Nittany Apartments is the living community of choice this time around, and the residents in question form the now-famous senior triumvirate for the 2005 Penn State football team: defensive end Matthew Rice, quarterback Michael Robinson and cornerback Alan Zemaitis. On hand to greet their visitors at the door, however -- along with the music of 50 -- are just Rice and Zemaitis.

"Mike's in the shower," Rice explains. "But we can start with my room."

The apartment is of the two-floor, four-bedroom townhouse variety, with a living room, kitchen, half-bath and two bedrooms -- Rice's and Robinson's -- on the first floor. Climb the staircase on the left, and you'll have what the roommates call the attic, complete with the full shower, Zemaitis' space and a vacant bedroom. Rice leads the way, straight back from the foyer, to his domain.

"This is the room," Rice says, "where it all used to go down before I slowed down."

His pride in his home state of Maryland is quite apparent, as, before you enter the room, he requires you to pay homage to his Maryland Terrapins banner. Hanging next to his bed are framed photographs of the Baltimore Orioles and Ravens stadiums; his hat collection represents, too.

"The hats, always," Rice says. "I got a plethora of Baltimore hats: Baltimore Black Sox, Baltimore Orioles, Baltimore Black Sox, Baltimore Black Sox, the Timberwolves, I roll with them, more Baltimore Bullets here, more Baltimore Bullets there, Baltimore Black Sox. That's how we do."

Turn around, back toward the door, and you'll be facing what Rice terms his "gangsta wall," complete with a "Sunday's Best" photo of "old, old, old gangstas," Scarface -- of course -- and The Godfather. Sitting in front of the wall is a bottle of Moet, unpopped.

"Either I'm gonna graduate first, or hopefully I'm gonna go to the league first, God willing, and that's when I can pop it," Rice says.

As Rice gestures toward his DVD collection, complete with Belly, Old School and all the game film of the 2005 season, Robinson is spotted heading to his room, towel in hand. "Mike!" Rice shouts at his roommate. "Get Mike fresh out of the shower! He set it up like that on purpose."

If we take it to the wardrobe, there is no escaping Rice's fly Kangol hat, which he pairs with "the old gangsta pinstripe" suit for his away game look. But the outfit would be nothing without cologne, which he selects carefully.

"The basis would have to be Burberry; that can go with any occasion," he says, while spritzing it on his visitors. "That's you; that's you right there."

Before passing it along to his freshly showered roommate, there is one final sign to note: "Blu's Parking Only," which speaks to his nickname.

"A long time ago, when I was young, I always looked sad, all the time," Rice says. "So it was like Blu, and then it just stuck. But now that you've seen my room, I'm gonna pass it along to my boy Mike, who is over here chilling right now. He got a fresh new tattoo; make sure y'all check that out, too."

A one-two step takes you straight into Robinson's room, where he is, indeed, applying cream to a new tattoo on his left pec. Underneath "Mike Rob," Psalm 56:3 has been etched onto his skin: "In God I trust; I will not be afraid. What can a mortal man do to me?"

Standing up, Robinson is eager to begin with his DVD collection.

"Pretty much, I'm a DVD guy," he says, pointing to three shelves stacked with movies. "My favorite DVD is probably Menace II Society. I can't find it right now, but it's up there somewhere."

His room is, actually, "pretty simple," as he describes it -- a stereo system; television; pictures of his mom, stepdad, goddaughter and "sweetheart;" a full-page cutout of him from The Patriot-News -- all pretty standard. Hanging above his oversized bed, however, is a white Penn State No. 12 jersey, torn down both sides.

"This is the jersey I wore at Wisconsin, when they cut it off," he explains, making reference to the September 2004 game in which he sustained a concussion. "That's why it's all ripped up."

As he prepares to open his closet and show his favorite brand of clothing -- Dickies -- in the size he wears to "try to be big" -- 4 XL -- an unexpected item distracts his visitors: a loofah, for use in the shower. Not quite standard fare for most college guys, who generally prefer dingy washcloths, but, when asked, he responds quizzically.

"No, this is just like a rag," Robinson says. "That's what it's called? A loofah? I thought it was called a ... (pause) ... sponge."

Upon exit of Robinson's room, it's hard to miss another group of highly unexpected items -- four or five bottles of cleaning solutions, including fabric and carpet refreshers, tucked behind his TV. Robinson just laughs it off.

"I gotta say, I gotta have my room smelling good," Robinson says. "I can't have stuff when it comes to cleaning up."

Meanwhile, Rice and Zemaitis, who have been playing NCAA 2005 on the 60-inch flat screen television in the living room, are laughing about something else -- the sorry state of their refrigerator.

"All we got is straight salad dressing, what you want to do?" Zemaitis shouts. "Straight salad dressing."

"Water and salad dressing," Rice adds. "We're on survival here."

"They say this is my area of the apartment," Zemaitis says, while bounding up the staircase.

Upon entering his room, three observations are unequivocally made: One. Tupac is everywhere. Two. There is an extensive use of a very pleasing deep red hue. Three: A mad hot sound system is the source of the beat booming through the apartment. Turning down the volume on the stereo, Zemaitis explains observations one and two.

"I'm a huge, huge, huge Tupac fan; I got everything of that man," he says. "And I call this cranberry, this color right here. I hit it off with this color because this is gonna be the color of my first car -- a cranberry Range Rover, straight classy. Get big-ass rims on there, every accessory chrome. When you see that, that's definitely gonna be me, because my windows will be so black, you ain't gonna see the person inside."

Also hard to miss is Zemaitis' extensive collection of head coverings -- there's a du-rag wall, and upwards of 10 flat-brimmed fitted hats have been pinned up. He picks his favorite without hesitation -- "Oh, of course, the Yankee all-black fitted. Definitely."

Zemaitis has pictures everywhere -- his parents, his baby sister, the Streets & Smiths cover he graced in 2003 -- but his favorite is the one hanging next to the door, taken from the pages of Sports Illustrated on Campus. It's a shot of four USC football players, marching through the bowels of the LA Coliseum to meet their opponent.

"This is my favorite picture of all time," Zemaitis says. "Seniors are walking out first, with their soldiers in the back. I want a picture like that, of me, Mike, Blu, and LaVon, just walking down Beaver Stadium, ready to handle our business."

Amidst this picture, and everything else that fits into Zemaitis' admitted warrior mentality -- movies like Troy and Rambo, the Harold Coyle novel More Than Courage, an AZ's Army blanket from the creator of his cheering section -- the lamp next to his bed, adorned with a cute little elephant, seems somewhat out of place. Zemaitis quickly explains.

"The reason I have an elephant is I went on this safari, and they were like, the lion is the king of the jungle, right, but the elephant is the real king of the jungle," he says. "Nobody messes with them. That represents me, I feel, very well."

After Zemaitis points out his Bible -- "the most important thing to me in this room" -- and notes that he is always wearing one of his five pairs of Tims, this room's a wrap. Or, it would be, except for the fact that his phone rings, yet again, as it has all evening.

"When that phone rings, it's a prank," Zemaitis says. "I am getting pranked by somebody at this university, and I'm not feelin' that."

He swiftly hangs up the phone and moves his visitors along into the bathroom. There is plenty of toilet reading material -- game programs, Vibe, an NFL Draft magazine -- and, interestingly enough, the shower curtain rocks that unmistakable cranberry hue, though Zemaitis promises this is purely accidental. Perhaps most interesting, however, is the presence of two additional loofahs, indicating that Robinson is not alone in his cleansing preference.

"You gotta foam up," Zemaitis says. "We're not usual guys, man, we like to keep clean."

Zemaitis rejoins the rest of his roommates in the living room, where they are engaged in yet another game of NCAA 2005 -- Robinson is, appropriately enough, marching his team's offense downfield. But these senior ballers have places to go and things to do, so the official farewell is issued: "We're actually about to bounce," Zemaitis says.

Taking the hint, we find our way to the door. Nobody messes with the elephant, after all.