After a relaxing shower I settled into my bed with a little bit of turkey and a Vitamin Water. The Vitamin Water was a refreshing reward after a grueling practice. I reached into my bag and pulled out the card Ms. Alvarado gave me and reread it. “Remember, “The reward isn’t as great without the struggle” I read out loud.
“What’s going on Drew? How’d the tournament go this weekend?” “It went well. I won my fourth section title, but I felt crappy.” “Yea you were telling me last time how it’s getting harder for you to make weight. Nonetheless, congrats.” “Thanks.” “I can tell something’s wrong. Talk to me. What’s bothering you?” “I don’t know. Now that I won Sections at 145, I’m definitely going to be in Brock’s weight for states.” “Yea and that’s what you wanted, right?”
“Yea it is. But, I don’t know, I’m just nervous. It has been such a struggle to make weight this season. Every day for four months I’ve been busting my ass and torturing myself to make this weight class. I have so much riding on this season. I have so much to lose. If I don’t win, it’s going to be devastating. It’s going to feel like I wasted all this time and effort to just lose again. And if I wrestle like I did this weekend, there is no way I’ll beat Brock. I just feel like cutting all this weight might be a mistake, especially considering that it’s affecting my grades and even my friends. I get so irritable throughout the week. I’m like a ticking time bomb.”
“When I was a freshman in college, I had so many things going on during finals that I felt like I was going to lose it. Between my gymnastics practices, the tons of reading, my physics problem sets, and my boyfriend, I felt like I couldn’t juggle everything at once. Something was going to give or I was going to have a nervous breakdown. I’ve always been very close with my Dad so I called him up for advice. What he told me will stay with me forever because it has helped me get through many tough times. He told me to relax and not get upset. ‘Keep your composure. If you lose your composure, you’ll lose everything. Just keep your nose to the grindstone because the reward isn’t as great without the struggle. I took what he said to heart and finished up the semester with great marks. The reward really was worth the struggle for me, and I know that it will be worth the struggle for you.”
“The reward isn’t as great without the struggle. Wow, I really like that.” “It’s a great quote isn’t it? You’ve wanted to wrestle Brock for four years. Just keep working hard Drew, the reward is in sight. As long as you stay mentally tough, I know you’ll be fine.” “Thanks a lot Alina. You always know the right thing to say.”
“The reward isn’t as great without the struggle”. I said it aloud again to myself and let it sink in. Here I was the night before the tournament with the opportunity to make my dream a reality almost within grasp. Alina’s advice had really helped me in the last two weeks. She had really become a special person to me and I realized how much of an effect she had on me that season. I didn’t know where my head would have been come the state tournament if I hadn’t had her as an outlet this season.
She had made sure to see me off before I left for the bus earlier that morning. “It’s Thursday so I guess I have to call you Ms. Alvarado today.” “I’ll let it slide today, but just this once,” she said as her lips widened into a smile. “Thank you so much for everything you’ve helped me with this season. I don’t think I would have been able to get this far if it wasn’t for you. Thanks again Alina.”
“It has been my pleasure Drew. You have taught me so much about yourself and this wonderful sport. I can see why you cherish it so much. I understand why it’s so important to you and this community.” She kissed me on the cheek as she slipped the envelope into my hand. “Good luck Drew. Bring it home.” “I will.”
I smiled as I reflected on the memory. The reward isn’t as great without the struggle, and I surely had struggled. “Let’s hope she is right”. I put the envelope back into my bag and threw my empty Vitamin Water bottle into the garbage. Tomorrow was a big day I need to get some sleep. Or at least attempt to.
* * * *
Brock came at me like a raging bull right out of the gate, clubbing my head hard and shooting a textbook “High-C”. He got in very deep and sat me to my butt, bringing the crowd to its feet in anticipation of the first takedown of the match. I managed to walk my feet out from underneath Brock and into a sprawl position. Brock still held onto my leg but he was in terrible position due to the pressure created from my defense .We scooted out of bounds and I was out of danger. As he got up Brock gave me a shove, obviously trying to intimidate me. The crowd seemed to notice it and starting raining boos onto the mat.
We were back on our feet and I knew that I needed to start working my offense. Brock continued to push hard into me, so I knew that my favorite Martin shrug would be open. Using his momentum as he pushed, I hit the shrug, causing Brock to step past me and expose his lead leg. In that split second I was able to hit a beautiful sweep single, bringing Brock’s leg up in the air to my hip so that he was balancing on one leg. Without hesitation, I kicked out the leg he was balancing on and covered him on the mat! The crowd ignited as the ref signaled two points! I could see my father jumping out of the corner of my eye.
Sinking a deep tight waist, I was able to break Fortino flat on the mat, and begin to work for a tilt. As I started to expose Brock’s back, he kicked hard, and his hips slipped over mine. This put me in terrible position and in danger of giving up a reversal and back points. However, I was able to use the momentum of his kick to roll across my back and arch my hips in the air in a back arch. Doing so bucked Brock off of me, allowing him to escape for one point, but more importantly saving me from what seemed like certain trouble. The crowd loved the “scrambling” that was taking place on the mat before them, and their applause was evidence.
We were back on our feet with 45 seconds to go in the first period. I circled to my right off the whistle, avoiding the bull’s initial charge, before shooting in on his legs with a sweep single. Brock sprawled hard, punishing me for touching his leg with his tremendous hip pressure and causing me to lose my grip on his leg. He used the opportunity to spin left and switch to his front head lock. I tried to defend the hold but Brock was very good in this position. In a bowling motion spun me forcefully to his left, allowing him to shoot in deeply on my legs. I tried to scoot my hips away, but he was in great position and was able to secure two points.
Wrestling with a sense of urgency, I exploded up to my feet with fifteen seconds left in the first. Brock followed me to my feet, and to prevent me from escaping he lowered his level and dropped to a single leg. I was balancing on one leg and I knew I needed the escape. As Brock went to kick out my leg I jumped explosively off of it and did a complete front flip, freeing my leg and earning one point
. The crowd went ballistic and even Brock looked astonished for a second. “Atta boy Drew!” screamed my father from my corner as the period ended. Lots of action and a 3-3 deadlock in the first two minutes of wrestling; there was never a dull moment when Brock and I butted heads on the mat.
I won the coin flip and elected to defer my choice until the third period. Brock immediately chose neutral and we were back on our feet. I knew Brock was going to charge in at me off the whistle, so when he did I shot a “blast double” and drove through him like a football tackle. The combination of his strong legs and low center of gravity enabled Brock to withstand the force of my shot, affording him enough time to secure over-unders. As I drove through him, Brock back-arched and twisted the core of his body to the left while he simultaneously punched across his body with the under-hook. Using my momentum as I drove him to the mat combined with his powerful and explosive hips and back, Brock launched me off my feet and sent me flying through the air straight onto my back. The crowd was dazzled, and I was dumbfounded.
Tolden immediately awarded a two-point takedown and dropped to the mat to start counting back points. I was in BIG trouble. It was early in the second period and I was fighting to not get pinned. Immediately realizing I was on my back and in grave danger, I began to back-arch to fight to my stomach. But Brock smelled victory and was putting a ton of pressure on me, looking to secure the pin. The “Strong Island” crowd was cheering ecstatically, waiting for its prodigy to “stick” me and clinch his fourth state title.
When you’re on your back it feels like an eternity. Time seems to slow down, and you feel like you’ve been taken out of reality. You feel helpless; and you are because no one is going to come out onto the mat and save you. It’s up to you to fight off your back. I could hear the roar of 9,000 wrestling fans; it was swirling around my ears as if it was trapped within my headgear. I remember thinking “This could be it. This is how I’m going to end my career.” My wrestler’s mentality kicked back in.
“Don’t relax. If you relax, you’re going to get stuck,” I kept thinking to myself. Screaming loudly, I was able to back-arch and flip over to my stomach and out of danger.
Tolden awarded Brock three back points, sinking me into an 8-3 deficit. I Looked up at the scoreboard and realized I had been on my back for over a minute. There was 35 seconds left in the period and I needed an escape to get back into this match, but as I fought off my back Brock was able to sink in an arm-bar on my right side.
This was trouble because it was rare that Brock didn’t pin you if he was able to sink a bar. Brock was running the bar viciously, with no regard for my shoulder, but there was no way in hell that I was going to let him turn me again. Staying off your back is an attitude. Gritting my teeth, I pressured back into Brock so that he couldn’t turn me. With ten seconds left in the period his strength was becoming too much. With another surge of power he turned me to my back, and Tolden began counting again. “One. Tw… No two! No two!” yelled Tolden as he waved off the points. The buzzer rang just before he could count to two, robbing Brock of two back-points.
I was livid. I could not believe that I was in such a hole, and I was even angrier that Fortino turned me at the end of the period. When you’re down by five to a wrestler like Fortino the match is pretty much over. There is a very slim chance that any wrestler would be able to close the gap, but then again, those wrestlers aren’t me. I was not about to back down and submit to him no matter how many points I was down by. I was the most dangerous wrestler in the top position in the state.
I didn’t see the crowd. I didn’t see my father. The only thing I could see was a flashback of Brock double legging me to the mat in my loss to him freshman year. I was not about to relive that day, and thinking about it reignited the fire in my heart. It was my choice in the third period. Brock didn’t even have to wait for me to say “Top”; he just went down into referee’s position. If there was any chance that I could win the match, this was the position I’d do it in. The fire was ablaze in my eyes, and I had no doubt I was about to tear Brock apart.
Off the whistle I stopped his first move and broke him flat. When Brock started to build his base, an opportunity for my notorious cross-face cradle presented itself. Brock’s short body was no match for my lanky yet strong arms, and I easily locked my hands. I started to push into him to try and bull him over to his back, but he pushed back into me to prevent me from bulling him over. When he did, I rolled him through the other way to his back!
I could hear Tolden counting as I held Brock there. He was bucking and kicking his legs, fighting desperately to get off his back. It worked. I was only able to get a four count, good for only two back points. The score was now 8-5; I still had some work to do.
After Brock broke out of the cradle, he relaxed for a second or two before he felt my forearm across his nose again. Working like a madman, I wrenched his head towards his knee and was able to lock up another cradle. Brock was tougher to turn this time; he did not want to be put on his back again. Fighting hard on the edge of the outer circle, he started to go over, but he pushed hard into me and we sailed out of bounds.
Brock sat there for a second obviously shell-shocked. It had been three years since he was last put on his back; and the last person to do it was me. As I got up I looked into my corner. “Let’s go buddy, do it again. Stop his first move.” Pointing to his chest he said, “Heart, son, heart.” Dad’s faith had never wavered in me, and I wasn’t about to let either of us down.
The building was shaking. People could not believe that I had just cradled Brock so easily, and they were eager to see me turn him again! After Brock was set, I got on top. Brock exploded to his feet off the whistle, but I was able to secure his wrist. He was oblivious to the danger he was in. I immediately hit a standing tilt and caught him in my lap with his back clearly exposed. The roll through tilt is tight when you hit it on the mat, but when it is hit from the feet it is MUCH tighter. Brock could not kick. Brock could not move. Tolden counted to five and awarded me three back points. I had done the unthinkable. I had tied the score at 8-8, and there was only 30 seconds left on the clock.
I could not let Brock escape. If I did, he would win the match. Brock was shocked, but only momentarily. As I let him off his back, he was able to break the grip I had on his wrist and control my hand. He stood up to his feet and was in great position to earn an escape. Sensing the danger, I dropped to a single and cleanly returned him to the mat, but Brock shot right back up to his feet as soon as he landed. As Brock was cutting away, I stayed close, desperately trying to keep him from escaping. He cut quickly and managed to get free, instantly dropping to a single leg takedown. Tolden awarded him for the escape, putting him up 9-8.
There was ten seconds left on the clock, and Brock was in on my leg. “Leave it all on the mat” I thought. I had only one option. I sunk a deep whizzer and bent Brock forward hard to break his position, setting up a move that he could not be expecting. As he straightened his back to regain good position, I executed the unorthodox move. Brock fell right to his butt and rocked backwards to his back, unable to move because of the hold I had him trapped in. Brock’s back was clearly exposed and Tolden awarded me two points for the takedown and began to count back-points. Brock struggled to get free, but the buzzer rang. Tolden awarded me two back points to make the final score 12-9.
Ecstasy. Pure ecstasy. Chills ran down my back, goose bumps covered every inch of my skin. I threw my head back and spread my arms wide, flexing as I roared triumphantly. I sprinted to my corner and jumped into my father’s arms. “I am so proud of you son”, he whispered in my ear. Brock was on his back, his hands covering his face in disbelief. My father put me down, and I walked to the center of the mat where Tolden was waiting. “That was the most incredible comeback I have ever witnessed in my entire life. Way to leave it all on the mat champ. Congratulations.”
After a few more seconds Brock got up and slowly walked to the center of the mat. “Great match” he said as he shook my hand. Tolden raised my arm and I finally got to look at the crowd. Every single person was on his feet, applauding, not only for me, but Brock as well. The match had lived up to its hype and grandeur. As Tolden walked away, I stayed in the middle of the mat, both arms in the air and four fingers spread wide on each hand. Four fingers for four state titles. I ran over to Brock’s corner to shake Coach Giani’s hand before taking off towards the stands. Leaping the barrier I sprinted up the stairs to where my mother was waiting for my embrace. “My Drew! I’m so proud of you, my Drew!” Mascara stained her cheeks as she wiped her tears. She held me close before we were swallowed up by a swarm of red and white shirts as my teammates and fans congratulated me.
Shortly afterward were the award ceremony and podium pictures. As I climbed to the top of the podium, I made sure to shake everyone of my competitors’ hands. I bent over so the gold medal could be put around my neck and I smiled brightly as I held my bracket. Looking over at the mat where I had just made history, my smile grew broader. I wasn’t smiling because I had won the match and gotten my vengeance. I was smiling because I could confidently say that I ended my high school career the way I had always dreamed I would; I had left it all on the mat.
- Marc Zurla
Monday, June 21, 2010
Monday, June 14, 2010
Leave it all on the mat- Part III
The arena was only a short walk from the hotel. I showed my pass at the back entrance of the arena, and walked in and found a changing room. The last practice the day before a weigh in is always the most mentally and physically exhausting. You really need to dig deep to muster the energy to be able to get a good enough work out in so that you can weigh out on weight. Personally I always like to cut around a pound under my weight class, that way I can eat and drink something later on that night. I always hated the idea of working so hard that last night of practice and not eating or drinking something afterwards.
Finding the scales, I checked my weight to compare the weigh-in scale to my own personal scale. Luckily, they were dead even and I was still only two pounds over.
After an exhausting work out, I threw on a thick sweatshirt and my winter coat, and set out to find a secluded spot to sweat out. Wandering around the arena, I passed many wrestlers that I knew from either youth wrestling or from seeing them here year after year. Most were friendly, but since everyone was focused on cutting weight, they were all a bit crabby and there was little room for conversation.
As I rounded the corner, I saw Brock approaching me. He didn’t notice me at first, but when he did his eyes narrowed as he stared me down. I stared right back at him, refusing to look away. He was walking in the middle of the hall, as was I; neither of us was going to move. As we passed our shoulders collided, and I turned and faced him with a menacing scowl on my face. His face was expressionless. He simply nodded his head, backpedaling as he stared me down before turning away and continuing down the hallway.
Brock had always been friendly when we were younger, even when we competed against each other. But as he grew up, his ego grew as broad as his shoulders. A once friendly kid had grown into an egotistical asshole that disrespected anyone who got in his way. His demeanor echoed the way he wrestled, mean and ferocious, and this is why people feared him so much.
Still fuming after my encounter with Brock, I entered one of the private dressing rooms and found it empty. Thankfully it was already warm, but I walked into the shower room and turned them both on to let the steam build up. I grabbed a garbage pail and pulled it over to the corner of the room so that I could spit water into it when I needed to rinse out my mouth. I sat down in the corner, and pulled both of my hoods over my head. To trap the heat within, I pulled them tightly around my head and knotted the drawstrings. To pass the time I closed my eyes and began to think about my rivalry with Brock.
Our childhood rivalry had continued throughout middle school and into our freshman year of high school. Since we were from different areas in New York State, the only other time I had competed against Brock’s high school was at the Kohl Tournament in Suffern my freshman year. Huntington has one of the best high school wrestling programs in New York State history, and more state champions have come from that program than any other. The fact that two state-powerhouses headlined the field at the Kohl made it a very attractive tournament to the wrestling community.
The wrestling community had been eagerly awaiting the start of our wrestling careers; our talents on the mat were no secret in New York. Rumors of a potential match between the “freshmen phenoms” had been circulating since the beginning of the season, but I wanted to bump up and wrestle him for my own personal reasons. To be the best, you need to wrestle the best, and no other opponent was more formidable than Brock the Rock. There was never any doubt in my mind that I would win.
Both Brock and I cruised to the finals of the tournament, leaving dismantled opponents in our wake to battle for third place in the losers’ bracket. I remember being nervous before this match as I waited in the locker room for the Parade of Champions to start. Brock stood to my left, looking fierce as he always did before his matches.
The steam was starting to build up in the dressing room. I could feel the sweat running down my spine. The heat trapped within the layers I was wearing was unbearable, but I ignored it. I felt a bit faint. I ignored that too.
“Alright boys it’s time to start the Parade of Champions. Wait for my signal and follow the man in front of you.”
“Ladies and Gentlemen”, came the voice of the announcer through the speakers surrounding the gym. “Your 26th Annual Khol Tournament finalists!”
The crowd erupted as we began our march around the finals mat. The gymnasium was completely packed this year because my match with Brock was so highly anticipated. Both sets of bleachers were completely full and even more people lined the walls of the gym. North Rockland fans littered one set of the bleachers; Huntington fans lined the opposite set.
“Wrestling for the championship at 125 lbs is a freshman from Huntington High School who is coached by NYS wrestling legend Lou Giani. He boasts an undefeated record of 19-0 and is ranked 2nd in the state. Brock Fortino!”
“His opponent, also a freshman, is from North Rockland High School, and is coached by Luke Montrose. He is ranked 3rd in the state at 119 lbs and has an undefeated record of 17-0. Drew Montrose!”
The crowd went wild as we were announced. This was one of the most anticipated match ups of the season anywhere in the state, and the match everyone had come to witness. I ran to the middle of the mat where Fortino was waiting and shook his hand before running off the mat where I was greeted by my teammate with a hand slap.
The crowd was being treated with many high intensity matches that night, but the main event had yet to come. After the champion at the 119 lb weight class was crowned, I stripped down to my singlet and walked onto the mat.
Brock was already on the mat in his white finals singlet; the word “HUNTINGTON” boldly printed across the front in navy blue. He was imposing as he bounced on the edge of the mat. I knew he was just as ready as I was. I wore my North Rockland finals singlet, the front and back of which was white, with a stripe of red running down the sides from my ribs to my thigh. The letters “NR” were printed on the front in red. Wearing the finals singlet is a privilege and an honor because it is only worn for the finals of a tournament, and it is much nicer than our regular competition singlets.
The crowd was ready for the main event. The bleachers thundered as fans in both sets stomped their feet, causing the structure to shake like a skyscraper in an earthquake. They rained their cheers down upon Brock and me, their arms swaying back and forth as they clapped, like tree branches blowing in a hurricane.
As I paced my side of the mat, my mind was all over the place. I was so nervous that I couldn’t focus on my game plan. I kept nervously glancing over at Brock. His expressionless and calm demeanor was unnerving. Wasn’t he at all nervous to wrestle me? I shook my head, as if doing so could shake the funk from my mind. This was so unlike me.
The heat in the dressing room made it hard to think. Why had I been so nervous? I guess it had to do with the fact that this match was different than any other time I had wrestled Brock. In the past, the wins and losses didn’t count for anything significant. But in high school, this match would count towards my record, leaving a permanent etch in my win or loss column. I felt dizzy underneath all the layers. I ignored it still.
“Drew, are you ready, son?” The sound of my father’s voice snapped me out of the funk. “Yes sir.” “Six minutes hard. Take it to him and set the tone right away. Leave it all on the mat.”
“Set the tone right away” I thought to myself. “OK, I can do that.”
I walked towards the middle of the mat where Brock was already waiting with his foot on the line, crouched in a half wrestling stance with his forearms resting on his knees. The referee made sure the timer was set, and wished us both good luck. The noise from the crowd swirled around the gym but I was deaf to it. I was in the zone now. My game plan was pristine. I stepped to the line, and shook Brock’s hand. The ref blew the whistle, and I immediately shot a lightning quick low single at his lead leg, getting in deep on his ankle.
Brock countered with a whizzer and his defense was very effective. The pressure it caused made it impossible for me to finish my shot, forcing a stalemate that stopped the action and brought us back to our feet.
Although I controlled the action on our feet in the first period, getting in deep on three different shots, it ended scoreless. I felt confident after the first period because my offense was working well. I knew that if I kept the pressure on Brock I would eventually score.
The ref flipped a coin and I won the toss. I chose the bottom position to start the second period, and went down on all fours in the center of the mat, my butt sitting on my heels. Brock crouched behind me, one arm on my stomach, the other on my elbow. The ref blew the whistle and I sprang up to my feet with explosive speed, trying to earn a one-point escape. Brock countered by following me to my feet and using his strong hips and back, he lifted me into the air to try to return me to the mat. As I landed, I instantaneously executed a “granby flip”, a flashy yet very effective move that looks like a front flip from a tripod position; a definite a crowd-pleaser. I was able to free myself from Brock and went up 1-0.
The action in the second period continued on our feet as I looked to set up my single leg takedown. Pressuring Brock’s head down with my left arm, I was able to break his position momentarily and fire off a nice inside single leg shot, but Brock sprawled back with enormous hip pressure. Brock’s sprawl was devastating, and it knocked me to my own hip, putting me in terrible position. He was able to free his leg and spin behind me for a quick two-point takedown with ten seconds to go in the period. The Huntington crowd cheered madly at the change in momentum.
Now I was pissed. I had been wrestling a very solid period and one little mistake had cost me the lead. In a match between such even skilled wrestlers, one little mistake is all it takes to lose the match.
I got up, shaking my head in frustration as I did so, and looked at my father. “Relax, Relax. Keep your composure. There’s plenty of match left. You have two minutes to get the point back.”
Entering the third period it was Brock’s choice. He chose bottom, which put me in my best position, top. Wrestlers feared wrestling me in this position because I was good enough to turn anyone to their back. When the whistle blew I took control and began to work a variety of moves, attempting to expose Brock’s back to the mat. After working for a minute and a half, the anxious cheers from the North Rockland crowd suggested that they were beginning to get nervous that I would fail to turn Fortino and lose the match 2-1. But I was determined not to fail, and at that moment used the cross-wrist to execute a roll through tilt. Catching him in my lap, I secured Fortino there with his back exposed past a forty-five degree angle.
The North Rockland fans erupted in wild cheers. I held Brock securely for three seconds, enough to earn two back points. I remember thinking to myself “Just hang on. Don’t you dare let him up.” I knew I had to ride him out for a 3-2 win, but Brock kicked hard, creating a scramble that allowed him to extricate himself out of my lap for an escape! The buzzer rang signifying the end of regulation, and with the score knotted at 3-3: we were headed to sudden victory over time.
The crowd was ecstatic. Both sets of bleachers trembled under the cheering masses. The match was undoubtedly living up to the hype and expectation. Most wrestlers would be gassing heading into overtime, but Brock and I were exceptionally conditioned athletes. We knew that the mind tires before the body does and that we could push through the exhaustion.
I could hear my father screaming from my corner, “Your offense Drew! Attack, Attack, Attack! Take him down and end this match!” “Come on, dig deep” demanded my conscience.
Breathing heavily, we stepped to the line, back on our feet. Ready to use every last bit of energy we had left in us. Ready to leave it all on the mat. “One minute overtime”, came the voice of the announcer over the loud speaker. The ref blew the whistle and we sprung into action.
Brock was really pushing the pace, trying to break my position and get me out of my wrestling stance. I was able to get in on two good shots, but Brock’s defense was too tough and the ref called a quick stalemate both times. With about twenty seconds left in the match I snapped Brock’s head hard and attempted a “duck-under”, but he down-blocked with his arms and head very well. The down-block exposed my position and Fortino was able to hit a smooth sweep single.
Getting in deep on my leg, I whizzered in defense, but Brock used his brute strength to lift my leg in the air so that I was balancing on one leg. He tried stepping back to sit me to my butt, then immediately shot his head outside to my near hip, driving across and sweeping my legs out with his arms in a perfectly executed double leg take down. I landed on my far hip as he drove me right to the edge of the outer circle and kept his toes in bounds.
The Huntington fans exhaled, “TWO!”, as the ref threw two fingers in the air to signal a two point takedown and end the sudden victory over time. Brock jumped up to his feet and thumped his fist into his chest before pointing with both index fingers at his frenzied Huntington fans.
Defeat knocked the wind out of me. I sat on the mat on my knees for a few seconds, my head on the mat and my hands covering my face in the agony. How could I have lost? Gathering myself, I got up and, keeping my chin held high, walked to the center of the mat where Brock waited with the referee. My father had always taught me to handle my losses like a man, and to never make a scene that would embarrass our program and myself. “Great match”, I said to Brock and shook his hand. I turned my back as the referee raised Brock’s hand to the content of the Huntington fan section. I ran over and shook coach Giani’s hand and then ran back across the mat to my own corner. My dad patted me on the back as I grabbed my stuff and sprinted out of the gymnasium.
Tears welled up in my eyes, but I didn’t let anyone see. I sprinted until I found myself alone in the trainer’s office. I felt empty at first. I felt crushed and deflated. Chills ran down my back as tears streamed down my face; the aftermath of what had just happened was setting in. I was sitting shirtless on the trainer’s table, the straps of my singlet dangling at my sides, sweat still glistening all over my body. My adrenaline was still pumping hard, my blood coursing through my veins as my anger began to surge. I kept replaying the end of the match like a mental movie reel over and over. I kept picturing Brock driving me out of bounds, and looking up at the ref as he signaled two points for the takedown. The roar of the crowd, Brock’s jubilation, and the agony of defeat pierced my heart. The grief spurred my anger. I wanted to scream as loudly as I could, rip down the posters that covered the walls, and throw medical supplies all over the place. I wanted to flip the table I was sitting on, and shatter the glass cabinets with my fists until they dripped with my boiling blood. I left the room.
Wandering down the hallways in no particular direction, my mind was flooded with thoughts. I trained too hard to lose like that. I needed to wrestle Brock again, and I needed to beat him. If I didn’t set the score straight, I knew that my loss to Fortino would haunt me for the rest of my life.
I rounded the corner as I walked back towards the gym to find my father walking towards me. When he caught up to me he hugged me tightly and told me he was proud of me.
“You wrestled a hell of a match Drew. You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. He was just a little bit better than you today, and capitalized on your mistakes. Well break down the video and see where you went wrong, so we can learn from it. You’ll get another shot at him, don’t worry.”
He faced me, took me by the shoulders, and shook me hard. “Drew, wake up.” He shook me again. “Wake up Drew.”
I opened my eyes to find my father shaking me by the shoulders. “How long have you been in here?” “I don’t know. I guess I feel asleep.” “Come on Drew you know this is very dangerous. Go check your weight so we can get back to the hotel room.”
As I walked back to the hotel I kept thinking about that dream. I had dreamt it so many times this week, reliving the agony of the loss every time. The loss was one of the best things that ever happened to me. From that day on, I used that feeling of defeat as motivation to push myself beyond my limits when I trained.
Whenever I was tired, I would think about what Brock was doing at that moment. I would picture him training as hard as he could, or replay the memory of that takedown. It would motivate me to push through the exhaustion and train harder.
That season, the loss guided me to my first state title. It motivated me to annihilate the returning state-runner up in the semi-finals, and then knock off the returning state champion in the 119 lb final. But my feelings of vengeance never ceased and I knew that I needed to put myself in a position that would enable me to wrestle Brock and even the score. That’s why I was torturing myself to make weight this season. I chased him to the 145 lb weight class for my senior year and was willing to put everything on the line. Only one of us would walk off the mat Saturday night a four-time state champion.
-Marc Zurla
Finding the scales, I checked my weight to compare the weigh-in scale to my own personal scale. Luckily, they were dead even and I was still only two pounds over.
After an exhausting work out, I threw on a thick sweatshirt and my winter coat, and set out to find a secluded spot to sweat out. Wandering around the arena, I passed many wrestlers that I knew from either youth wrestling or from seeing them here year after year. Most were friendly, but since everyone was focused on cutting weight, they were all a bit crabby and there was little room for conversation.
As I rounded the corner, I saw Brock approaching me. He didn’t notice me at first, but when he did his eyes narrowed as he stared me down. I stared right back at him, refusing to look away. He was walking in the middle of the hall, as was I; neither of us was going to move. As we passed our shoulders collided, and I turned and faced him with a menacing scowl on my face. His face was expressionless. He simply nodded his head, backpedaling as he stared me down before turning away and continuing down the hallway.
Brock had always been friendly when we were younger, even when we competed against each other. But as he grew up, his ego grew as broad as his shoulders. A once friendly kid had grown into an egotistical asshole that disrespected anyone who got in his way. His demeanor echoed the way he wrestled, mean and ferocious, and this is why people feared him so much.
Still fuming after my encounter with Brock, I entered one of the private dressing rooms and found it empty. Thankfully it was already warm, but I walked into the shower room and turned them both on to let the steam build up. I grabbed a garbage pail and pulled it over to the corner of the room so that I could spit water into it when I needed to rinse out my mouth. I sat down in the corner, and pulled both of my hoods over my head. To trap the heat within, I pulled them tightly around my head and knotted the drawstrings. To pass the time I closed my eyes and began to think about my rivalry with Brock.
Our childhood rivalry had continued throughout middle school and into our freshman year of high school. Since we were from different areas in New York State, the only other time I had competed against Brock’s high school was at the Kohl Tournament in Suffern my freshman year. Huntington has one of the best high school wrestling programs in New York State history, and more state champions have come from that program than any other. The fact that two state-powerhouses headlined the field at the Kohl made it a very attractive tournament to the wrestling community.
The wrestling community had been eagerly awaiting the start of our wrestling careers; our talents on the mat were no secret in New York. Rumors of a potential match between the “freshmen phenoms” had been circulating since the beginning of the season, but I wanted to bump up and wrestle him for my own personal reasons. To be the best, you need to wrestle the best, and no other opponent was more formidable than Brock the Rock. There was never any doubt in my mind that I would win.
Both Brock and I cruised to the finals of the tournament, leaving dismantled opponents in our wake to battle for third place in the losers’ bracket. I remember being nervous before this match as I waited in the locker room for the Parade of Champions to start. Brock stood to my left, looking fierce as he always did before his matches.
The steam was starting to build up in the dressing room. I could feel the sweat running down my spine. The heat trapped within the layers I was wearing was unbearable, but I ignored it. I felt a bit faint. I ignored that too.
“Alright boys it’s time to start the Parade of Champions. Wait for my signal and follow the man in front of you.”
“Ladies and Gentlemen”, came the voice of the announcer through the speakers surrounding the gym. “Your 26th Annual Khol Tournament finalists!”
The crowd erupted as we began our march around the finals mat. The gymnasium was completely packed this year because my match with Brock was so highly anticipated. Both sets of bleachers were completely full and even more people lined the walls of the gym. North Rockland fans littered one set of the bleachers; Huntington fans lined the opposite set.
“Wrestling for the championship at 125 lbs is a freshman from Huntington High School who is coached by NYS wrestling legend Lou Giani. He boasts an undefeated record of 19-0 and is ranked 2nd in the state. Brock Fortino!”
“His opponent, also a freshman, is from North Rockland High School, and is coached by Luke Montrose. He is ranked 3rd in the state at 119 lbs and has an undefeated record of 17-0. Drew Montrose!”
The crowd went wild as we were announced. This was one of the most anticipated match ups of the season anywhere in the state, and the match everyone had come to witness. I ran to the middle of the mat where Fortino was waiting and shook his hand before running off the mat where I was greeted by my teammate with a hand slap.
The crowd was being treated with many high intensity matches that night, but the main event had yet to come. After the champion at the 119 lb weight class was crowned, I stripped down to my singlet and walked onto the mat.
Brock was already on the mat in his white finals singlet; the word “HUNTINGTON” boldly printed across the front in navy blue. He was imposing as he bounced on the edge of the mat. I knew he was just as ready as I was. I wore my North Rockland finals singlet, the front and back of which was white, with a stripe of red running down the sides from my ribs to my thigh. The letters “NR” were printed on the front in red. Wearing the finals singlet is a privilege and an honor because it is only worn for the finals of a tournament, and it is much nicer than our regular competition singlets.
The crowd was ready for the main event. The bleachers thundered as fans in both sets stomped their feet, causing the structure to shake like a skyscraper in an earthquake. They rained their cheers down upon Brock and me, their arms swaying back and forth as they clapped, like tree branches blowing in a hurricane.
As I paced my side of the mat, my mind was all over the place. I was so nervous that I couldn’t focus on my game plan. I kept nervously glancing over at Brock. His expressionless and calm demeanor was unnerving. Wasn’t he at all nervous to wrestle me? I shook my head, as if doing so could shake the funk from my mind. This was so unlike me.
The heat in the dressing room made it hard to think. Why had I been so nervous? I guess it had to do with the fact that this match was different than any other time I had wrestled Brock. In the past, the wins and losses didn’t count for anything significant. But in high school, this match would count towards my record, leaving a permanent etch in my win or loss column. I felt dizzy underneath all the layers. I ignored it still.
“Drew, are you ready, son?” The sound of my father’s voice snapped me out of the funk. “Yes sir.” “Six minutes hard. Take it to him and set the tone right away. Leave it all on the mat.”
“Set the tone right away” I thought to myself. “OK, I can do that.”
I walked towards the middle of the mat where Brock was already waiting with his foot on the line, crouched in a half wrestling stance with his forearms resting on his knees. The referee made sure the timer was set, and wished us both good luck. The noise from the crowd swirled around the gym but I was deaf to it. I was in the zone now. My game plan was pristine. I stepped to the line, and shook Brock’s hand. The ref blew the whistle, and I immediately shot a lightning quick low single at his lead leg, getting in deep on his ankle.
Brock countered with a whizzer and his defense was very effective. The pressure it caused made it impossible for me to finish my shot, forcing a stalemate that stopped the action and brought us back to our feet.
Although I controlled the action on our feet in the first period, getting in deep on three different shots, it ended scoreless. I felt confident after the first period because my offense was working well. I knew that if I kept the pressure on Brock I would eventually score.
The ref flipped a coin and I won the toss. I chose the bottom position to start the second period, and went down on all fours in the center of the mat, my butt sitting on my heels. Brock crouched behind me, one arm on my stomach, the other on my elbow. The ref blew the whistle and I sprang up to my feet with explosive speed, trying to earn a one-point escape. Brock countered by following me to my feet and using his strong hips and back, he lifted me into the air to try to return me to the mat. As I landed, I instantaneously executed a “granby flip”, a flashy yet very effective move that looks like a front flip from a tripod position; a definite a crowd-pleaser. I was able to free myself from Brock and went up 1-0.
The action in the second period continued on our feet as I looked to set up my single leg takedown. Pressuring Brock’s head down with my left arm, I was able to break his position momentarily and fire off a nice inside single leg shot, but Brock sprawled back with enormous hip pressure. Brock’s sprawl was devastating, and it knocked me to my own hip, putting me in terrible position. He was able to free his leg and spin behind me for a quick two-point takedown with ten seconds to go in the period. The Huntington crowd cheered madly at the change in momentum.
Now I was pissed. I had been wrestling a very solid period and one little mistake had cost me the lead. In a match between such even skilled wrestlers, one little mistake is all it takes to lose the match.
I got up, shaking my head in frustration as I did so, and looked at my father. “Relax, Relax. Keep your composure. There’s plenty of match left. You have two minutes to get the point back.”
Entering the third period it was Brock’s choice. He chose bottom, which put me in my best position, top. Wrestlers feared wrestling me in this position because I was good enough to turn anyone to their back. When the whistle blew I took control and began to work a variety of moves, attempting to expose Brock’s back to the mat. After working for a minute and a half, the anxious cheers from the North Rockland crowd suggested that they were beginning to get nervous that I would fail to turn Fortino and lose the match 2-1. But I was determined not to fail, and at that moment used the cross-wrist to execute a roll through tilt. Catching him in my lap, I secured Fortino there with his back exposed past a forty-five degree angle.
The North Rockland fans erupted in wild cheers. I held Brock securely for three seconds, enough to earn two back points. I remember thinking to myself “Just hang on. Don’t you dare let him up.” I knew I had to ride him out for a 3-2 win, but Brock kicked hard, creating a scramble that allowed him to extricate himself out of my lap for an escape! The buzzer rang signifying the end of regulation, and with the score knotted at 3-3: we were headed to sudden victory over time.
The crowd was ecstatic. Both sets of bleachers trembled under the cheering masses. The match was undoubtedly living up to the hype and expectation. Most wrestlers would be gassing heading into overtime, but Brock and I were exceptionally conditioned athletes. We knew that the mind tires before the body does and that we could push through the exhaustion.
I could hear my father screaming from my corner, “Your offense Drew! Attack, Attack, Attack! Take him down and end this match!” “Come on, dig deep” demanded my conscience.
Breathing heavily, we stepped to the line, back on our feet. Ready to use every last bit of energy we had left in us. Ready to leave it all on the mat. “One minute overtime”, came the voice of the announcer over the loud speaker. The ref blew the whistle and we sprung into action.
Brock was really pushing the pace, trying to break my position and get me out of my wrestling stance. I was able to get in on two good shots, but Brock’s defense was too tough and the ref called a quick stalemate both times. With about twenty seconds left in the match I snapped Brock’s head hard and attempted a “duck-under”, but he down-blocked with his arms and head very well. The down-block exposed my position and Fortino was able to hit a smooth sweep single.
Getting in deep on my leg, I whizzered in defense, but Brock used his brute strength to lift my leg in the air so that I was balancing on one leg. He tried stepping back to sit me to my butt, then immediately shot his head outside to my near hip, driving across and sweeping my legs out with his arms in a perfectly executed double leg take down. I landed on my far hip as he drove me right to the edge of the outer circle and kept his toes in bounds.
The Huntington fans exhaled, “TWO!”, as the ref threw two fingers in the air to signal a two point takedown and end the sudden victory over time. Brock jumped up to his feet and thumped his fist into his chest before pointing with both index fingers at his frenzied Huntington fans.
Defeat knocked the wind out of me. I sat on the mat on my knees for a few seconds, my head on the mat and my hands covering my face in the agony. How could I have lost? Gathering myself, I got up and, keeping my chin held high, walked to the center of the mat where Brock waited with the referee. My father had always taught me to handle my losses like a man, and to never make a scene that would embarrass our program and myself. “Great match”, I said to Brock and shook his hand. I turned my back as the referee raised Brock’s hand to the content of the Huntington fan section. I ran over and shook coach Giani’s hand and then ran back across the mat to my own corner. My dad patted me on the back as I grabbed my stuff and sprinted out of the gymnasium.
Tears welled up in my eyes, but I didn’t let anyone see. I sprinted until I found myself alone in the trainer’s office. I felt empty at first. I felt crushed and deflated. Chills ran down my back as tears streamed down my face; the aftermath of what had just happened was setting in. I was sitting shirtless on the trainer’s table, the straps of my singlet dangling at my sides, sweat still glistening all over my body. My adrenaline was still pumping hard, my blood coursing through my veins as my anger began to surge. I kept replaying the end of the match like a mental movie reel over and over. I kept picturing Brock driving me out of bounds, and looking up at the ref as he signaled two points for the takedown. The roar of the crowd, Brock’s jubilation, and the agony of defeat pierced my heart. The grief spurred my anger. I wanted to scream as loudly as I could, rip down the posters that covered the walls, and throw medical supplies all over the place. I wanted to flip the table I was sitting on, and shatter the glass cabinets with my fists until they dripped with my boiling blood. I left the room.
Wandering down the hallways in no particular direction, my mind was flooded with thoughts. I trained too hard to lose like that. I needed to wrestle Brock again, and I needed to beat him. If I didn’t set the score straight, I knew that my loss to Fortino would haunt me for the rest of my life.
I rounded the corner as I walked back towards the gym to find my father walking towards me. When he caught up to me he hugged me tightly and told me he was proud of me.
“You wrestled a hell of a match Drew. You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. He was just a little bit better than you today, and capitalized on your mistakes. Well break down the video and see where you went wrong, so we can learn from it. You’ll get another shot at him, don’t worry.”
He faced me, took me by the shoulders, and shook me hard. “Drew, wake up.” He shook me again. “Wake up Drew.”
I opened my eyes to find my father shaking me by the shoulders. “How long have you been in here?” “I don’t know. I guess I feel asleep.” “Come on Drew you know this is very dangerous. Go check your weight so we can get back to the hotel room.”
As I walked back to the hotel I kept thinking about that dream. I had dreamt it so many times this week, reliving the agony of the loss every time. The loss was one of the best things that ever happened to me. From that day on, I used that feeling of defeat as motivation to push myself beyond my limits when I trained.
Whenever I was tired, I would think about what Brock was doing at that moment. I would picture him training as hard as he could, or replay the memory of that takedown. It would motivate me to push through the exhaustion and train harder.
That season, the loss guided me to my first state title. It motivated me to annihilate the returning state-runner up in the semi-finals, and then knock off the returning state champion in the 119 lb final. But my feelings of vengeance never ceased and I knew that I needed to put myself in a position that would enable me to wrestle Brock and even the score. That’s why I was torturing myself to make weight this season. I chased him to the 145 lb weight class for my senior year and was willing to put everything on the line. Only one of us would walk off the mat Saturday night a four-time state champion.
-Marc Zurla
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Leave it all on the mat- Part II
I sat quietly in my seat listening to my iPod, unaware of the other wrestlers’ conversations going on around me. As the bus headed towards Long Island, my mind was headed elsewhere. I always liked the bus ride to states because I always found myself reflecting about how I ended up on that bus. I guess I was destined to ride that bus every year to the state tournament from the day I was born. There was never any question whether or not I was going to wrestle. The sport has been in my family’s blood for generations and had become our passion. We were known, respected, and praised for our wrestling.
I looked up the aisle at my father who was talking to the Suffern coach. In high school my father was a three time New York State finalist, and captured a title his senior year. Everyone who had seen him wrestle and coach highly respected him, and not only for his wrestling. He is a very humble man, and instilled class and sportsmanship in his athletes.
He taught us that wrestling is a way of life, and how you approached wrestling indicated how you approached life itself. Dad played no favorites, and treated every athlete exactly the same, including me. He held us all to the highest standard in all aspects of our lives. His hard work and dedication helped to build the North Rockland wrestling program into a state-powerhouse that consistently churned out Division 1 wrestlers.
Looking at him in his seat brought back memories from my childhood. I remembered how I used to sit right next to him every year on the bus to states. As a kid, I spent every Saturday of the season supporting the team at the varsity wrestling tournaments alongside my dad. I idolized the stars of the varsity wrestling team, who were winning state titles under my father’s reign as head coach. I dreamed of one day filling their shoes by wrestling for my father and winning state titles of my own. And now, here I was sitting on a bus to Nassau County, looking to take home my fourth title.
The exposure to such high levels of wrestling at such a young age provided me with a foundation for excellence. At the youth levels, most wrestlers didn’t stand a chance against me, but there was one as praised as I was, Brock Fortino. Even as a boy, he was a bruiser. Every time we entered the same tournament, we met in the finals. We went at it like animals, and victory in these matches was never one sided. People would gather around the mat every time we squared off. It was very interesting that in the next two days I would be wrestling him one last time to conclude our high school careers. Although we battled viciously on the mat, off the mat we were friendly because of the level of respect we had for each other.
I took a sip of water to quench my undying thirst. I allowed myself to drink one twelve-ounce bottle of water throughout the day. I was only two pounds over so my weight was fine, but I was feeling the effects of the cut. This season had been a struggle for me because I was cutting so much weight. I was cutting from 160 to make the 145 lb weight class. It was a constant struggle of maintaining a strict diet and restricting fluids throughout the week. The cut was really showing its ugly effects in me this season. I was constantly moody and irritable; little things could set me off. I had no patience for anything that irritated me, and I was constantly moody with my mother. She can be a bit overbearing at times, which easily got on my nerves. Luckily for her, my father was always there to put me back into place; he would never allow me to treat my mother disrespectfully.
The consequences of my struggle began to get really serious when it started to affect my grades. I was always an excellent student and was one of the top in my class. However, most of my teachers were lenient with me during wrestling season. They knew how hard I was working on the mat and that I was cutting weight, so they usually gave me some leeway when it came to due dates and such. However, Ms. Alvarado, my physics teacher, was not as understanding. She was a new teacher who was born in Maine and knew relatively nothing about wrestling besides that it was a sport in which sweaty men rolled around on a mat.
In the fall I got along just fine in physics, but when the season started and I was cutting weight, things changed. I was constantly dehydrated, especially towards the end of the week and paying attention in class became an arduous and almost impossible task (especially in physics). I was constantly thinking about my weight and how lousy I felt. Towards the end of the week when I was getting very close to weight, I couldn’t even talk to people for extended periods of time because my mouth lacked saliva. I had to constantly rinse out my mouth so that there would be enough moisture that I could pronounce properly. Sometimes I would sleep in and come to school late, usually halfway through physics class. Not only was I a disruption, but I was also missing all of the notes. After I bombed the first test of the quarter Ms. Alvarado had me meet with her after school.
“Hey Drew, come right in and take a seat. So I wanted to talk to you about what has been going on lately. You come in late to class at least twice a week, and when you’re here, you don’t really seem too engaged. As a result your grades are starting to slip and I’m concerned, especially because you did so well during the first marking period. I’m also concerned about your health. Your face looks so thin, your lips are always chapped, and it seems like you don’t have any energy. Is everything OK?”
“Yea everything has been very tough since wrestling season started. I’m cutting a lot of weight and it’s been a challenge to stay focused in school.”
“What do you mean you’re cutting a lot of weight? Like, you have to make a certain weight class?”
“Yea I’m cutting 15 lbs to make my weight. Its miserable”, I said as I laughed at the expression on her face.
“Fifteen pounds?! You don’t look like you have five pounds to lose!”
“Yea I know. It’s not easy, but it’s an important sacrifice for me.”
“Well I don’t really understand how or why you wrestlers choose to do that to your bodies. It just doesn’t make sense. Why doesn’t everyone just wrestle their natural weight? Wouldn’t that make everyone’s lives easier?
“Well in a perfect world everyone would wrestle their natural weight, and in a perfect world everyone would win every single match. But the reality is that someone must win and someone must lose. People cut weight to get to the weight class that they believe they will win the most in. Perhaps there is a stud they can’t beat at one weight class, so they cut to a lower weight to avoid or “dodge” him. Understand?
“Well I understand the logic, but I don’t understand how you can do this to your body. I’m confused as to why you would cut weight though. I understand that you’ve won three state titles already. Who are you trying to avoid?
Grinning I replied, “I never avoid anyone. I’m cutting so much weight because there is a score I need to settle. I’m going after Brock Fortino, another three time state champion. He is the only wrestler to ever beat me in high school.”
“Hmm so it’s a personal vendetta. Interesting. Well anyways, none of this is helping you get your schoolwork done. You need to stop coming into class late. I understand you’re a star athlete here, but I can’t have you be a distraction in my classroom. As far as missing notes goes, I will make you a deal. I understand you’re cutting weight throughout the week and it is tough to stay focused in class. How about we meet on Sundays for two hours or so and we can go over the material that you miss in class.”
“I can definitely do that.”
“OK good. We will discuss it more throughout the week and arrange a time to meet up. Get to practice, I wouldn’t want you to be late,” she said with a smile.
“I appreciate you pulling me aside and giving me an opportunity to talk to you about this.”
“You’re welcome. You’re a very good student Drew and I just wanted to understand what the issue was.”
“Thank you Ms. Alvarado. See you tomorrow.”
“Yes, see you tomorrow ON TIME.”
At first I thought the sessions were going to be a bit of a pain. I went to school five days a week, wrestled six, and now on my one day of rest and relaxation I had to go to school to learn about physics? However, after the first session I quickly realized that this little deal we made wasn’t going to be such a burden after all. In fact, I began to look forward to my sessions with Ms. Alvarado. Through her charm and charisma, she made the sessions fun. It also didn’t hurt that she was quite attractive. We would joke around and talk a lot, but we always got the work done. Ms. Alvarado became a person that I could talk to about my plight with wrestling; someone outside the wrestling community who would really hear me out and challenge my ways from an objective point of view. She became my outlet and really helped me cope with my struggles.
“Good morning Ms. Alvarado”
“Good morning Drew”, she said with a smile. “Just call me Alina during our private sessions. I only like to feel like a teacher five days of the week.”
It was weird not seeing her in her more formal teacher’s attire. The sweat pants and hoody she was wearing made her appear much younger and easier to relate to. Today I was with Alina; I would see Ms. Alvarado tomorrow.
“(Wrestling example mixed with physics). Your cheeks look a lot fuller today than they did this week. I assume you had a competition this weekend?”
“My mom always says the same thing. She says you can always tell when I cutting weight by looking at my cheeks”, I replied as I laughed. “We had the Shoreline tournament this weekend in New Rochelle. It’s probably the best regular season tournament in our area; there were over forty teams that competed.”
“Oh so it’s a pretty tough one then huh? How did you boys do?”
“We actually won the tournament for the 8th time in ten years. My dad was very happy with how everyone wrestled.”
“And how did you do?”
“I won it, and beat a pretty tough kid in the finals.”
“Well congratulations. So, North Rockland must be pretty good to win that tournament eight out of ten years.”
“Well North Rockland has been a staple in the state rankings year in and year out since my father took over the program eighteen years ago.”
“I’m not surprised. Being new in the district and from a small town in Maine, I’ve never seen kids get so hyped up over their sports teams. It seems like the kids in this school live for athletics.”
“North Rockland takes its athletics very seriously and our varsity athletic teams are the pride of the community. When you step out onto the field, court, wrestling mat, or track with the letters NRHS across the front of your uniform, you’re representing one of the best athletic programs in the state. There is a proud tradition of excellence here at NRHS and it is no secret.”
“Yes that is very obvious. So your father is the wrestling coach here. I guess you didn’t really have a choice in what sport you were going to play huh?”
“As soon as I could stand on two feet, dad had me in a wrestling stance. I was obviously going to be a wrestler, it’s our family’s passion, but he never limited me to just wrestling. When I was younger, I was actually a gymnast.”
“So was I! I love gymnastics. I think it’s the only thing that kept me sane growing up in Maine. Why did you stop?”
“I was just ready to focus on the more aggressive contact sports. Living in NR, it’s no surprise that I was inclined toward these sports. I just love the physicality of wrestling and football.”
“You should have kept doing gymnastics. At least you would be able to eat whenever you wanted to. I know nothing about wrestling. My high school didn’t even have a team.”
“No offense, but gymnastics can’t even compare to wrestling. I love the one on one individual aspect of the sport, and I love its combative nature. Cutting weight is just part of the sport and it’s not useless. It teaches you to have incredible mental toughness and discipline. I’m not surprised you don’t know too much about wrestling. Maine isn’t very notorious for its wrestling. You should come to our match Friday night. We’re wrestling our rival Suffern in a dual meet, and it’s one of the biggest matches of the season. We’re both very good this season. I’m bumping up two weight classes so this should be a much better week for me.”
“Oh so you won’t look like a walking skeleton this week? I’ll definitely come to the match.”
Alina’s first match was an experience she said she’d never forget. The dual meet with Suffern was an exhilarating match, and was decided in the last bout. The rivalry brought out hundreds of fans from both schools, and she couldn’t get over how intense the atmosphere was. The experience sparked her interest in the sport, arousing much more wrestling related conversation during our sessions.
“Your father always says something to you guys before you go out onto the mat. What exactly does he say?”
“He tells us to go out there and wrestle hard for six minutes, and he always tells us to ‘leave it all on the mat’.”
“Leave it all on the mat? Is that some kind of funky wrestling terminology?”
“Did you really just say funky? And yes, it is. He means give it everything you’ve got. Don’t leave any gas left in the tank. Don’t relax, and don’t have any lapses. Do everything in your power to win the match.”
“Oh OK I understand. I like that. I’m going to start telling you guys that in class when you’re taking you’re tests. ‘Leave it all on the paper’.”
“You are so corny” I said in between laughs.
“Hey! You can’t call me that. I’m your teacher!”
“Yes I can. It’s Sunday. Today you’re just a girl named Alina.”
“Touché”, she said with a grin.
Opening my bag, I pulled out a small envelope that contained a card inside it. Breaking the seal, I pulled out the card and looked at its face. It was a sports themed card and had dozens of different types of athletic balls all over it. Flipping it open I began to read what was written.
“Dear Drew,
Remember, “The reward isn’t as great without the struggle.” Leave it all on the mat.
Love,
Alina (But it’s Ms. Alvarado to you!)
Looking up I noticed that we were pulling into the parking lot of the Marriot Hotel. The trip went much faster than I expected. Putting the card away, I gathered up my belongings. It was time to check in and get in a final practice before the most important tournament of my life.
-Marc Zurla
I looked up the aisle at my father who was talking to the Suffern coach. In high school my father was a three time New York State finalist, and captured a title his senior year. Everyone who had seen him wrestle and coach highly respected him, and not only for his wrestling. He is a very humble man, and instilled class and sportsmanship in his athletes.
He taught us that wrestling is a way of life, and how you approached wrestling indicated how you approached life itself. Dad played no favorites, and treated every athlete exactly the same, including me. He held us all to the highest standard in all aspects of our lives. His hard work and dedication helped to build the North Rockland wrestling program into a state-powerhouse that consistently churned out Division 1 wrestlers.
Looking at him in his seat brought back memories from my childhood. I remembered how I used to sit right next to him every year on the bus to states. As a kid, I spent every Saturday of the season supporting the team at the varsity wrestling tournaments alongside my dad. I idolized the stars of the varsity wrestling team, who were winning state titles under my father’s reign as head coach. I dreamed of one day filling their shoes by wrestling for my father and winning state titles of my own. And now, here I was sitting on a bus to Nassau County, looking to take home my fourth title.
The exposure to such high levels of wrestling at such a young age provided me with a foundation for excellence. At the youth levels, most wrestlers didn’t stand a chance against me, but there was one as praised as I was, Brock Fortino. Even as a boy, he was a bruiser. Every time we entered the same tournament, we met in the finals. We went at it like animals, and victory in these matches was never one sided. People would gather around the mat every time we squared off. It was very interesting that in the next two days I would be wrestling him one last time to conclude our high school careers. Although we battled viciously on the mat, off the mat we were friendly because of the level of respect we had for each other.
I took a sip of water to quench my undying thirst. I allowed myself to drink one twelve-ounce bottle of water throughout the day. I was only two pounds over so my weight was fine, but I was feeling the effects of the cut. This season had been a struggle for me because I was cutting so much weight. I was cutting from 160 to make the 145 lb weight class. It was a constant struggle of maintaining a strict diet and restricting fluids throughout the week. The cut was really showing its ugly effects in me this season. I was constantly moody and irritable; little things could set me off. I had no patience for anything that irritated me, and I was constantly moody with my mother. She can be a bit overbearing at times, which easily got on my nerves. Luckily for her, my father was always there to put me back into place; he would never allow me to treat my mother disrespectfully.
The consequences of my struggle began to get really serious when it started to affect my grades. I was always an excellent student and was one of the top in my class. However, most of my teachers were lenient with me during wrestling season. They knew how hard I was working on the mat and that I was cutting weight, so they usually gave me some leeway when it came to due dates and such. However, Ms. Alvarado, my physics teacher, was not as understanding. She was a new teacher who was born in Maine and knew relatively nothing about wrestling besides that it was a sport in which sweaty men rolled around on a mat.
In the fall I got along just fine in physics, but when the season started and I was cutting weight, things changed. I was constantly dehydrated, especially towards the end of the week and paying attention in class became an arduous and almost impossible task (especially in physics). I was constantly thinking about my weight and how lousy I felt. Towards the end of the week when I was getting very close to weight, I couldn’t even talk to people for extended periods of time because my mouth lacked saliva. I had to constantly rinse out my mouth so that there would be enough moisture that I could pronounce properly. Sometimes I would sleep in and come to school late, usually halfway through physics class. Not only was I a disruption, but I was also missing all of the notes. After I bombed the first test of the quarter Ms. Alvarado had me meet with her after school.
“Hey Drew, come right in and take a seat. So I wanted to talk to you about what has been going on lately. You come in late to class at least twice a week, and when you’re here, you don’t really seem too engaged. As a result your grades are starting to slip and I’m concerned, especially because you did so well during the first marking period. I’m also concerned about your health. Your face looks so thin, your lips are always chapped, and it seems like you don’t have any energy. Is everything OK?”
“Yea everything has been very tough since wrestling season started. I’m cutting a lot of weight and it’s been a challenge to stay focused in school.”
“What do you mean you’re cutting a lot of weight? Like, you have to make a certain weight class?”
“Yea I’m cutting 15 lbs to make my weight. Its miserable”, I said as I laughed at the expression on her face.
“Fifteen pounds?! You don’t look like you have five pounds to lose!”
“Yea I know. It’s not easy, but it’s an important sacrifice for me.”
“Well I don’t really understand how or why you wrestlers choose to do that to your bodies. It just doesn’t make sense. Why doesn’t everyone just wrestle their natural weight? Wouldn’t that make everyone’s lives easier?
“Well in a perfect world everyone would wrestle their natural weight, and in a perfect world everyone would win every single match. But the reality is that someone must win and someone must lose. People cut weight to get to the weight class that they believe they will win the most in. Perhaps there is a stud they can’t beat at one weight class, so they cut to a lower weight to avoid or “dodge” him. Understand?
“Well I understand the logic, but I don’t understand how you can do this to your body. I’m confused as to why you would cut weight though. I understand that you’ve won three state titles already. Who are you trying to avoid?
Grinning I replied, “I never avoid anyone. I’m cutting so much weight because there is a score I need to settle. I’m going after Brock Fortino, another three time state champion. He is the only wrestler to ever beat me in high school.”
“Hmm so it’s a personal vendetta. Interesting. Well anyways, none of this is helping you get your schoolwork done. You need to stop coming into class late. I understand you’re a star athlete here, but I can’t have you be a distraction in my classroom. As far as missing notes goes, I will make you a deal. I understand you’re cutting weight throughout the week and it is tough to stay focused in class. How about we meet on Sundays for two hours or so and we can go over the material that you miss in class.”
“I can definitely do that.”
“OK good. We will discuss it more throughout the week and arrange a time to meet up. Get to practice, I wouldn’t want you to be late,” she said with a smile.
“I appreciate you pulling me aside and giving me an opportunity to talk to you about this.”
“You’re welcome. You’re a very good student Drew and I just wanted to understand what the issue was.”
“Thank you Ms. Alvarado. See you tomorrow.”
“Yes, see you tomorrow ON TIME.”
At first I thought the sessions were going to be a bit of a pain. I went to school five days a week, wrestled six, and now on my one day of rest and relaxation I had to go to school to learn about physics? However, after the first session I quickly realized that this little deal we made wasn’t going to be such a burden after all. In fact, I began to look forward to my sessions with Ms. Alvarado. Through her charm and charisma, she made the sessions fun. It also didn’t hurt that she was quite attractive. We would joke around and talk a lot, but we always got the work done. Ms. Alvarado became a person that I could talk to about my plight with wrestling; someone outside the wrestling community who would really hear me out and challenge my ways from an objective point of view. She became my outlet and really helped me cope with my struggles.
“Good morning Ms. Alvarado”
“Good morning Drew”, she said with a smile. “Just call me Alina during our private sessions. I only like to feel like a teacher five days of the week.”
It was weird not seeing her in her more formal teacher’s attire. The sweat pants and hoody she was wearing made her appear much younger and easier to relate to. Today I was with Alina; I would see Ms. Alvarado tomorrow.
“(Wrestling example mixed with physics). Your cheeks look a lot fuller today than they did this week. I assume you had a competition this weekend?”
“My mom always says the same thing. She says you can always tell when I cutting weight by looking at my cheeks”, I replied as I laughed. “We had the Shoreline tournament this weekend in New Rochelle. It’s probably the best regular season tournament in our area; there were over forty teams that competed.”
“Oh so it’s a pretty tough one then huh? How did you boys do?”
“We actually won the tournament for the 8th time in ten years. My dad was very happy with how everyone wrestled.”
“And how did you do?”
“I won it, and beat a pretty tough kid in the finals.”
“Well congratulations. So, North Rockland must be pretty good to win that tournament eight out of ten years.”
“Well North Rockland has been a staple in the state rankings year in and year out since my father took over the program eighteen years ago.”
“I’m not surprised. Being new in the district and from a small town in Maine, I’ve never seen kids get so hyped up over their sports teams. It seems like the kids in this school live for athletics.”
“North Rockland takes its athletics very seriously and our varsity athletic teams are the pride of the community. When you step out onto the field, court, wrestling mat, or track with the letters NRHS across the front of your uniform, you’re representing one of the best athletic programs in the state. There is a proud tradition of excellence here at NRHS and it is no secret.”
“Yes that is very obvious. So your father is the wrestling coach here. I guess you didn’t really have a choice in what sport you were going to play huh?”
“As soon as I could stand on two feet, dad had me in a wrestling stance. I was obviously going to be a wrestler, it’s our family’s passion, but he never limited me to just wrestling. When I was younger, I was actually a gymnast.”
“So was I! I love gymnastics. I think it’s the only thing that kept me sane growing up in Maine. Why did you stop?”
“I was just ready to focus on the more aggressive contact sports. Living in NR, it’s no surprise that I was inclined toward these sports. I just love the physicality of wrestling and football.”
“You should have kept doing gymnastics. At least you would be able to eat whenever you wanted to. I know nothing about wrestling. My high school didn’t even have a team.”
“No offense, but gymnastics can’t even compare to wrestling. I love the one on one individual aspect of the sport, and I love its combative nature. Cutting weight is just part of the sport and it’s not useless. It teaches you to have incredible mental toughness and discipline. I’m not surprised you don’t know too much about wrestling. Maine isn’t very notorious for its wrestling. You should come to our match Friday night. We’re wrestling our rival Suffern in a dual meet, and it’s one of the biggest matches of the season. We’re both very good this season. I’m bumping up two weight classes so this should be a much better week for me.”
“Oh so you won’t look like a walking skeleton this week? I’ll definitely come to the match.”
Alina’s first match was an experience she said she’d never forget. The dual meet with Suffern was an exhilarating match, and was decided in the last bout. The rivalry brought out hundreds of fans from both schools, and she couldn’t get over how intense the atmosphere was. The experience sparked her interest in the sport, arousing much more wrestling related conversation during our sessions.
“Your father always says something to you guys before you go out onto the mat. What exactly does he say?”
“He tells us to go out there and wrestle hard for six minutes, and he always tells us to ‘leave it all on the mat’.”
“Leave it all on the mat? Is that some kind of funky wrestling terminology?”
“Did you really just say funky? And yes, it is. He means give it everything you’ve got. Don’t leave any gas left in the tank. Don’t relax, and don’t have any lapses. Do everything in your power to win the match.”
“Oh OK I understand. I like that. I’m going to start telling you guys that in class when you’re taking you’re tests. ‘Leave it all on the paper’.”
“You are so corny” I said in between laughs.
“Hey! You can’t call me that. I’m your teacher!”
“Yes I can. It’s Sunday. Today you’re just a girl named Alina.”
“Touché”, she said with a grin.
Opening my bag, I pulled out a small envelope that contained a card inside it. Breaking the seal, I pulled out the card and looked at its face. It was a sports themed card and had dozens of different types of athletic balls all over it. Flipping it open I began to read what was written.
“Dear Drew,
Remember, “The reward isn’t as great without the struggle.” Leave it all on the mat.
Love,
Alina (But it’s Ms. Alvarado to you!)
Looking up I noticed that we were pulling into the parking lot of the Marriot Hotel. The trip went much faster than I expected. Putting the card away, I gathered up my belongings. It was time to check in and get in a final practice before the most important tournament of my life.
-Marc Zurla
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Leave it all on the mat- Part I
Leave It All on the Mat
“Don’t relax Drew! Don’t relax!” I could hear my father screaming from my corner as Brock drove me to the edge of the mat with a double leg takedown. I tried to scramble as I landed on the mat, but Brock’s position was too good. He easily thwarted my attempts, and I looked up in shock as the ref awarded Brock two points for the takedown. “No!” I screamed as I shot up in my bed. Breathing heavily, I looked at the alarm clock in the hotel room. It was four in the morning and I would be at the arena in three and a half hours, ready to weigh in for the biggest tournament of my life.
Pulling the covers off as quietly as I could, I got up and walked over to the window. I tried to lick my chapped lips, but my mouth lacked any kind of moisture. The dehydration leeched the energy from my body, leaving me feeling drained. I would have given anything to have been able to chug a bottle of water and pass out in the hotel bed, but my discipline would never allow it.
Gazing out into the night, I could see the outline of the beast against the moonlit sky. Tomorrow it would be alive with the energy of thousands of wrestling fans, but right now it slumbered peacefully.
I was envious of its sleep. I had been tossing and turning for hours before I had finally drifted off. That dream had been tormenting me every night this week. Lately, there had been no refuge from wrestling. Getting sleep this week had been hard enough; when you’re sucking weight it’s hard to come by. But even when I did get sleep, I was haunted by the loss to Brock.
I let the water run in the sink for a few seconds so it would be as cold as possible. I filled up a cup and put it to my lips. I let it enter my mouth slowly, and swished it around until the coldness numbed my mouth. I desperately wanted to swallow it, and take another gulp. My body longed to quench my thirst and end the dehydration I had been subjecting myself to. I spit it out. The moisture was very refreshing, but it wouldn’t last too long.
I stripped down as I turned the scale on. I could see my reflection in the mirror despite the darkness. I was as lean as I’d ever been and every muscle was well defined. The scale read 147.2. I was only two tenths of a pound over, which was not surprising because I was always very good with my weight. Those extra two tenths would be gone within the next couple of hours and I would be right on weight for weigh-ins.
As I lay in my bed again, my mind was uneasy. I was feeling nervous about tomorrow. The opportunity I had been waiting for would finally become a reality tomorrow, but there was so much at stake. I wasn’t sure who was a tougher opponent, Brock or the weight cut. I closed my eyes and tried to let my mind go blank. Dawn was soon approaching and I needed my rest.
* * * *
It’s unbelievable how quiet and tranquil the warm up area was as I silently jumped rope within the deeper underbelly of the arena. On the other side of the walls that enclosed me within the beast’s belly, the atmosphere was chaotic. Sweat glistened on my brow as I jumped to get my body warm for the most important six minutes of my life.
I had weighed in for the last time in my high school career earlier that morning. Now, I was right back up to 159 lbs, and I felt refreshed, rehydrated, and replenished. The earlier rounds of the tournament had been a breeze; anyone tough had bumped away from the 145 lb weight class to avoid the two-man race. Brock and I had cruised to the finals, and I had pinned all three of my opponents in the first period.
A handsome, well built middle aged man walked over to where I was warming up to tell me that the 140lb bout had just ended, and that it was my time to get on the mat. He was my father; legendary North Rockland coach Luke Montrose. He patted me on the back as I picked up my headgear and strapped it on. I followed him through the intestines of the monster and into the dark tunnel that was its throat. Out through its gaping jaws, an explosion of noise and energy greeted me. The beast’s roar was tumultuous as I walked onto the floor.
It was the match people had waited four years to see. The rarity and grandeur of a match like this could have packed half of the arena. Seemingly everyone in attendance was on their feet cheering, clapping their hands, impatiently waiting for it to start. We’re talking about 9,000 people jumping like it’s the Super Bowl, which is appropriate; this was the Super Bowl of New York wrestling. The finals of the New York State wrestling championships are a prestigious event to attend, but this was no ordinary state final. A state final of this caliber is a spectacle. It is a privilege for those in attendance to witness two three-time New York State champions engage in combat on the mat, but it is a greater privilege for such a highly touted match to occur in the state final. You don’t realize what is at stake here. One of us will make history by becoming only the 4th wrestler in New York State history to win four state titles, enjoying the glory that comes from such an accomplishment. The other will resent the failure and the agony of the defeat for the rest of his life.
My opponent and I stood on our respective sides of the mat bouncing from toe to toe to stay warm, although the tension in the arena was an inferno. Brock Fortino wore the navy blue Suffolk County singlet as he had done every year for the past four. He was on a familiar stage, on familiar ground. The tournament was hosted by Long Island that season and the venue was the Nassau Coliseum. Long Island is arguably the hotbed for New York wrestling, so to crown a four-timer on home soil seemed appropriate enough. Fortino was a celebrity amongst the vast “Strong Island” wrestling community, and half the island was there supporting its local prodigy. “Brock the Rock” they called him, an undefeated three timer, was built like a brick shithouse. True to wrestler stereotype, he was 5’5 and appeared just as wide. A huge well-defined chest, a thick neck, chiseled arms, and tree trunk legs made up his 145 pounds. The weight seems light, but he was cutting around 15 lbs to make the weight class. This boy was a one man wrecking crew, and had steamrolled 223 opponents. Brock was a friendly and humble young man off the mat, but on the mat he was relentless and ferocious. Every wrestler in the state feared him, except me.
I wore the traditional Section 1 Columbia blue singlet, but I was the pride of the North Rockland Red Raiders. I had fire in my eyes. This match was something I had dreamed about for four years. Two hundred and fifteen times I had walked out onto a high school wrestling mat, and two hundred and fourteen times I had been victorious. The one opponent who had slaughtered my perfect record now stood bouncing across from me. Fortino was the only wrestler to ever deal me a loss in my high school career, and it burned deep within my soul. It had been four years since that loss in my freshman season, and I had sworn that I would never lose again. I would avenge the loss and set the score straight. Three state titles and not a single loss followed that nightmarish day, but I still hadn’t gotten my chance at redemption; until now.
“My time” I whispered to myself, baring my teeth as I bounced in place. “Nothing can stop me. Nothing can stop me.” “Drew” someone called out. Hearing my name momentarily snapped me out of my zone, and I turned to see my dad calling me from my corner. His eyes pierced mine. I could see the intensity in them. “This is it son. This is what you’ve been training for your entire life. Go out there and leave it all on the mat. Everything you’ve got for six minutes. Get it done.”
I didn’t answer. Seventeen years of relentless training and pushing myself beyond my limits had prepared me for this very moment. I lived and breathed wrestling. It’s in my blood. I was ready.
As I began to pace my side of the mat, I glanced into the crowd where the North Rockland fans and the rest of the Section One supporters sat. They began to cheer ecstatically, jumping up out of their seats. I nodded in approval, and continued to scan the crowd until I made eye contact with my mother. I always liked to seek her out in the crowd before a big match. Knowing that she was there was a comfort in such an intense atmosphere. She was wearing the same white button up sweater she had worn every year since I won my first state title freshman year. She said it was lucky, and she refused to wear anything different the next three years at the state tournament. Making eye contact with me, she smiled and stroked the white sleeve covering her right arm.
Pacing was a part of my usual pre-match routine. I would look down at the mat and walk from corner to corner along my side. It helped me focus and visualize what I was setting out to do; I could see myself executing the moves in my game plan. I would picture myself getting my hand raised in victory at the end of the match. I had been in these “big match” situations dozens of times before this. I was composed, and ready to engage in battle. The crowd was deafening as the excitement soared, but I heard nothing. Nothing could break my focus right now.
I looked across the mat at Brock, who was talking to his coaches. He shook their hands and walked towards the center, turning his gaze to me. I stared him directly in the eyes so he could see the fire in mine. Right now, we weren’t friends. I could not wait to be unleashed upon him.
The NYS Officials Association was not going to chance having any kind of controversy regarding the officiating of the match, and for this reason they assigned John Tolden to oversee it. Tolden was the top rated referee in the state, and had a reputation for his impeccable understanding of the rules of wrestling.
Brock and I were hovering just outside the inner circle of the mat, waiting for Tolden to walk over. I was sweating slightly, so I knew my body was ready. I bounced in place as I stared down my opponent. He stared right back.
“Gentlemen, toes on the line”, said Tolden. We stepped to our lines, two feet apart, still staring into each other’s eyes. The crowd was in frenzy. “Shake hands and good luck to the both of you.” The whistle blew.
-Marc Zurla
“Don’t relax Drew! Don’t relax!” I could hear my father screaming from my corner as Brock drove me to the edge of the mat with a double leg takedown. I tried to scramble as I landed on the mat, but Brock’s position was too good. He easily thwarted my attempts, and I looked up in shock as the ref awarded Brock two points for the takedown. “No!” I screamed as I shot up in my bed. Breathing heavily, I looked at the alarm clock in the hotel room. It was four in the morning and I would be at the arena in three and a half hours, ready to weigh in for the biggest tournament of my life.
Pulling the covers off as quietly as I could, I got up and walked over to the window. I tried to lick my chapped lips, but my mouth lacked any kind of moisture. The dehydration leeched the energy from my body, leaving me feeling drained. I would have given anything to have been able to chug a bottle of water and pass out in the hotel bed, but my discipline would never allow it.
Gazing out into the night, I could see the outline of the beast against the moonlit sky. Tomorrow it would be alive with the energy of thousands of wrestling fans, but right now it slumbered peacefully.
I was envious of its sleep. I had been tossing and turning for hours before I had finally drifted off. That dream had been tormenting me every night this week. Lately, there had been no refuge from wrestling. Getting sleep this week had been hard enough; when you’re sucking weight it’s hard to come by. But even when I did get sleep, I was haunted by the loss to Brock.
I let the water run in the sink for a few seconds so it would be as cold as possible. I filled up a cup and put it to my lips. I let it enter my mouth slowly, and swished it around until the coldness numbed my mouth. I desperately wanted to swallow it, and take another gulp. My body longed to quench my thirst and end the dehydration I had been subjecting myself to. I spit it out. The moisture was very refreshing, but it wouldn’t last too long.
I stripped down as I turned the scale on. I could see my reflection in the mirror despite the darkness. I was as lean as I’d ever been and every muscle was well defined. The scale read 147.2. I was only two tenths of a pound over, which was not surprising because I was always very good with my weight. Those extra two tenths would be gone within the next couple of hours and I would be right on weight for weigh-ins.
As I lay in my bed again, my mind was uneasy. I was feeling nervous about tomorrow. The opportunity I had been waiting for would finally become a reality tomorrow, but there was so much at stake. I wasn’t sure who was a tougher opponent, Brock or the weight cut. I closed my eyes and tried to let my mind go blank. Dawn was soon approaching and I needed my rest.
* * * *
It’s unbelievable how quiet and tranquil the warm up area was as I silently jumped rope within the deeper underbelly of the arena. On the other side of the walls that enclosed me within the beast’s belly, the atmosphere was chaotic. Sweat glistened on my brow as I jumped to get my body warm for the most important six minutes of my life.
I had weighed in for the last time in my high school career earlier that morning. Now, I was right back up to 159 lbs, and I felt refreshed, rehydrated, and replenished. The earlier rounds of the tournament had been a breeze; anyone tough had bumped away from the 145 lb weight class to avoid the two-man race. Brock and I had cruised to the finals, and I had pinned all three of my opponents in the first period.
A handsome, well built middle aged man walked over to where I was warming up to tell me that the 140lb bout had just ended, and that it was my time to get on the mat. He was my father; legendary North Rockland coach Luke Montrose. He patted me on the back as I picked up my headgear and strapped it on. I followed him through the intestines of the monster and into the dark tunnel that was its throat. Out through its gaping jaws, an explosion of noise and energy greeted me. The beast’s roar was tumultuous as I walked onto the floor.
It was the match people had waited four years to see. The rarity and grandeur of a match like this could have packed half of the arena. Seemingly everyone in attendance was on their feet cheering, clapping their hands, impatiently waiting for it to start. We’re talking about 9,000 people jumping like it’s the Super Bowl, which is appropriate; this was the Super Bowl of New York wrestling. The finals of the New York State wrestling championships are a prestigious event to attend, but this was no ordinary state final. A state final of this caliber is a spectacle. It is a privilege for those in attendance to witness two three-time New York State champions engage in combat on the mat, but it is a greater privilege for such a highly touted match to occur in the state final. You don’t realize what is at stake here. One of us will make history by becoming only the 4th wrestler in New York State history to win four state titles, enjoying the glory that comes from such an accomplishment. The other will resent the failure and the agony of the defeat for the rest of his life.
My opponent and I stood on our respective sides of the mat bouncing from toe to toe to stay warm, although the tension in the arena was an inferno. Brock Fortino wore the navy blue Suffolk County singlet as he had done every year for the past four. He was on a familiar stage, on familiar ground. The tournament was hosted by Long Island that season and the venue was the Nassau Coliseum. Long Island is arguably the hotbed for New York wrestling, so to crown a four-timer on home soil seemed appropriate enough. Fortino was a celebrity amongst the vast “Strong Island” wrestling community, and half the island was there supporting its local prodigy. “Brock the Rock” they called him, an undefeated three timer, was built like a brick shithouse. True to wrestler stereotype, he was 5’5 and appeared just as wide. A huge well-defined chest, a thick neck, chiseled arms, and tree trunk legs made up his 145 pounds. The weight seems light, but he was cutting around 15 lbs to make the weight class. This boy was a one man wrecking crew, and had steamrolled 223 opponents. Brock was a friendly and humble young man off the mat, but on the mat he was relentless and ferocious. Every wrestler in the state feared him, except me.
I wore the traditional Section 1 Columbia blue singlet, but I was the pride of the North Rockland Red Raiders. I had fire in my eyes. This match was something I had dreamed about for four years. Two hundred and fifteen times I had walked out onto a high school wrestling mat, and two hundred and fourteen times I had been victorious. The one opponent who had slaughtered my perfect record now stood bouncing across from me. Fortino was the only wrestler to ever deal me a loss in my high school career, and it burned deep within my soul. It had been four years since that loss in my freshman season, and I had sworn that I would never lose again. I would avenge the loss and set the score straight. Three state titles and not a single loss followed that nightmarish day, but I still hadn’t gotten my chance at redemption; until now.
“My time” I whispered to myself, baring my teeth as I bounced in place. “Nothing can stop me. Nothing can stop me.” “Drew” someone called out. Hearing my name momentarily snapped me out of my zone, and I turned to see my dad calling me from my corner. His eyes pierced mine. I could see the intensity in them. “This is it son. This is what you’ve been training for your entire life. Go out there and leave it all on the mat. Everything you’ve got for six minutes. Get it done.”
I didn’t answer. Seventeen years of relentless training and pushing myself beyond my limits had prepared me for this very moment. I lived and breathed wrestling. It’s in my blood. I was ready.
As I began to pace my side of the mat, I glanced into the crowd where the North Rockland fans and the rest of the Section One supporters sat. They began to cheer ecstatically, jumping up out of their seats. I nodded in approval, and continued to scan the crowd until I made eye contact with my mother. I always liked to seek her out in the crowd before a big match. Knowing that she was there was a comfort in such an intense atmosphere. She was wearing the same white button up sweater she had worn every year since I won my first state title freshman year. She said it was lucky, and she refused to wear anything different the next three years at the state tournament. Making eye contact with me, she smiled and stroked the white sleeve covering her right arm.
Pacing was a part of my usual pre-match routine. I would look down at the mat and walk from corner to corner along my side. It helped me focus and visualize what I was setting out to do; I could see myself executing the moves in my game plan. I would picture myself getting my hand raised in victory at the end of the match. I had been in these “big match” situations dozens of times before this. I was composed, and ready to engage in battle. The crowd was deafening as the excitement soared, but I heard nothing. Nothing could break my focus right now.
I looked across the mat at Brock, who was talking to his coaches. He shook their hands and walked towards the center, turning his gaze to me. I stared him directly in the eyes so he could see the fire in mine. Right now, we weren’t friends. I could not wait to be unleashed upon him.
The NYS Officials Association was not going to chance having any kind of controversy regarding the officiating of the match, and for this reason they assigned John Tolden to oversee it. Tolden was the top rated referee in the state, and had a reputation for his impeccable understanding of the rules of wrestling.
Brock and I were hovering just outside the inner circle of the mat, waiting for Tolden to walk over. I was sweating slightly, so I knew my body was ready. I bounced in place as I stared down my opponent. He stared right back.
“Gentlemen, toes on the line”, said Tolden. We stepped to our lines, two feet apart, still staring into each other’s eyes. The crowd was in frenzy. “Shake hands and good luck to the both of you.” The whistle blew.
-Marc Zurla
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