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Authors: Matt Christopher
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budge.
“Let’s try it again,” he said.
This time I moved quicker and managed to get the hold on
him.
I had a hunch, though, that he hadn’t used very much effort to stop me. He wanted to make sure I knew the moves.
We worked on the shoulder rolls a few times. Then, satisfied that I had learned the technique at least, he left to help another
couple of guys and let Bull and me go at it.
“Just make sure you don’t hurt that guy,” the coach said to Bull with a wry grin. “We need him.”
“I won’t,” Bull assured him, and smiled at me.
If you want to discover what wrestling is really like, take on somebody fifty pounds heavier than you are. Most coaches wouldn’t
permit this one-sided kind of weight match in their schools, and Coach Collins wouldn’t have either, if Bull and I hadn’t
been close friends. But ever since our first match, when we promised not to pull off any crazy stunts that would hurt either
of us — me, especially — Coach Collins agreed that our wrestling each other once in a while was okay.
I tried the single leg on Bull first, knowing that trying the double leg would be like trying to grapple Goliath. I got him
down and almost twisted him around far enough to get a near fall, but he wiggled himself free — bulled himselffree is more like it — and would’ve pinned me if I hadn’t squirmed out of his grasp and jumped to my feet.
We worked on a few other holds together before Coach Collins had us switch with other guys. I was half bushed. If anybody
could tire a guy, it was Bull.
Finally Coach Doran blew the whistle. It was 6:30, quitting time.
“Oh, man! About time!” exclaimed Tony, the skinny kid I’d been working out with. He looked as if he’d been drenched with oil.
I did, too.
“You can say that again,” I said.
We grinned at each other, slapped palms, sighed with relief, and headed for the locker room.
Okay, Eddie Lucas, I thought, I’m ready.
11
When match time came around Thursday evening I wasn’t so sure I was ready. There was no wrestling practice on days we had
meets, but I felt as if I’d been pulled through a wringer. I blamed it on the restless night I’d had, and a nightmare that
was worse than any
Friday the 13th
movie I’d ever seen. A giant octopus grabbed me with its tentacles and brought me toward its wide-open mouth…
But I don’t want to go into that.
As Coach Collins had said, Eddie Lucas was skinny, but fast. He started off the match with a bang, surprising me with a single
leg that ended in a near fall, earning him two points right off the bat.
I evened it up with a reversal, but he came back with a half nelson and another near fall. Two more points.
From a stand-up position he tried a double leg on me. But I jumped out of his way, whirled and got an arm around his neck.
“Shoot the half! Shoot the half!” I heard Coach Collins yell.
He was telling me to use the half nelson. But before I could get in position to do so, Lucas twisted out of my hold like a
snake for a one-point escape, then tried a single leg on me that drew a whistle from the ref when we both landed off the mat.
From the corner of my eye I saw Clint Wagner standing off to the side in his black-and-white jersey and dark pants. He was
eyeing me with concern, as if he wanted to advise me.
Only a father could take such interest in a kid,
I thought.
He must be my father. Why don’t I ask him? Why doesn’t he tell me?
I wished he
could
advise me. But Coach Collins was doing his best, and so was I. By now I had discovered that Lucas was not only as quick as
a hummingbird, he was also tough.
The first period ended. Since Lucas had won the coin-toss at the beginning of the match, he chose the top position to start
the second period.
I got down on the mat. Lucas knelt down beside me, grabbed my left arm, and put his right arm across my back. He was in control
— so far. I had to pull a surprise on him — a sudden surprise — or
“Let’s try it again,” he said.
This time I moved quicker and managed to get the hold on
him.
I had a hunch, though, that he hadn’t used very much effort to stop me. He wanted to make sure I knew the moves.
We worked on the shoulder rolls a few times. Then, satisfied that I had learned the technique at least, he left to help another
couple of guys and let Bull and me go at it.
“Just make sure you don’t hurt that guy,” the coach said to Bull with a wry grin. “We need him.”
“I won’t,” Bull assured him, and smiled at me.
If you want to discover what wrestling is really like, take on somebody fifty pounds heavier than you are. Most coaches wouldn’t
permit this one-sided kind of weight match in their schools, and Coach Collins wouldn’t have either, if Bull and I hadn’t
been close friends. But ever since our first match, when we promised not to pull off any crazy stunts that would hurt either
of us — me, especially — Coach Collins agreed that our wrestling each other once in a while was okay.
I tried the single leg on Bull first, knowing that trying the double leg would be like trying to grapple Goliath. I got him
down and almost twisted him around far enough to get a near fall, but he wiggled himself free — bulled himselffree is more like it — and would’ve pinned me if I hadn’t squirmed out of his grasp and jumped to my feet.
We worked on a few other holds together before Coach Collins had us switch with other guys. I was half bushed. If anybody
could tire a guy, it was Bull.
Finally Coach Doran blew the whistle. It was 6:30, quitting time.
“Oh, man! About time!” exclaimed Tony, the skinny kid I’d been working out with. He looked as if he’d been drenched with oil.
I did, too.
“You can say that again,” I said.
We grinned at each other, slapped palms, sighed with relief, and headed for the locker room.
Okay, Eddie Lucas, I thought, I’m ready.
11
When match time came around Thursday evening I wasn’t so sure I was ready. There was no wrestling practice on days we had
meets, but I felt as if I’d been pulled through a wringer. I blamed it on the restless night I’d had, and a nightmare that
was worse than any
Friday the 13th
movie I’d ever seen. A giant octopus grabbed me with its tentacles and brought me toward its wide-open mouth…
But I don’t want to go into that.
As Coach Collins had said, Eddie Lucas was skinny, but fast. He started off the match with a bang, surprising me with a single
leg that ended in a near fall, earning him two points right off the bat.
I evened it up with a reversal, but he came back with a half nelson and another near fall. Two more points.
From a stand-up position he tried a double leg on me. But I jumped out of his way, whirled and got an arm around his neck.
“Shoot the half! Shoot the half!” I heard Coach Collins yell.
He was telling me to use the half nelson. But before I could get in position to do so, Lucas twisted out of my hold like a
snake for a one-point escape, then tried a single leg on me that drew a whistle from the ref when we both landed off the mat.
From the corner of my eye I saw Clint Wagner standing off to the side in his black-and-white jersey and dark pants. He was
eyeing me with concern, as if he wanted to advise me.
Only a father could take such interest in a kid,
I thought.
He must be my father. Why don’t I ask him? Why doesn’t he tell me?
I wished he
could
advise me. But Coach Collins was doing his best, and so was I. By now I had discovered that Lucas was not only as quick as
a hummingbird, he was also tough.
The first period ended. Since Lucas had won the coin-toss at the beginning of the match, he chose the top position to start
the second period.
I got down on the mat. Lucas knelt down beside me, grabbed my left arm, and put his right arm across my back. He was in control
— so far. I had to pull a surprise on him — a sudden surprise — or
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