My grandson could give me an undersized bright pink Barbie jersey, I'd still wear it. But I wouldn't shell out bucks for a Discovery jersey or any other over-priced jersey for that matter.
But it is nice looking and I do hope you enjoy it.
This is Africa, 1943. War spits out its violence overhead and the sandy graveyard swallows it up. Her name is King Nine, B-25, medium bomber, Twelfth Air Force. On a hot, still morning she took off from Tunisia to bomb the southern tip of Italy. An errant piece of flak tore a hole in a wing tank and, like a wounded bird, this is where she landed, not to return on this day, or any other day.