GRECO ROMAN MEDAL WITH A HAPPY FAMILY

Greco Roman sounds so classic because that’s what it is, classic.

It sounds old, like Greek City-State and Roman Empire old. Way the heck back there.

In the sports world, Greco Roman is a particular style of wrestling, not an architectural element.

It’s for athletes who don’t want to get tangled up in someone’s legs, or have their own legs attacked like hungry lions on fresh Christians in the old Coliseum.

That’s not in the Greco Roman rulebook.

Greco people don’t worry about their legs being vulnerable, or anything else below the waist.

No cow tails allowed. (If you’re asking yourself, ‘What’s a cow tail,’ don’t ask out loud; someone might show you.)

The top image is a mother and father as happy as I’ve ever seen them, and they’re my mom and dad.

I’ve never seen the shot before. Thanks, Steve. That happens when time passes. Live long enough and you’ll share the same experience.

Today, I’m older than them. Back then I was an eighteen year old high school senior.

Mom, Dad, Marshfield

Every town has a rival; every high school has a rival. That’s how it goes, and how it should be.

If you don’t have a rival, find one.

The North Bend rival was Coos Bay and a high school called Marshfield.

It wasn’t much of a rivalry since the Marshfield Pirates stomped the North Bend Bulldogs regularly back then. Our teams’ progress was marked by how much they lost by.

Times have changed since 1973.

In a cruel irony of fate, the top picture was taken in the Marshfield gym after the state greco tournament. In those days the best wrestlers in the state showed up to compete for the second leg of the Triple Crown.

The first leg was the folk style championship, greco for the second, and freestyle for the sweep.

One of our guys, Robin Richards, had won five of the six championships in two years, along with second place in a Junior World tournament in Japan where he was cheated out of the gold by a Russian ref.

It happens.

He was two years older and the Gold Standard, with awards as Best Wrestler in national tournaments where he waded through his weight class.

In an anti-climatic contrast, I hadn’t won anything in three years and wrestled on the junior varsity team half the time as a senior.

If participation trophies and a juice box had been awarded back then, I’d have had a box full.

I could have quit and no one would wonder why.

Since I didn’t, and had one last chance to make it real, I stuck it out.

The enduring reward, this picture my brother found after our step-dad passed, makes it more worthwhile than I knew.

Somehow it caught my mom and dad in a frozen moment. I’ve never seen a picture of my mom looking more beautiful, or my dad looking so proud.

Sharing the frame with them gives me goosebumps, the same reaction I get looking at pictures of my two sons during their competitive wrestling years.

Greco Roman Pepper From Robin Richards

Following my tradition of falling on my back and getting pinned, I lost the first match of that tournament.

I stood in the bracket room looking at the list of opponents, figuring I had one more match for the ‘two and through’ I’d perfected in other tournaments, including the recent folk style.

My mom and dad took off early to make it to the Oregon State campus in Corvallis, Oregon. In those days the tournament was held in Gil Coliseum.

After my second match elimination my mom said, “I didn’t drive all the way up here to watch you stand around and get beat.”

I stood in front of the 190 lb. bracket to check my next opponent, a bruiser who had placed second in Corvallis and looked like he could have won.

He was going to kick my butt, I already knew it. He knew it, too, even though he didn’t know me. The guy was big and strong and mean, and didn’t back up.

I was just glad my parents didn’t have to drive so far to see me flop around.

Standing there with my internal voice regretting that I had to face the top seeded guy in my second match after losing the first, I heard a voice behind me.

“You can beat these guys.”

I didn’t turn around, figuring it was a teammate who knew my history and rubbed it in.

The guy behind me pushed me aside and started pointing to the names.

“You can beat him, and him, and him.”

It was Robin.

“This is my next guy,” I said, pointing. “He’s a thumper.”

“All you need to do is stop throwing yourself on your back.”

“I’m doing what I learned from you,” I said.

“Then stop. Stop trying to take everyone over the top. Go sideways. One side, then the other. Use arm throws, use head and arms, use under hooks. Stop picking them up and dropping them on top of you.”

I looked at the bracket, he looked at me.

“You can beat these guys. Look at me. You can beat these guys. Believe it. Look at me.”

I faced him.

“Do this,” he said, “then this. If they go this way, do this. If they go that way, do this.”

In the best two minutes of coaching I ever got, it made sense.

“I can beat these guys?” I said.

“It’s not a question. Try it again.”

“I can beat these guys.”

“Better. One more time.”

“I. Can. Beat. These. Guys.”

“That’s it. Now get out of here, they’re calling you. You’re up on mat three. Remember what I told you.”

“I’m going to beat these guys, starting right now, right here in the Marshfield gym.”

If you’ve ever had a memorable pep talk that worked, leave it in comments.