs on Sunday. That had been an awesome game! He had watched it at home, squished on a sectional with his two younger brothers and his younger sister - the sister being the most rabid Mustangs fan of all the siblings. For the past three years, she had handily won the family fantasy football league. The popcorn had been flying when Colson ran that interception back. One more game, Mustangs; just one more game!

So if you’re scoring at home: Todd is heroic and striving because his family is too poor to even own a proper couch. The Oakland Raiders do not exist in this alternate universe, but Jim Rome does.

Does the Quad Yeah, I wonder?

Anyway, it’s not gonna be all Awesome Blossom slinging for Todd from here on out. After his marriage to Jamie (“the girl he had been ‘dating’ since sixth grade,” “dating” in a Christian sports novel meaning exactly what you think it means), he’s got big plans for the future:

Jamie’s and his plan was to work hard at school for two more years. Then he would have his business degree from Metro, and she would have her BFA in 3-D graphics and animation with a minor in computer science from CU Denver - her parents had committed to fund her education through the bachelor level. After that, her artistic and Web skills would combine with his entrepreneurial spirit and business savvy, and they would slowly build what would ultimately become a thriving company.

The fuck it will, Todd. The fuck it will.