As the warm-up winds down, the wrestlers return to their areas in the bleachers for more nourishment, the stands become packed and ready for action. A panorama of the fans is checkered with the different colors of school pride. Royal blue of Buffalo, traditional brown and white of the proud Lehigh, Big Red Cornell, and the bold black and gold of West Point. These sections will later create a discontinuous wave that flows through the crowd periodically throughout the day, as each section gets its chance to stand, whistle, and cheer in victory, as one of its own earns it. But for a short time, after a momentary pause of the music, a synthesizer suddenly blasts from the speakers with the famous tune of "The Final Countdown," and the man behind the microphone greets the gym with a thunderous, "Ladies and gentlemen, arrre you ready!?" After a short introduction of the competing teams, he asks all to rise, and honor America for the playing of the National Anthem. As the crowd stands, all the different teams and colors temporarily unite and blend into one team's spirit, Team USA. When the final note is played, the announcer kicks things off, "Llleett's get ready to wresssttlllle!!!" And with the sudden blurt of a referee's whistles, the tournament gets underway.
Wrestling mats cover the gym floor, which from bird's eye looks like an array of two-toned circles from wall to wall, within which wrestlers seem to be diving, twisting, flipping, and throwing each other. But zoom in closer and one can see the details of the action, which only those who have personally experienced can fully appreciate. There are two men in peak physical condition, exhausting themselves with blows to the head, knuckles across the face, torquing joints in an unnatural way that would make any witness cringe. Such barbaric actions make the casual viewer disgusted, and the curious viewer wonder why these men put themselves through fight after fight. For anybody to attempt to understand, he must look beyond the brutality of the sport, for the deeper meaning behind the suffering weight-cutting, bloody faces, and torn ligaments. Because wrestling is the world's oldest and most respected sports for a reason; it is why the wrestler is. Step up to mat side, and take a good look...
Mat one: a returning All-American who hasn't stopped thinking about, or training for his next trip to NCAA's, who dreams of topping the podium this time around, is faced with the swagger of a young hot-shot on a mission to stake his own name in the history of the great sport. Two men, two different styles, strengths, weaknesses, and experience, have the same, singular goal, victory. Two men, warriors representing everything their team stands for, but defending their respect alone. No star player to depend on for the game-winning shot, nobody to pass the ball to when the pressure is on, no time outs in order to re-strategize. He is on the battlefield alone. 100% responsible for failure, 100% responsible for dreams to become reality, he takes personal pride in making his own destiny, his legacy. The wrestler carries the weight of the world as he knows it on his shoulders alone. His sweat. His blood. His tears.
Mat two: After a scramble leads the two men out of bounds, the wrestler in black is slow to get up; he takes a few seconds to adjust his constricting knee brace and reflect: down by four points with thirty seconds left. He knows the tall task ahead: having to escape and take the guy down twice, just for a second shot at victory in overtime. But focus your attention on his face as he stands tall to jog back to the center line, and you'll believe he can win, just by the look in his eyes. Because two knee surgeries couldn't prevent his senior-year campaign; so, physical exhaustion and a four point deficit will not slow him down either. He tells himself, "I will not be denied my dream. I will be victorious." When his eyes meet his opponent's, he sees that his opponent is desperate for the thirty seconds to expire, because his will to battle any further already has.
On each mat there are two wrestlers, and there is a story behind each wrestler. Different paths have led them to that single match, and afterwards they will go their separate ways, possibly to cross paths again; but in that moment, one man's strength and determination stands in the way of another man's dreams. Often times the winner is determined by pure talent--many great warriors have fallen to the sword of Achilles chiefly because he was a better fighter than them. It's not a knock on a man's character to fall to a superior competitor. It's about what happens during the match that defies a man. When limbs are numb and shaky, drowned with blood coursing through expanding veins, and lungs are exhausted, and the mind is at its breaking-point, champions prevail. Every part of his body has ceased normal function, and his mind has recognized his body's desperate need to stop, and even agrees--it is at this defining moment that a champion's heart will last longer, and inspire from within.
Tireless training upon endless hours of concentrated will-power is what the championship caliber wrestler lives through along his road to victory and history. He sacrifices the luxurious pleasures of the life of a young adult, and rather dedicates two hours to watching former great champions' film than two hours to the latest TV show, or coolest new movie. The wrestler understands commitment. He appreciates the value of blood and sweat. He is a unique athlete, not necessarily the strongest or fastest; but possibly has the strongest will. The Greatest preaches that the will must be stronger than the skill. The wrestler has heart. The wrestler is.
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