Sunday. Another afternoon at the swimmin’ hole. Only this time a surprise awaited the players. The water had been drained earlier in the week after the glass covering one of the underwater lights had broken. It had been refilled, but the water had not yet warmed to normal temperature.
Keady knew of the cold slap in the face that awaited the players, so to eliminate any complaints and hesitancy he had them line up along the side of the pool. This would be something else they could attack, together.
Stephens pulled on his flippers. McCants put on his goggles. A couple of players started to reach into the water to check the temperature. “No, no, no, no; you can’t touch it!” Keady shouted. “And if anybody doesn’t jump in, it’s a double suicide!
“Ready, go!”
