PEP TALK? MY BEST MEMORY BEFORE A BIG WRESTLING MATCH

When does a pep talk make all the difference?

You’re warmed up, ready to go, just as the coach gives last instructions.

As a high school wrestler in my second year, I needed all the pep I could get.

Ordinarily you wouldn’t put a second year guy out against a well known mauler, but . . .

Things change when another team has three good guys in the same weight range from 178 lbs to heavyweight.

I’d already lost to two of them when I learned the heavyweight killer was cutting weight to go 191.

He already had a nasty reputation as a cruel dude. Cutting weight would make him meaner.

 

I don’t know about your memory, but mine is pretty good. In fact, I can accurately guess what your memories are based on mine.

High school memories are easy.

The couple who dated all through junior high and high school got married for a short time.

People left town and you never heard about them again until they’re on the reunion memorial wall.

A smart guy with the world at his feet goes to college then comes back to run the show.

Sports memories are even easier because they’re more personal both on the field and off.

Scotty prances off the field after fumbling the football and teammate Ronny kicks him in the ass on the sidelines.

We had to review the play quite a few times with a reminder to kick ass on the other team, not our own.

That was a soft pep talk, but we were used to those.

One coach got the team ready for a big game by crying; it was the first time his dad would see him coach a game.

It got us all choked up before we went out and got stomped, which was also a common outcome.

But we were tough enough to take it.

 

Starting With Tough Enough

The week before the big crosstown wrestling dual meet our coach brought in a guest teacher, a guest coach.

He was medium height, thick, hairy, and fast. Probably around thirty years old and on the rise in the coaching community.

I was long and lean and as hairy as a basketball. And not fast.

With that said, the visiting coach pulled me aside and taught me a move, but not just any move.

He showed me, and demonstrated, there’s always a demonstration in the wrestling room, a move so desperate I should only use it as a last resort.

As a second year wrestler every match felt like a last resort, so I stored it away.

I went over it in my mind and broke it down until I didn’t need any practice since I’d probably never use it.

 

The rumors before the big crosstown match in our home gym had 178 pounder staying there with 191 and heavyweight switching order in the lineup.

We had two grinders to go against their big three. And me.

I’d already lost to the guy with skinny legs and the arms and shoulders of a he-man. He cradled me like a nut in a nut cracker.

I’d lost to the guy with skinny arms and shoulders, but huge, mossy, tree trunk, legs.

The guy I might face if the rumors proved true was the badass wrestler who rag-dolled those guys.

Sharp analysis by our coaches came to this: their badass would beat any of our guys so why not put a sure loss out agaisnt him and our good guys against the other two.

That was the plan. It was a good tactical plan.

I was the sure loss, cannon fodder, another brick in the wrestling wall.

They must have figured I could take the loss better as a second year guy on varsity. I had less to lose?

 

The Pep Talk

If you wonder about my pep talk experience, I’ve received and given.

The entire stretch of Army boot camp was nothing more than an extended pepper to get people ready for their next school.

Turns out drill sergeants’ jobs get evaluated based on the performance of their troops down the line.

Squirrelly fuckers don’t make it to the end. Instead, they get recycled then rejected and sent back to where they came from.

If by some act of God one of these squirrels does make it through, then screws up? Blame the drill sergeant.

Their pep was impressive. You’ve seen men screaming in a trainee’s face with spit flying and their hat brim bouncing off the poor guys forehead? Me too.

When it was me getting the screamer I had to remind myself not to laugh. It was a classic slobber fest.

We talked about in the barracks later.

Soldier: You didn’t flinch.

Me: He wanted me to.

Soldier: I don’t know if I could take it without flinching.

Me: Keep fucking around and you’ll  find out.

Soldier: You didn’t fuck around and you still found out.

Me: I’ve always been lucky like that.

Three years earlier the gym was filling with wrestling fans, parents, friends, and students.

The Junior Varsity matches were over, the lights dimmed, and the spot light descended from the ceiling.

Yes, we had a dramatic spotlight.

When you’re on the mat you can’t see anything but the other guy and the ref, but you can hear the crowd.

The team score was close through the lower weights before they took a slim lead through the middle weights.

Then it was Big Boy time.

Our guy turned their big legged guy every which way but lose.

The joke afterward was ‘what did it feel like cuddling with those thighs on a single leg shot?’

I was hyperventilating in the background when they called their guy’s name for the next match.

Then mine.

It was their badass vs our sure loss; it was showtime in the center of the mat.

But before I went out the coach came back for his famous pep talk.

I expected something tactical mixed with a little hope. Something along the lines of, ‘This could be the biggest match you’ll ever have and remember it the rest of your life.’

Fifty years along it’s been all of that and more. It’s been a moral lesson, a guiding light, a beacon.

Coach stood up after the current match ended and walked over to me.

I was ready for his best pep talk, my best pep talk, the best pep talk in the history of pep talks.

He looked at me with my headgear on and strapped and said, and I quote:

“Don’t get pinned.”

That was it, that was the whole pep talk from beginning to end.

Don’t. Get. Pinned.

He knew I was going to lose. I knew I was going to lose. The other guy knew it, too.

Everybody knew I was the designated loser and so what?

Coach just told me how to lose in a good way, a respectable way. He cared.

I liked that. (Hey DA)

It was a desperate time and I had the desperate move.