The Tournament — Finding It: Chapter 18

My last weekly post-surgical appointment with Dr. Clement went as expected, like the others except for the x-rays that he’d finally taken the previous visit were included in his decision.

“So, I can go back to wrestling?”

“I would still like you to go easy on it. The x-rays show the mesh we inserted is holding well and the tissue has healed around it. Frankly, it looks more like you had surgery twelve weeks ago, not three.”

“It’s a wolfcat thing.”

“It’s way faster than I expected, even to a remarkable degree.” He sighed. “But there’s no medical reason to hold you back. If your mother and father sign off on it, I see no reason why you can’t go back to your regular activities.”

With the doctor’s release, I returned to wrestling a couple of weeks ahead of the tournament. And three days later, I participated in a dual meet, winning my match by pin in a minute thirty-two seconds. The following Thursday, at a triangular meet, I won one match by decision and the other by pin just forty-two seconds into the second round. I was doing better than ever, but I knew the upcoming tournament would be my first serious challenge. I’d be competing against the best wrestlers in the region, and of course, Mark Heath and Mike Smith were in that field. For now, not counting forfeits, I had a winning record.

At noon on Friday, the wrestling team members were excused from all afternoon classes to be bussed to Lake High School for the annual Invitational Tournament. Since most of the schools in District Seven of the State were invited, the competition was often regarded as a dress rehearsal for what might happen at the end of the season.

During the bus ride, I sat in my usual place at the back. Like other sports, there are some rituals and a few superstitions. For wrestlers, I’d learned that a usual place on the bus was important. Often the other members of the team chose a kind of silent meditation over idle chatter as each mentally prepared for what was ahead. Most were starving and dehydrated to come in under the maximum for each of their weight classes. A few even wore plastic suits to increases sweating. I was no longer concerned about my weight. Since bouncing back from surgery, I had bulked up a good bit, mainly in upper body muscle mass. The last time I officially weighed, I was at two-hundred-two pounds and eleven ounces, but still the lightest unlimited class wrestler in the league and, most likely, the state.

During practices in advance of the tournament both Coaches Ellis and Friske were working with me, spending extra time after practice and even on weekends to get me back into shape and up to speed with agility drills as well as practicing common moves. My stamina wasn’t an issue. I had been cheating on the doctor’s orders throughout my recovery and running daily at home even when I wasn’t supposed to. Although I missed a month of serious weight training, extending to before the surgery, and I’d lost out on the direct competition, I attended every meet and observed other matches. Also, since the first week in January, I was at every practice session, watching and learning without doing.

Coach Friske had a wealth of personal competitive experience as an unlimited class wrestler. He was heavier than Mark Heath, the man I would inevitably face at some point in the tournament ahead, provided I advanced to that eventuality. But of course, Mike Smith was also in the mix and his style was different. The coach explained that technically speaking, Mike was a better wrestle, even though he’d never defeated his arch-nemesis. If I was going to win my first major tournament, I might have to beat them both. Preparing for them meant that I was preparing for almost any competitor.

Each day in practice, I went one on one against Coach Friske. Every session contained several timed matches. I learned various ways to unsettle a much larger opponent’s balance, how to score a takedown using hip tosses better and more effectively, and how to manage an experienced wrestler’s body mass to work for a pin. Everything Coach Friske taught I put to immediate use. Each time he pinned me, it was because he executed better, was faster, or countered whatever I did. Each time I pinned him, he claimed it was because I was younger, and he was out of shape. “So, that’s your excuse.” I chided him. But his encouragement inspired me. I was getting better all the time.

The goal of each session was unique to the coaches’ overall training strategy. We were focused on Mike Smith’s and Mark Heath’s few weaknesses. There were no illusions about the defending State champion or the defending district and league runner-up. They were successful because they were good at execution.

Heath was worthy of his titles. But what the coach taught me was how to wrestle against someone like him, someone who could crash his weight advantage down on me in an instant. All I wanted to do was make it a competitive match so I might have a chance if he made a mistake. Coach Friske was of a different mind. He had this crazy notion that I could win and was preparing me mentally to believe that it was not only possible but a certainty — provided I made no mistakes.

As we rode the hour it took to reach Lake High School, I had a lot more on my mind than just going over what the coaches taught me. I tried calling Dawn on the phone. But her parents told me she wasn’t living there anymore and wouldn’t give me Jen’s number. Trying to contact her in the less conventional way wasn’t working either and that worried me most. I didn’t know what was wrong.

I suspected that the last time we spoke, she was preparing me for the inevitable when she mentioned our inherent incompatibility. I resisted it, but obviously, that mattered little. If she believed our relationship was doomed even before it had a chance to begin, what chance did I have to dissuade her? Maybe that was the essence of our incompatibility. The possibilities she believed in were different than mine.

I hadn’t given up on contacting her, though. She knew when the tournament was, how important it was to me, and that I wanted to be back at wrestling before it. I wanted to let her know I’d made it, wanting her to be there to see it, no matter how she managed it, regardless of the outcome. With each day of continuing silence, it seemed less likely except that she told me she would know whenever I was thinking of her.

Maybe she’d made her choice. Likely, she and Jen were back together as a couple. I guessed that meant we were breaking up — if we were ever really a thing. We lived in the present — or at least she did.

I should know well what being passed over felt like. So far, I was perfect at striking out. Somehow, this time the separation felt different, though. I was closer to Dawn than anyone before, maybe because of our woflcat natures. Knowing it could be over was the only thing worse than the emptiness of not having clarity.

Jason, the trainer walked back to take the empty seat across the aisle from me. He scooted my gym bag to one side and sat. “You’ve been one moody sonovabitch for the past couple of weeks.”

I shrugged.

“If you don’t want to talk, that’s fine. I just thought you might want some company.” He started to get up.

“You can stay.”

He settled back into the seat, turning to look at me.

“So, lets’ have it. What’s eating at you?”

“A lot of things.” The truth was easy to gloss over.

“Bart told me the Rock opera is almost ready.”

“It’s coming along. My recovery time was a mixed blessing, I guess. I spent a lot of time polishing the rough edges and transitions… and rehearsing my vocals.”

Jason looked ahead. “You can really sing in Old English.”

“Learned it by phonetics.”

He shook his head. “You know, when you and Bart told me what you were planning, I thought you were both nuts. Well, mostly you, because Bart’s just following your lead.”

“He’s just as nuts as I am. Trust me. But that’s never stopped us before.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, but a lot of times the crazies are the ones who change the world.”

“Well, in this instance, maybe crazy is what it took. You’ve really done it.”

“It’s not over, but it’s getting close. It’s not been easy. It takes too much time, really. I have too many other things going on. I’ve paid the price for that. But things have a way of working out.”

“Still, if you had it to do again…”

I laughed. “I’d make the same mistakes.”

Jason drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, searching for the right way of broaching a sensitive subject. “You could have quit wrestling. Everyone would have understood. Coming back as you have... Well, I really didn’t think you’d be back this soon.”

“That wasn’t easy either, Jason. I was lucky the hernia wasn’t as bad as they thought.” Maybe that was partially true, but Jeff knew enough about medicine to understand my recovery time was greatly compressed. “Everything I did to get back in shape helped me sort out some things. Same as with my knee injury. I ran four miles yesterday as fast as I could.”

“Really? In what time?”

“I didn’t bother timing it but based on when I left the house and when I noticed the clock in my room, it was under twenty-five minutes.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. That’s damned quick for a guy your size. You don’t look like you could run a six-minute mile, let alone four of them back-to-back.”

“It’s probably more a case of not knowing what’s impossible before actually doing it.”

Jason laughed, then turned more serious. “No stiffness in the morning, either, in the knee — I mean?”

“Nope. Just the usual tightness in the muscles that I have every morning when I first get up.”

“You’re completely healed, then.”

I nodded.

“I noticed you weren’t wearing the brace when you wrestle. I wasn’t sure that was wise. But if you continued with the therapy exercises.”

“By the time tennis starts — that used to be my goal. But the doctor took x-rays and said it’s possibly better than it was before because of all the strength I’ve built up in my muscles to support the joint. There’s no scar tissue in the joint. Anyway, I don’t need to wear that damned brace anymore, which is a good thing.”

“That’s remarkable in itself.”

“I’m still planning to try out for tennis. I nearly made it last year.”

“You think they’ll waste a spot on the team for a senior when they could take a freshman or sophomore?”

“I’ll just have to be that much better than anyone else, won’t I?”

He chuckled. “Well, I’ve learned not to count you out of anything.”

“Thanks.”

He drew another deep breath before continuing. “I think you’ll do well in this tournament.”

“As long as I don’t draw Heath or Smith in the first couple of rounds.”

Jason patted my shoulder as he stood. “I think you’ll do alright against them, too. Stranger things have happened, right?” Then he headed back to the front of the bus.

As soon as we arrived at Lake High School, we were ushered to the dressing room. Once stripped down to our briefs, we were escorted to the weigh-in. I stepped on the scale at two-hundred-one and three quarters — by far the lightest heavyweight in the tournament field. I joined the other wrestlers in the locker room to finish dressing out for the opening matches. If I won all three matches for that evening, I’d advance to Saturday’s matches. One day at a time was how I planned to do it, worrying about each wrestler in front of me before focusing on the next.

Since I had been practicing a lot with Coach Friske over the past few weeks, he was going to sit mat-side for my matches to give me instructions between rounds and shout other suggestions while I wrestled. It was a big deal for him, bigger than I realized at the time. In the past two seasons, Coach Ellis had never allowed him to do that except for rare cases during the big tournaments with multiple mats where two of our wrestlers were up at the same time. This was one of those tournaments. But despite Coach Ellis being available for my first match, Coach Friske did the honors.

The wrestler I drew was a freshman from Tremont who had won a few matches but had a losing record. On paper, it seemed we had about the same experience level. Early in the match, he executed a hip throw on me for a two-point takedown but allowed me to drag him out of bounds. From the restart at the center of the mat with him in the riding position, I executed a sit-out escape for a point and then I turned into him and took advantage of his position to gain control and score a takedown of my own for a one-point lead.

I began accumulating ride time. When an opportunity arose, I achieved a near fall for two points. After riding him out of bounds, the referee set us up again with me having the advantage. I held onto an advantage and amassed more ride time. He struggled against me, nearly completing the set up for a Granby roll but I resisted with a deep waist hold that pressured his diaphragm and gave him trouble taking a deep breath. Finally, he compromised his situation and I rolled him into another near fall as the first period of our match ended.

At the beginning of our second period, I saw an opening and seized it immediately, bringing him to another near fall, racking up two more points. Then, in his attempt to reverse out of my ride, I countered and managed to put him on his back and covered chest-to-chest, grabbing an arm to pressure him, preventing him from neck bridging. He could not escape. I achieved a pin with twenty-seven seconds left in the second period.

I advanced to the next round to wrestle a sophomore from Bucyrus who, despite his winning record, Coach Friske promised me I could beat. Before I went to the mat, he told me the secret to watch for and to capitalize against it with a counter move. With that knowledge alone, as I countered an attempted takedown, I stepped out and reversed positions to execute one of my own. I rolled him onto his back and applied a cradle, pinning him at forty-seven seconds into the match and advanced to the third round.

Elated as never before had I advanced in a tournament let alone two levels, the next match would qualify me for the quarterfinals on Saturday. It was against a wrestler I knew only from his reputation. Apparently, he was not the fish that he had been a couple of months before. Like me, Shane from Tipp City had won his first two matches.

As the match began it was obvious how much he had developed since I last watched him wrestle. He was a quick learner, but then, so was I. We were scoreless against one another well into the first period when he finally took advantage, tripping me up and tossing me to the mat for two points. Immediately, I countered, not only preventing a near fall but also, escaping. He was ahead by a point when I scored a takedown to regain the advantage at the end of the period.

The second period began with a slight ride time advantage in my favor. His coach had obviously told him how to reverse me and he executed it perfectly. Suddenly, he was riding me. Escaping, I stood and dragged him out of bounds. We reset to the center of the mat, where I soon scored a takedown using a head and arm throw. Regaining my slight lead, I was just about to capitalize on a vulnerability, when he gambled, and I countered to roll him into a near fall. I held him there until I scored three points. Then he rocked out of it, but only to allow me to press for a two-point near fall. Having amassed a significant lead, I was gaining confidence in eventual victory.

Opportunity arrived, and instead of playing it conservatively, I took a chance. Even though he was heavier than me and might be able to prevent the move; he was in perfect position for the guillotine.

It was immediately obvious that he had no idea how I had compromised him or how to counter what I was doing. I wrapped my leg around his and pulled back on his arm behind my head. With the move set, I stretched him until he groaned in pain from the effects. In the second period with forty-three seconds left I achieved the pin to advance.

As I stepped off the mat, the cheerleader Mike Smith had pointed out to me a couple of months before growled at me.

“That’s unbecoming for a pretty lady like you, Pamela.”

“How do you know my name?” She stood from the mat.

“Uh, it’s written there on your sweater,” I pointed out, then walked backward for a few steps to appraise her reaction. “They teach us how to read at my school. You know?” Then I turned and continued.

“Hey, you!”

“My name is Brent,” I said over my shoulder.

“Brent!”

I turned around. “Yes, Pamela?”

“My friends call me Pam,” she said as she walked closer and I paused, noting a wavering in her aura as if it was clouded for some reason. Definitely a witch. Whether she realized it or not was another matter. But I wondered about the lack of clarity. Was that part of the concealment Dawn told me about?

“And you have friends, too,” I said focusing on the moment again.

“Yeah, sometimes I have lots of them, almost like I’m popular.” She laughed.

“So, are we going to be friends now?”

“I don’t know. Are we?” She squared in front of me, shifting her weight from one hip to the other, and from that vantage, I could tell her aura was a lot stronger than it seemed from a distance. She had to know she was a witch, but it’s not exactly something you ask in conversation, especially when you’ve only just met.

“I’ll call you Pam — just in case. How’s that? Just don’t growl at me anymore, okay?”

“Then don’t beat my wrestler.”

“I can’t promise you that. He’s pretty good though.”

“He’s getting better.”

“He’ll win this thing in a year or two.”

She smiled, but then tilted her head to one side. “You’re a strange guy.” What did she mean by that? Of course, she could sense things if she used her abilities.

I shrugged. “All strangers are strange at first,” I ventured. “It sort of follows — by definition, I think.”

“What?”

“I’m not sure how long we have to talk before we’re no longer strangers, though.”

“We know each other’s names.”

“Yes, but barely anything else. Maybe we should work on that.”

“I don’t know. You’re a foreigner.”

“So now there’s a barrier between us based on where I was born, something over which I have no control.”

She laughed. “Well, you could move, you know.”

“True, but my parents are kinda used to having me around.”

She tilted her head to one side again.

“So, I can’t move away, not yet,” I continued. “I don’t know if that’s my loss or yours. We may never know.” I lowered my eyes and began to pivot away again. “Nice meeting you, Pam.” I proceeded back to where my team was seated, and only when I had joined them did I look back to where she was standing with her team’s other cheerleaders.

Finished with my three matches for the night. I had a quarterfinal match in the morning against a guy named Pete Hall. If I won that, there would be two wrestlers left for me to face and, since both Mike Smith and Mark Heath won their matches, I could face either or both. As the tournament brackets were set, Mike could come first, and if I somehow defeated him, Mark would be last, if I made it to the finals.

Largely, I was resigned to fate. I felt relaxed. I think it was because I advanced further than anyone expected. I’d likely lose my next match, so meeting Mike or Mark was a remote possibility. Although a part of me wanted that challenge, needing to beat the first two guys who had beaten me, I wasn’t about to lose sleep over it.

For the time being, Pete Hall was the only wrestler on my radar, and he was a seasoned wrestler with a winning record. Both of my coaches were concerned. He was six foot even and two hundred and forty pounds, muscular and at least as quick as I was. But having bumped into him in the locker room, I knew he also was ugly with horrendous breath and bad body odor. I was more concerned about my nose being stuck under his armpit for any length of time than anything else.

After my victory to advance for another day, Mike came over to congratulate me but also, to sew a seed of doubt that I could not possibly win against him. I understood his strategy. Coach Ellis warned me to be careful of the friends I made at tournaments. Mike was trying to get inside my head, what the coach referred to as a ‘black-out’. But the fact he would bother using psychology meant he thought I might have improved enough to pose some level of threat. I took it as a compliment.

As a team, Countryside did well. We had five wrestlers still in the tournament. Ralph and Timmy were seeded wrestlers. The rest of us were surprises. Each of us took naps on the bus ride home. We had to be back at the school parking lot early in the morning.

By the time I arrived home, it was late. Mom was waiting up. Dad was already in bed.

“How’d you do?” she asked.

“I won all three matches. I advanced to the quarterfinals.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I don’t know if I’ll advance any further, but, yeah, I did well.”

“That’s what matters, I guess.”

“I’m going to take a hot bath to soak a little before bed.”

Mom nodded. “Renée called.”

“She did? What does she want?” I turned back.

“I told her you were wrestling. She said to call her tomorrow night when you get home.”

“Okay.” I smiled. “Thanks.”

Still wondering why Renée would be calling me, I decided to let go of it. It didn’t matter. I’d find out soon enough.