Greg Wallace doesn’t remember how he got here. He doesn’t remember putting on the hospital gown,  or getting strapped into a chair that looks and feels like it came straight out of a medieval torture chamber either.
The one thing he does remember, however, is why he’s here: Wallace just removed part of his liver and sold it to raise money for tickets to the next UO football game. It will be his sixth procedure.
Born in Springfield, Wallace was already familiar with the Oregon Duck fever of nearby Eugene. His father would often take him and his two older brothers to games at Hayward Field. It wasn’t until he enrolled at the University of Oregon in 1967, though, that Wallace became rapt by the football team and the games at Autzen. His first, the stadium’s inaugural game between Oregon and Colorado, marked what Wallace calls a “life-long devotion” to the Ducks; a devotion that has led Wallace into this dark and damp basement, a scar running down the side of his torso.
“I love everything about Duck games,” said Wallace, self-consciously tugging the small tattered hospital gown over his bare legs. “They’re just electric… nothing in my life compares to them.”
When Wallace was 23, he had his first black-market procedure performed on his liver. It was taking him too long to accrue enough money for the next Duck game through his part-time job, Wallace said, and so he contacted who he describes as a “friend of a friend” who worked for a local drug lord. Wallace said he had no fear meeting behind an abandoned warehouse at midnight to commence the surgery.
“Maybe I was a little nervous beforehand,” said Wallace, “but once they showed me the money they’d be paying me, I was fine.”
Margaret, Wallace’s wife of 42 years, said that after the third surgery, she stopped worrying. Clad in a yellow full-body track suit, a pair of UO wristbands, a headband with a couple rubber ducks glued on and two large, green O’s painted on her face, Wallace said, “I know that what he’s doing, he’s doing out of intense love. I don’t expect he’ll ever love anyone or anything as much as he loves those Ducks.”
Every procedure is essentially the same, Wallace said – it just depends on the location and the varying degrees of harsh side effects. The surgery before this recent one was held in the backroom of a Safeway, and the one before in an alley right on 13^th street.  The Safeway procedure left Wallace in a coma for two weeks. Before that he was nearly paralyzed.
“Listen,” Wallace said, “I’ll willingly do anything to harm myself for the Ducks… just as long as I’m better by game day.”
And indeed, Wallace has managed to recuperate and attend every single game the Ducks have played since 1967; even the away games. In 1985, Wallace sold the urn his grandfather’s ashes were in to get the money for a flight to Arizona to see the team play. Then, in 1997, he tried selling his only daughter for tickets to a game in Colorado — The only reason he didn’t was because his found he could get more money by transporting cocaine across the border.
Wallace’s daughter, Elaine Wallace, 25, said she has been surrounded by her father’s passion for the Ducks her entire life. Elaine said her father has missed out on nearly every significant moment of her life, from her first ballet recital to her birth. She finds it hard to relate to her father’s deep interest.
“It was hard,” said Elaine, “he would constantly sneak money out of my college fund, sell my toys, try and get my friends to give him their allowance… it was embarrassing.”
She has constantly questioned her father’s idiosyncratic behavior and her mother’s willingness to accept it, leading to a lot of tension within the family. Elaine has tried countless times to get her father into counseling, but Wallace refuses.
“Seriously, I don’t understand how anyone could think this is normal,” She said, “He’s selling parts of his liver on the black market… he tried selling me on the black market. That’s insane… someone needs to tell him how insane that is.”
After every procedure – if he’s conscious – Wallace likes to take himself and his wife to breakfast at McDonald’s; a sort of celebration of another successful Duck fundraiser. Wallace delicately slides into the booth, holding his side and cringing as he leans in. He and his wife begin talking about the team, and soon Wallace starts sobbing openly. “They’re my everything,” he whispers as his wife sympathetically holds his hand. “They’re my entire reason for living.”