"Do you want to take the shot, Vince?" The coach asked me. I looked into his eyes. They were ice-cold blue. His face did not betray his feelings, but I knew that he meant it. "I do, Coach. I can make the shot." I replied. He nodded and then put his hand on top of my head. "I don't know how long any of us will live, but we will all remember what happens next for as long as we do." He then slapped me on the back. The referee blew the whistle and it was time to find out just how I would be remembered. what perspective is that?