"We've got one more to play," I said, trying not to sound pompous or something. "It makes a big difference to me, to all of us, not being in the cella.... We're going to win. Write it down."Somebody yanked open the door and yelled, "They're taking off the tarp." I glanced at the clock, forty-five minutes to game time. The locker room was getting noisy.By one o'clock that Sunday afternoon some six or seven thousand of what the reporters called "hardy souls" were huddled in the stands as a cool. Another guy moved into my field of vision,he was holding some red glowing metal plate in his hand and approached theblood spilling remains of my wing. "NOOO!" I screamed nearly in panic tearsstarted to form in my eyes, he pushed the red glowing metal plates on thewound and the pain made me fade.Waking up probably only seconds later from the sound of the saw. Hearing thesound not able to realize what it meant, I screamed again. The pain when Ifelt the saw working on my other wing felt even worse. More

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