The Match

            When I think about my childhood, I often think about sports, and when I think about sports, I often think about wrestling, and when I think about wrestling, there’s one match I think about more than any other. This is the story about that match.

            The year was 1999 and our squad was as strong as had been in nearly two decades. Our lineup was absolutely stacked—with six seniors, two juniors, and a group of underclassmen who would eventually become the core of the greatest team in the history Iroquois Central. But that would still be a few years away, and in ’99 they were merely kids hungry for a spot in the varsity lineup. When it came to our division matches, we were about as dominant as a team could be. It was common to shut teams out, often times with a perfect score of 78-0. To sum up how strong we were: in a match against Depew, Dave West, our scrappy 140 pounder, pinned his opponent in two seconds. Two seconds—and we all believed we could do the same any time we stepped on the mat.

            But, for Fred Marcheson, our head coach, it wasn’t enough to simply demolish everybody in our division; to have an effortless ride through a perfect season. No—that would be too easy. We needed a challenge. So, coach found us one. Not just a team outside of our division, but a team clear out of our conference; a team whose talent was a mirror image of our own. And it wasn’t just any random school, but the school that three decades earlier brought our team’s National Record of 150 consecutive wins to an end. Our match against Attica would be unlike any we had experienced all season.

            The gymnasium was full, which seemed awfully strange, because we were accustomed to competing in front only our parents and a handful of alumni. But that night, everybody came out. Attica must have brought a hundred fans of their own, and ours outnumbered theirs four to one. Even members of the student body came to watch—like it was a basketball game or something—including girls. Girls! At a wrestling match? None of us could really believe it. On top of that, we all had brand spanking new uniforms, never worn before that night, which somehow made us feel a lot tougher than we really were. I knew we would win. There was no way we couldn’t win. But then it started happening…

            Those of us in the heavier weight classes had been spoiled all year—by the time I stepped on the mat at 152 pounds, the match had always already been decided. But in the match against Attica, things just didn’t work out that way. We had the best lightweights around, but that night, Attica’s were just a bit better. Guys we were expecting wins from didn’t win, and guys we were expecting pins from didn’t pin. Luckily, we had a few underdogs pull off huge upsets to keep us in the match, but still, by the time it was my turn to wrestle, the score was lopsided, and for the first time all year, we were on the wrong side.

            There were five of us still left to wrestle when Coach pulled us together. It was custom for the entire team to huddle up just before and just after a dual meet, but I can’t remember any other time that Coach had us do it in the middle of a match. “You all have to win,” is what he said. Some may say that that’s a lot of pressure for a coach to be putting on five already-nervous teenage boys, but I don’t think any one of us felt that way at all. “You all have to win.” It wasn’t a question. Or a demand. It was simply a fact. We all had to win. That was the only way the score could work out in our favor. Five matches. Five wins. He may have said, “You all have to win,” but I think what we really heard was: “You’re all going to win.”

            As I made my way towards the center of the mat, I remember Coach slapping me on the ass and saying, “All right Jon, this starts with you.” The next thing I remember, the crowd was going wild and my arm was being raised for the win. I couldn’t tell you the score, or even what the guy looked like. I can only tell you the feeling of relief that came over me as I walked off the mat, knowing that I had done my job, that it was now in somebody else’s hands.

            Joe Glinsky won at 160 pounds, which wasn’t a surprise, because Glinsky always won. In fact, in his four year varsity career, I can’t recall him ever losing at a dual meet. At 171, George Skaros, who was probably the most underrated wrestler in Section 6, also won, which again, surprised nobody. Three down, two to go. Dave Nuhn was next at 189 pounds. Nuhn was as tall and strong as any 189 pound teenager could be, but yet, somehow, his opponent that night appeared taller and stronger, like the Russian from Rocky IV. It was hard to watch. During the first two periods you could feel the energy in the gymnasium evaporating as Nuhn was simply ass kicked by an opponent who was simply a superior wrestler. But then something happened. The third period started and much like the Russian in Rocky IV, the wrestler from Attica began running out of energy. Nuhn would take him down and then let him up. Take him down and then let him up. Everybody could see what was happening, but nobody could believe it. Take him down and let him up. With only a few seconds left, Nuhn took him down one more time to send the match into overtime. By then, Nuhn could have probably won by simply blowing on the guy. Instead, he used a double leg takedown.

            The gymnasium was going crazy! But there was still one final match. Winner takes all. We sent out a red-headed sophomore by the name of Matt Keem. Keem had started the season as a 171 pounder, but when he realized that there was no room for him in an already crowded lineup full of talent, he quickly took on the task of bulking up to heavyweight. (In a sport where most athletes are constantly cutting weight, we were all very jealous.) Keem’s opponent that night was not only a “true” heavyweight, but also looked like a 35 year old long-haul truck driver. If the two were standing next to each other, you’d be hard-pressed to find someone who would pick Keem to come out on top. But on that night, we all saw our first glimpse of a wrestling genius, and somehow, (which we would see him do so many more times over the next three years) Keem took control of the match. And he won. And we won. We had beaten Attica.

            We would all go on to win a lot more (though Attica would get their revenge the next season, humiliating us on their home turf). Personally, I would achieve many more athletic accomplishments in my own life—a State Championship in Rugby, another in Mountain Biking—but none would ever compare to that night we wrestled Attica. For a sport that takes so much pride in individual achievement, with those guys, on that night, I’ve never felt a stronger sense of the word “team.” And yet “team,” doesn’t even really do it justice—we felt more like family than friends. It’s been over a decade and a half, and I’m aware that this is one of those stories that’s probably going to get better every time I tell it, but that’s okay, because when I think back to that win against Attica, so does the feeling of pride I felt that night.