Intersting extract . . .

At that point, defensive coordinator Tom Bradley became the de facto head coach. He had not at all lobbied for the job, knowing better than to even consult Paterno on his condition as he sat in pain on the bench:

"He's a wiry old rascal. I've been around Coach a long time. I knew the last thing he wanted to hear was, 'Are you OK?' All he wanted to hear about was the football game, the plays, how we're going to communicate. I think if I'd have asked him, 'How are you feeling?', he would've punched me."

By the beginning of the fourth quarter, Paterno was finally in the locker room. And that was fortunate. Because, as Scott Paterno would point out, about 15 minutes after his father was helped off that bench and onto the cart, Wisconsin's 242-pound tailback P.J. Hill and PSU safety Anthony Scirrotto came blasting across the sideline and flying into the abandoned bench, knocking it over.

By then, D'Elia and Sue Paterno, by phone, were in the process of persuading the coach to get out of the stadium before exiting traffic hit. And by the 2:28 mark in the fourth quarter, when PSU's last drive had fizzled, he agreed.

They drove him out in the back seat of a taxi -- because there was no place on any team vehicle to stretch out his splinted left leg -- and he finally was lifted onto the 8-seater jet for State College.

Presumably, he had the game plan for Temple spread on the back seat. Some cab driver has a story he can tell the rest of his life.

Why does Joe Paterno keep on? Is someone somewhere trying to tell him something?
If so, it's going to take a more convincing sign. Maybe along the lines of raining boulders. Rivers of fire?

JoePa . . . we love you!