Chapter 20

While walking to the high school on that Saturday morning in early February Zach felt confident that he would win his match that afternoon, when Chapel Forge hosted Parkdale. He would likely be facing Luis Sanibel, who he remembered pinning in the first period of a match during the previous season. It seemed safe to expect that he would win his seventeenth match of the season later in the day. He was currently riding a two-match losing streak that had erased the elation of five straight victories. He needed to win.

“Hey, Zach. Ready to go?” Coach Hancock asked when Zach walked into the gym. Wrestlers were busy all around them setting up for the match.

“Yeah, I’m all set, coach,” Zach said. “I don’t have much of a match today. I pinned my kid last year.”

“Well, there’s always something you can get out of a match,” Hancock said. “Even if your opponent isn’t that good.”

“I can try out that turk move we did in practice, maybe,” Zach said.

“There you go,” Hancock said. “And just work on controlling the match, like we always talk about. Keep moving, keep him defending instead of attacking.”

When it was time for his match Zach walked onto the mat while carefully studying his opponent. By the time he had reached the center circle he was sure that this was a rematch from a year earlier. As they shook hands he wondered if Sanibel recognized him, too.

Zach shot quickly after the match started and scored with a double leg takedown before the match was fifteen seconds old. Despite what he and Hancock had talked about he planned on winning with an early pin just like the previous year against Sanibel. He inserted a half nelson even though Coach Crisfield didn’t like his wrestlers using them against wrestlers who weren’t on their stomachs. Crisfield immediately yelled “Break him down first!” just like Zach knew he would.

Sanibel countered the half nelson by locking down on Zach’s arm and rolling hard in that direction. Since Zach had no hand on that side to post on, he ended up flopping onto his own back, with Sanibel on top. He was able to flip over and avoid giving up back points but Sanibel had tied the score at 2-2 with a reversal. Zach knew Crisfield would have something to say about that half nelson after the match.

Zach fought back to his base position, disgusted that he’d given up the points so easily. He grabbed Sanibel’s wrist and was able to stand up. Sanibel locked his hands around Zach’s waist after Zach was on his feet but it didn’t take long for Zach to break his grip and escape for one point. The period ended with both wrestlers in neutral position, each having taken several shots at the other’s legs in a last-second flurry of action. Zach was ahead, as he had expected to be, but only by a 3-2 score.

The second period began with Zach in the bottom position. He tried the standup again but Sanibel brought him back to the mat with an ankle ride when Zach was only halfway up. Before Zach could try anything else Sanibel slid his left leg between Zach’s legs and hooked Zach’s left leg. As Sanibel moved his body across Zach’s back, Zach remembered that they had gone over counters to throwing legs but he couldn’t remember any of them.

Sanibel didn’t seem to be in a hurry. He patiently leaned and lurched in different directions and tried different grips on various parts of Zach’s body, looking for a way to turn him onto his back. He was experimenting and probing just enough to avoid being hit with a stalling call even though it became increasingly apparent that he wasn’t working for a pin. Although he never felt he was in danger, Zach couldn’t break out of the leg-to-leg hold. When there were less than thirty-five seconds left on the clock Zach began to feel uneasy. Being on bottom was his best opportunity to score, he knew, and he hadn’t even come close to escaping or reversing Sanibel. For the first time he realized that last year’s result aside, his opponent was wrestling to win.

Unease gave way to panic for Zach as time ran out in the second period with no scoring at all. He looked over at his coaches as Sanibel got set in bottom position. Both were seated with their arms folded and mouths closed. If he was going to hang on to the 3-2 lead and win, it was going to be up to him to figure out how.

When the whistle blew Zach used a tight-waist and ankle ride to force Sanibel onto his stomach. At least he shouldn’t be able to score from there, he thought, wondering what had happened to all the bravado he had felt earlier about pinning Sanibel. After Sanibel worked his way to his hands and knees, Zach chopped one of his arms out and shoved him forward in that direction, successfully driving him back down to the mat. He looked at the clock and saw that only twenty seconds had elapsed. He was clinging to the slimmest of leads and there was a long way to go before the match ended.

When Sanibel again began working back to his base position Zach moved out to the side to try a far-side cradle. He was able to slip one hand over the back of Sanibel’s neck and had begun working his other hand behind a leg. At that point Sanibel stretched his body out forcefully enough for Zach to realize that the cradle wasn’t going to work. Sanibel then elevated the back end of his body before Zach was able to move back to a safer position. Zach tried to resist what was happening but couldn’t stop himself from sliding steadily down Sanibel’s back towards his head. Even before he heard shouts from his bench of “You’re too high!” he knew he was in trouble.

Zach reached across and tried to grab anything he could. His opponent moved deliberately, obviously aware that time and gravity were on his side as Zach continued to slide. Sanibel jerked his own body upwards several times, preventing Zach from halting his involuntary movement down Sanibel’s back. When Zach was close to the mat he was able to hook his hand under Sanibel’s arm but it was too late. Sanibel backed out between Zach’s legs and climbed on top, earning two points for a reversal. With twenty-one seconds left in the match Zach was behind on the scoreboard for the first time.

Clearly hoping to hold onto the lead without concern for building on it, Sanibel threw the leg again. Zach desperately tried to peel the leg away but the strength of his arm was no match for the strength of Sanibel’s leg. He reached back and tried to pull Sanibel onto the mat but couldn’t budge him. Time ran out with no further change in position. Sanibel had avenged last year’s result by beating Zach by a score of 4-3.

Coach Crisfield walked down the bench to talk with Zach shortly after the next bout started. “I hope I never see you throw a half on a guy on his knees again,” Crisfield said. “I saw that shoulder roll coming from a mile away.” Zach was breathing too hard to answer.

“And that cradle at the end,” Crisfield continued. “That was a bad idea too. If you’ve got the lead let the other guy take chances. You should have stayed behind and ridden him with a two-on-one or something. You might get a stalling warning, but so what?”

Zach got up and walked behind the bench. Crisfield made sense but he already felt badly about what had happened and wasn’t in the mood for a browbeating.

~~~

Chapel Forge won the dual meet easily but Zach didn’t care. He dressed quickly without showering after it was over. Not a word was spoken between him and any of his teammates. Instead of sorting through his gear he haphazardly threw everything he wasn’t wearing into the locker before slamming it shut. Hard. He punched the locker door for good measure, as if he wanted to be sure everybody knew how angry he was. Losing to Luis Sanibel was embarrassing, painful, and maybe enlightening. After some early season success he’d now lost three matches in a row. He felt foolish that he’d ever thought he could catch up to everybody else in just one off-season. It was starting to look to him like he still wasn’t very good. They must have been laughing at me all along, he thought angrily as he stomped out of the locker room without saying anything to anybody. No wonder they call me ‘Burnout’, he thought. That’s all I ever was to them. And maybe all I’ll ever be.

His head was down as he walked quickly through the gym lobby. He opened the door and was about to walk outside when he heard somebody calling his name. He looked and saw Tim Betterton trotting in his direction. “Zach, wait up!” he yelled. Zach figured that Coach Crisfield had sent Betterton out to retrieve him. He held the door open and waited. Somebody from the squad of barelegged cheerleaders rehearsing in the lobby didn’t like the icy February air that was blowing in, and yelled for him to close the door. He looked away and opened it wider.

“Zach, what’s wrong?” Betterton asked. “Why are you blowing up like this?”

“Didn’t you see my match?” Zach answered bitterly. “I sucked. I’m a sucky wrestler. Everybody was right.”

“Everybody who?” Betterton asked. “Nobody thinks that. It’s just one match you lost. There’s nobody on this team who hasn’t lost a few this year.”

“Try three in a row,” Zach said before yanking the door closed. “It isn’t just that I lost, Tim,” he said. “I beat that guy last year. I pinned him.”

“Oh, I get it,” Betterton said. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go in there,” he said, pointing toward the gym. “Let me wise you up about a few things,” he said.

Zach followed him even though he didn’t expect that Betterton could change his mind about anything. He thought they were headed for the bleachers but instead they walked back into the alcove where unneeded wrestling mats were kept. Betterton hopped onto one of the rolls and faced Zach, who remained standing.

“Did Crisfield tell you to chase me down?” Zach asked.

“No,” Betterton said. “You just looked more pissed off than usual. A lot more pissed. Everybody noticed.”

Zach was glad there wasn’t much light in the alcove. He was so angry and confused that he felt like crying. “They couldn’t care less about me in there,” he said.

“Not true,” Betterton said. “Just about everybody on the team likes you, Zach. They know you got a lot better since last year, and they know how hard you worked. It’s just that they’re afraid of you.”

“You know,” Zach said. “At first I really thought I’d gotten a lot better. I worked my butt off. But now I can’t even win a match anymore. And today I lost to a guy I beat last year. I pinned him. I haven’t gotten any better at all.”

“Knock it off, will you?” Betterton said. “That’s crap. Just your conditioning alone is light years better than last year. How many times did you wrestle for six minutes last season? Not many, right?”

“Hardly ever,” Zach agreed.

“Because you were too out of shape,” Betterton said. “Most of the time you either pinned or got pinned because you couldn’t go three periods. This year you’re a machine.”

“But it just doesn’t make sense,” Zach said. “If I’m so much better, how do I lose to a guy I pinned last year?”

“A thousand reasons,” Betterton said. “Maybe he got better too. Maybe he had a bad night last year. Maybe you had a good night last year. Maybe you had a bad day today. Maybe he just had a good day today.”

“Or maybe I just suck,” Zach said. “It’s okay. I’m good at other things. I’m good at singing, except, wait a minute. Hold on. Oh yeah, I got kicked out of the band. Oops. Forget that one.”

“You’re such a hard-ass,” Betterton said. “Do you ever lighten up?”

“No,” Zach replied.

“Maybe that’s why you don’t have any friends on the team,” Betterton said. “The only time we hear your voice is when you’re talking back to the coach or fighting with somebody.”

“You just got done saying everybody likes me so much,” Zach said. “Besides, maybe I want it that way.”

“I don’t know much about the guy you wrestled today,” Betterton said. “What’s his name again?”

“Luis Sanibel,” Zach said.

“He’s probably not as bad as you’ve got him pegged to be,” Betterton said. “Just because you pinned him last year doesn’t mean he’s so bad. Sometimes when you pin somebody it’s just because you happened to catch him in just the right position.”

“So you’re saying I got lucky last year,” Zach said. “Thanks, man,” he said sarcastically. “You’re really helping me out here.”

“Well, look at it this way,” Betterton said. “He did some pretty slick stuff on you today, I’ll tell you that. Maybe he’s not as bad as you think.”

Zach fingered the zipper on his army jacket. Betterton’s words were only making him feel worse.

“You can’t judge everything just going by two matches,” Betterton said. “Even if it’s against the same guy. It’s more complicated than that.”

“Maybe it isn’t,” Zach said.

“So what are you going to do?” Betterton asked. “You showed you could do it this season. Nobody thought you’d even be here at the end, let alone on varsity. What are you going to do now? Quit?”

“Maybe,” Zach said.

Betterton sighed. “Look, what’s your record this year?”

“16 and 8,” Zach said.

“How about last year?” Betterton asked.

“10 and 12,” Zach told him.

“So you’re going to double your wins this year,” Betterton said. “Most guys would kill for that. How can you say you suck?”

“Yeah, and next year I’ll win 87 at this rate,” Zach said. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Okay, I’m done,” Betterton said, sliding off the mat roll. “I tried. See you around.” He turned and left the alcove without waiting for Zach to respond.

Zach didn’t want to leave through the gym because he didn’t want to see anybody. That especially applied to Beth. She was probably lingering somewhere with her friends or teammates near the lobby after basketball practice. The sign on the door at the other end of the alcove read ‘Emergency Exit Only – Alarm Will Sound’, but Zach didn’t care. If an alarm sounded that was somebody else’s problem.