Shabana is Egyptian, and the No. 1-ranked squash player in the world. He is also a Muslim living in a world where he says the true meaning of Islam is being warped by suicide bombers with blood on their hands.

"These people are not religious," Shabana says. "Islam literally means peace - the ultimate peace - so how come you are talking about this with a gun in your hands or a bomb up your butt?

"I can't judge them, because maybe this is their last resort. Japan used to have the kamikaze, but it shouldn't be like that."

Shabana is in Toronto for the PACE Canadian Classic. He had a quarter-final match to play last night against his friend and countryman, Mohammed Abbas.

Canada has always been a welcoming place for Shabana to play and, for stretches, live and train with friend Jonathan Power, the retired king of Canadian squash. But getting here is a lot more complicated now than it was before the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, 2001.

"America and Canada were the most-friendly places for us, as Middle-Eastern," Shabana says. "But ever since 2001, it's, 'Passenger Shabana, you have been selected for second screening [by airport security].'

"And getting visas was already an issue before 2001. There were certain people from my region who were f------ it up for me and, after the attacks, they really f----- it up.

"I am a sportsman. I am a good ambassador for my country and for my region, and what they are doing is screwing with it. I get stopped a lot, and for good reason. If somebody goes to Egypt and bombs the biggest two financial buildings and the guy is Chinese then probably every Chinese guy I see I am going to think twice.

"That's what I hate about this issue."

There are other differences between the present and the pre-9/11 life of a professional squash player from the Middle East. Shabana is 28 years old and happily married. He and his wife are expecting their first child.

But for a long time the handsome star of a sport where players live out of a suitcase for 11 months of the year was single, and always up for going out to have a good time.

"It was easy to get dates up until 2001," Shabana says.

"Now, everybody is thinking: this f----- is going to blow me up."

Shabana's voice is steady and calm as he talks about the dangerous times we are living in. He is relaxed, and reclining in a chair near a temporary squash court inside the John Bassett Theatre in downtown Toronto. He believes that suicide bombers are not necessarily extremists, but rather desperate people looking for both spiritual and financial salvation.

"They do this in the name of religion, but with a bit of American dollars in the back pocket," Shabana says. "They get paid. They never went to school, because all their life they have been dodging bullets. And they have got no money, and then a guy comes to their house and says, 'You know what your religion says? If you die for it, you go to heaven - plus this, I give your family US$25,000 after you die.'

"He's not going to think about religion. He is going to think about taking care of his family."

It was Valentine's Day, and Amr Shabana was talking about love again. Not the kind that leads people to blow themselves up in the name of religion, but the love he shares with his wife.

"I kind of tricked her," Shabana says. "I said, 'We're married now, we don't need Valentine's to celebrate our love.'

"But she's not going to buy it. I will send her some flowers."

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