Difference Maker, On and Off Field

"Just occupying more than one person," Williams said. "He's the kind of person that can take on two people and still win. He has a presence in his pass rush. Sometimes, maybe your defensive tackles aren't maybe some of the solid pass rushers in the league. But we think he's one of the better pass-rushing defensive tackles around."

Witness his four sacks, a total that places him third on the team behind Marcus Washington, a linebacker, and Phillip Daniels, a defensive end, positions from which sacks are supposed to come.

So while Griffin sat out the bulk of those five games, his teammates knew what he was going through because he was right there, chiming in about what they should try to do or what might happen next. "I was encouraging those guys," he said, and the calls were predictable. Third down! Step it up! Get off the field! Let's go.

But all the while, he was thinking the defensive struggles might have been limited if he had been out there.

"Sometimes," he said, "you don't know why things happen."

So it was that night in Brundidge, the little burg southeast of Troy, the kind of place that's small enough that the mayor lists his phone numbers -- business and home -- on the town's Web site. It is there now, where the signs on the way into town say, "Welcome to Brundidge, Home of Cornelius Griffin, No. 96, Washington Redskins."

It was the late spring of 1998, the time that was supposed to be the happiest in Griffin's life. After two years of failing to qualify academically to play Division I-A football, of competing at Pearl River Community College in Mississippi, he was finally going to the University of Alabama, finally getting the opportunity to pursue the dream his father, Willie "Buck" Griffin, had always told him he could achieve. Cornelius's father, known in Brundidge as "Willie Buck" as if the phrase was all one word, "was a workaholic," said Griffin's older brother, Willis. He'd work at a local condiment factory making mayonnaise and mustard from, say, 6 in the morning till 2:30 in the afternoon. He'd come home and work for eight or 10 more hours as a mechanic at his own business, Griffin's Garage. Later, he had his own trucking company.

"He was just real hard-working people," said Jimmy Ramage, the mayor of Brundidge. "His word was his bond. Bible Belt. That type of good folk."

"If one of his customers needed something done, he would work till he got it completed," Willis Griffin said. "If someone broke down somewhere, he'd go get them and fix the car and get them going again. He didn't want anyone to be stranded."

Least of all his family. Willie Buck Griffin was also a pastor, and he raised his seven kids in a Pentecostal background that provided simple and powerful guidelines. One of his favorite phrases resonates with the Griffin children now. If things were going a bit astray in school, Willie Buck would say, "Tighten up." If any of the kids showed signs of not following through on a commitment, they'd hear it again. "Tighten up," he'd say. Willie Buck Griffin never went to college. All of his children did. His three oldest daughters have master's degrees. His wife, Martha, the mother of his children, is on the verge of completing a degree in psychology at nearby Troy State.

"You were taught there's some things you just don't do," Cornelius said. "Your faith has got to be a lot stronger than the next person's. One person may give up, but you may not."

On Sunday, June 7, Willie Buck Griffin preached his sermon at Lily White Church of the Living God. "It was," Willis Griffin said, "like he preached his own funeral." Except they couldn't know it at that point. The next night, Willis Griffin got a call at 10:40, maybe 11 p.m. There had been an accident. Come quick. He raced to the site. He saw the police cars.