I came home from the State Wrestling Tournament in a snow
blizzard over Wolf Creek Pass with the windows rolled down. The three teenage
boys in the far backseat were making horrible smells and singing western songs
at the top of their lungs. Even in all of that, believe me, the ride home was a
piece of cake compared to watching the wrestling tournament in Denver.
My son-in-law told me several times, “Remember it is State. State
is not for the weak and faint at heart.”
Well, the Mama Bear came out of Hibernation. I was watching
My Precious wrestle on the mat. The score was within one point. Some lady three
seats down, stood up in front of me, and blocked my view. I yelled at the top
of my voice, “Sit down in front.” She didn’t hear me. She adjusted herself, smiled
and looked at her friend in the next seat over and started talking again.
I came unglued. I yelled again, she looked at me, found her
seat quickly, and sat down. My boy was seconds from winning or losing.
Apparently she wasn’t there for My Precious.
That’s how it was the whole weekend at the State Wrestling
Tournament. There was no mercy in me for anyone playing rough with our boys. I
wanted to blow the whistle on a guy who was playing dirty. I would have
blackballed him for life. I wanted to beat up someone. I wanted to talk trash. I
didn’t, I restrained myself. I did yell at the referee for calling a stall on
my grandson. I didn’t see him stalling. That one point cost him a match.
Not only was the adrenaline pumping in the veins of the
wrestlers, I was feeling every hit, too. Yes, at the end of the evening I felt
like I had wrestled the big guy and I deserved a Tee-shirt, with my name
printed on the back, along side our five guys and their coaches.
Wrestling is a very emotional sport. At the end of Regionals,
I saw coaches cry. The boys came off the mat so high on adrenaline they were
doing backflips. It was at Regional my sweet grandson separated his shoulder.
He had five days to recover before State.
At one of the matches during the Wrestling Tournament in
Monte Vista, I heard a mother yell, “He’s a beast.” She was talking about my
grandson. He was winning. I wondered why she was so upset. I didn’t feel the
pain until it happened to me.
I felt the pain at State. My Precious held his arm to his
side, fought his opponent and won with one arm. By the next match, the boy went
for the arm and pulled it out and held it until I had to turn my head. I was
screaming, “Don’t’ hurt him.”
My son-in-law said to me, “It’s State. They are the best,
and they come to win, no matter what it takes.”
I argued, “Well, I’m sure the coach told him to go for the
arm.”
“Those boys don’t need to be told, they see a hurt arm, and
they go for it.”
“Now I understand why Rocky’s girlfriend wouldn’t go to his
fights. She couldn’t watch Rocky get beat up.”
My son-in-law, the voice of reason, said it this way. “These
boys have been groomed for years to win. They didn’t just start this season. Its
like this, when I was in the service, they said, ‘If you want to be an admiral,
it starts now when you join up. You are going to take advantage, do whatever it
takes, you won’t care if anyone likes you, and you will fight now to be number
one.
“The boys who are serious about winning State next year have
already started thinking and working out for it. They aren’t going to wait until
wrestling season to start. It depends on how much they want it, if they are
willing to pay the price to be number one. It starts now.”
I was proud of our five guys who went to State. They wrestled
their hearts out. Our boys are already talking about next year.
Talk about the heart fluttering when My Precious said after
the match, “Grandma, I want you to sit where I can see you next year.”
I told him, “I’ll be there front and center. I’m gearing up
now. I wouldn’t miss it for anything, even if I have to wear blinders. I’m in
it for the long haul.”
Final Brushstroke! It’s still winter but watch out for Mama
Bear. If you mess with her cub, you’re asking for trouble, and you’re going to
have to answer to her.
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