by Rich Wallace
He soon drifted off to sleep with the radio on.
8
Half Nelsons
“Work your way out of it!” Coach shouted. “Think about what he’s doing to you.”
Donald squirmed and strained, but Tavo easily forced his shoulders to the mat for a pin. It was the same move the Jersey City wrestler had used to pin him the day before.
A few feet away, Mario was being pinned via that same half-nelson move by Jesse Nadel.
“The half nelson is the most likely pinning move you’re going to be up against,” Coach said. “Both of you guys”—he pointed to Mario, then Donald—“lost that way yesterday. So let’s work on some counter moves. Learn how to get out of it.”
Coach had Jesse get Tavo in the half nelson. “Like this,” he said. “Let’s say Jesse has just taken Tavo down. So Tavo’s on his side, with his arms out.”
Jesse hooked his left arm under Tavo’s left, then gripped the back of Tavo’s head with it. From there he had plenty of leverage to force Tavo over and toward the mat.
“Now, what should Tavo do to counter that?” Coach asked Donald.
Donald shrugged. “Push back as hard as he can?”
“Yeah, but how? Go ahead, Tavo.”
Tavo dug his left elbow into the mat to stop Jesse’s thrust, then turned his head away, reducing Jesse’s leverage. With his left hand, Tavo reached up and forced Jesse’s hand off the back of his neck. Now that Jesse had lost the advantage, Tavo was able to spin free and quickly get to his feet.
“Perfect,” Coach said. “There are other ways out, but let’s work on this one. Pair up again and let’s go.”
So Donald went to the mat and let Tavo apply the hold.
“Like Tavo needs for me to let him put a half nelson on me?” Donald remarked. “He does it in about two seconds even when I start out on my feet.”
Coach laughed. “So let’s not waste the two seconds. Let’s go.”
Tavo applied the grip, and Donald got his elbow down. Tavo’s hand began to slip from Donald’s neck, but then it got tighter. Tavo was strong. He managed to turn Donald over anyway.
“Try it again,” Coach said. “You’re at a big disadvantage, Jenkins, because Tavo knows exactly what you’re trying to do. In a match things happen much more quickly. It becomes almost automatic if you work on it enough.”
They went through the drill several more times. Donald never quite managed to get out of the grip, but he lengthened the time it took Tavo to pin him. And when they switched partners, with Tavo taking on Mario and Donald matched up with Jesse, things changed in a hurry.
Jesse was a few pounds heavier than Donald—he was the first-string wrestler at ninety-five pounds—but it was clear that he didn’t have Tavo’s strength or flexibility. Donald got out of the grip twice. And when it was his turn to put the half nelson on Jesse, he came very close to executing a pin.
That was the breakthrough he was looking for. The rest of the practice session—crunches, leg lifts, running in place—was just as tough as ever, but it had taken on a new meaning for Donald. He was making progress. All this work was paying off.
He showered and dressed, then sat in front of his locker and rubbed a sore spot above his knee. Mario sat next to him on the bench.
“Tavo is like a cross between a cougar and a machine or something,” Mario said with frustration. “The guy is so strong and flexible. I don’t envy you having to go against him every day.”
“Yeah, he’s a monster,” Donald said. He lowered his head and turned to Mario, waving him closer with a finger. “I think I could beat Jesse, though. I think I could take his spot away.”
Mario shrugged. “You might. He’s definitely not as good as Tavo.”
Donald looked around. Most of the wrestlers had left, but he didn’t want anybody hearing this. “Just between you and me, I’m gonna ask Coach to let me challenge him for the ninety-five-pound spot.”
“You got nothing to lose,” Mario said. “Might as well go after it.”
“I’m going to. So what if I lose? I’ll just challenge him again until I beat him.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Mario said. “You never know—if you get on varsity then I might wind up challenging you in a few weeks.”
“That’s all right with me. We keep knocking each other off, and sooner or later we’ll actually get good at this sport.”
9
No Escape
Donald hustled down the hallway toward his math class, running late as usual. The hallways were mostly empty; he had spent too many minutes talking to Kendrick after English class, and the late bell was about to ring.
“Slow down, buddy,” came a familiar voice. Donald looked up to see Coach Mills walking toward him. Coach taught eighth-grade science.
Donald shook his head. “Mrs. Epstein said I’d get detention if I was late again.”
“Slow down anyway. I’ll write you a pass.”
“That’d be cool.” Donald stopped and leaned against a locker, looking up at his coach. “If I got detention I’d be late for practice.”
“Wouldn’t want to let that happen. Especially now that you’re on a roll.”
“Yeah, I’m getting the hang of it, I think.”
“You’ll be good,” Coach said. “It just takes time.”
Donald nodded. “I been wanting to ask you something. I’m not going to be beating Tavo anytime soon, but do you think I could wrestle-off with Jesse at ninety-five?”
Coach squinted and gave Donald a good looking-over. “I hadn’t really thought about it. I’m not sure if you’re ready.”
“But that’s how you find out, isn’t it? If he beats me, so what?”
“Right. You’d probably give him a good match. But what I’m thinking is that you might be better off if you get another JV match or two under your belt. Then try for varsity.”
Donald puffed out his lips and blew out his breath. He stood up straighter. “I think I could take Jesse right now.”
“You may be right. But look, we’ve got Bayonne at the end of the week. Great program over there. Even if you did wrestle varsity against them, you’d probably get pounded. Jesse has a lot more experience. I’d rather you go against a more even opponent for at least one more match.”
“And then I can challenge Jesse?”
“Probably.”
The late bell had already rung. Coach took out a pass and quickly filled it out. “Now you made me late,” he said. “Maybe you can write me a pass.”
Donald laughed and took off down the hall.
Fair enough. He’d wrestle another JV match. But his sights were set squarely on Jesse for next week.
The bus ride to Bayonne was short, but Donald could barely stay seated anyway. He was loaded with energy, eager to get on that mat and demonstrate how much he’d advanced since that loss against Jersey City. It had only been a week, but that week had dragged on forever. He needed to prove to himself that he could win.
“You all right?” Mario asked, staring at him from the next seat over. Donald was pounding on his thighs with his fists, letting out his breath in short, angry bursts.
“Yeah. I’m fine. Just totally fired up. Can’t wait to get out on that mat.”
“Save some energy.”
“I got plenty.”
The bus pulled into the parking lot and Donald kneeled on the seat, waiting for the wrestlers in front of him to get into the aisle.
“Let’s move it!” he said.
Freddy looked back and gave him a friendly sneer. “Wait your turn.”
“I been waiting all week. I need to wrestle.”
Freddy and Tavo led the team through a warm-up, then the varsity wrestlers took seats on the bottom row of the bleachers. Coach gathered the JV kids near the mat.
“They’ve got a full team, so all of you will wrestle in the preliminaries,” he said. “Mario and Donald—they’ve got two JV ninety-pounders. Which one of you wants to go first?”
Donald put up his
hand. “I’m jumping out of my skin. I gotta get out there.”
“All right. But get hold of yourself. You need to be aggressive, but not nuts about it. Remember what happened last time.”
“Remember what?” Donald grinned. “Don’t worry. It’s still right here,” he said, pointing to his head.
The Bayonne wrestler was taller and thinner than Donald, but his long arms might be tough to deal with. Donald gave him a good hard stare as they shook hands.
Wrong place, wrong time for you, Donald thought as he waited for the referee’s whistle. Nobody beats me today.
But eager as he was for a quick attack, Donald found it hard to find an opening in the early going. They circled around each other and made a few false lunges, but neither could gain an advantage. Both were crouched low at the same level.
Suddenly Donald stood up straighter, a simple move he’d seen Tavo do a lot. The Bayonne wrestler mirrored him, and Donald shot low and penetrated, one arm circling his opponent’s waist and the other locking behind his opposite knee.
The guy leaned forward into Donald in an attempt to keep his balance, but Donald instinctively turned him and drove forward, bringing his opponent to the mat.
Pin him, Donald thought. Finish this thing right now.
But the Bayonne wrestler knew what he was doing and managed to roll to his stomach. Donald definitely had the advantage, but did he have enough strength to finish?
There was lots of time left in the period, but every move Donald tried was countered by his opponent. Even so, Donald had the lead. He could ride this guy for the rest of the match and be the winner. Both wrestlers were working hard. One or the other would wear down first.
Between periods Coach told Donald to keep applying pressure and try to work that ride into a pinning combination. “You’re in control,” he said. “You’ll start the period on top, and he’ll be super aggressive trying to get out of it. Try to break him down and get him on his stomach. Make him carry your weight.”
The Bayonne wrestler got down in the starting position, knees and hands on the mat but his head up high. Donald was behind him, hands at his opponent’s waist and elbow.
And back they went to the same struggle they had waged during most of the first period. Donald was in control, but each wrestler was working furiously to overpower the other.
The Bayonne wrestler nearly got to his feet a couple of times, but Donald kept his arms around the guy’s waist and his hands locked on his wrists. Both times he managed to bring the guy back to the mat.
So Donald still had a 2-0 lead midway through the period, but he’d never worked harder in his life. Both wrestlers were getting slippery with sweat, and both were straining with the effort.
Finally the Bayonne wrestler got to his feet, and with a violent thrust of his hands he unlocked Donald’s grip and wriggled free.
Donald stepped back and let out his held breath. The escape was worth one point; Donald still had the lead.
Okay, now we really see what you’re made of, Donald told himself. Take this guy down again and finish him off.
“Twenty seconds!” called Coach.
Donald knew he had this match won now. Another takedown would be sweet, but all he really had to do was stay on his feet as the seconds ticked away.
But the Bayonne wrestler knew that he had to have more points, and he needed them quickly. He shot toward Donald and they locked arms, with their hands gripping each other’s elbows. Quickly the Bayonne wrestler dropped to his knees, grasping both of Donald’s legs.
Donald leaned forward, hands on his opponent’s back. And suddenly he felt that sickening feeling he’d known so many times in practice: He was being lifted from the mat. The Bayonne wrestler hooked his right knee around Donald’s left. There was no place to go but down.
No! Donald thought. But it was too late. He’d been taken down. He had a few seconds left to get free, to at least tie the score. But his opponent was in control and Donald could not escape. The whistle blew. Donald had lost the match, 3-2.
Again? Donald thought. I blew it again?
He stomped off the mat and sat down hard on the Hudson City bench, head in his hands. He tore off the headgear and flung it aside. His head was pounding, and his breath was rapid and shallow.
“Get a grip,” Coach said, putting his hand on top of Donald’s head. “Watch your temper.”
Donald nodded but continued to stare at the floor. After a minute he got up and walked to the locker room, where he leaned against a sink and looked into the mirror.
His face was red, and his hair was soaked with sweat. The expression on his face was sour. He spit into the sink and smacked his forehead with his palm.
“You’re a loser,” he mumbled. “You had that man beat. You gave it away.”
The locker-room door opened, and Tavo came in. He stepped over to the sink next to Donald and fixed his hair with his hands. “You had him,” he said.
“No kidding,” Donald said sharply. “Listen, man, I’m in no mood. Save the criticism for somebody else.”
“No criticism,” Tavo said. “I just came in to use the bathroom.” He smirked at Donald. “Losing stinks, huh?”
“You got that right.”
Tavo smiled and drummed on the sink with his fingers. “You gotta learn how to finish,” he said. “You could have pinned that guy fifteen different ways. You just don’t know how to do it yet.”
“I shoulda won anyway. The guy had nothing.”
“He had enough to beat you.”
Donald frowned and left the locker room. He looked toward the mat. Mario was walking off with his hands raised and a big smile. The Hudson City wrestlers were whooping it up and clapping.
Guess I should have gone second, Donald thought.
He took a seat by the other wrestlers in the bleachers but said almost nothing the rest of the afternoon. Tavo, Jesse, and Freddy won their matches, but Bayonne managed to win overall.
Would he ever win a match? Twice he’d had the lead now, and twice he’d managed to lose. It was enough to make a guy want to quit. Even Mario and Jesse had won their matches today.
Maybe this isn’t my sport, Donald thought as he stared out the bus window on the way back to Hudson City. Maybe I’m not as tough as I thought I was.
10
Jealousy
“You heading home?” Kendrick asked after “they’d returned to Hudson City.
“Where else would I go?” Donald said.
“I mean, you want to head out together?”
Donald yanked his jacket out of his backpack and shrugged. “Sure.”
Kendrick had lost again, too, so they wouldn’t be joking around like other days. Donald just wanted to get off the bus in a hurry. He was mad at everybody—at the guy who had beat him, at Tavo for trying to help, even at Mario for winning his own match.
They stepped outside. The air was still and cool.
“The thing that makes me maddest is that I would have beat the guy Mario wrestled,” he said.
“So?”
“So now Mario looks like a better wrestler than I am. He won.”
“That ain’t Mario’s fault.”
“No. It’s mine.”
“You might not have beat that other guy.”
“I can beat Mario. I would have clobbered his opponent.”
“That’s not the point. You wrestle who you wrestle. One on one.”
They walked along the Boulevard in silence for a few minutes. When they reached the YMCA, Donald stopped. “I’m gonna go in here for a little while,” he said.
“How come?”
“I don’t know. Just to chill out.”
“All right.” Kendrick turned and looked up the street. “I need to get home.”
“See you tomorrow then. And listen, don’t say nothing to Mario. I’m not mad at him. Just jealous, I guess. And mad at myself.”
“Sure. I hear you.”
The Y was quiet this early in the evening. Donald had spent a l
ot of time here, but mostly on rowdy Saturdays when he was younger, participating in indoor soccer and floor hockey and basketball leagues. He’d always done all right. Never a star, but usually a pretty good player.
He wasn’t sure why he’d come here tonight. Probably because this was one of the few places where he’d ever had much success as an athlete. He needed to be reminded of that.
He walked into the empty gym and set his backpack on the first row of the bleachers. A basketball was lying on the side of the court, and he picked it up and dribbled it a few times.
He spent a few minutes shooting baskets, missing the first several but then getting into a groove and making four in a row. There’d been one game a couple of years ago—a tournament semifinal— when he’d tossed in a three-pointer in the final minute, then stole a pass and went the length of the court for a game-winning layup.
There hadn’t been many moments like that in his sports career, but there’d been one or two others. A fumble recovery that he returned for a touchdown. A bases-clearing triple.
He rolled the basketball to the far end of the court and went downstairs to the weight room.
Three high-school guys were in one corner working on the bench press, and a woman was running on a treadmill. Donald had passed through the weight room a few times, but he’d never lifted weights. Other guys on the wrestling team lifted, and Coach had said that the seventh-graders ought to start doing so in the off-season.
He climbed onto an exercise bike and pedaled slowly for a few minutes, watching the high-school guys lift. They were laughing and busting each other. Loud rock music was blaring from the radio.
How could I lose like that again? he wondered. He’d felt so ready, so psyched up, so certain that he’d win. Now he felt just the opposite, unsure if he would ever hold on and win one.
His parents were both working tonight, so there was no rush to get home. He had no appetite anyway. He pedaled the bike for ten more minutes, then grabbed his stuff and headed out.
There was still a lot of traffic on the Boulevard, and the restaurants and small grocery stores were open. Donald trudged past, suddenly eager to get home and out of the cold.
