Have You Ever Wrestled a Fish? All the Guys I Wrestled Did.

I may have already mentioned that my high school appointed a biology teacher we nicknamed "Schnozz" to the Wrestling Head coach position. That's not him (or me) in the pic above. I lifted this from somewhere on the web for the entertainment value.... On with the story--

Now, I had (and still have) a lot of respect for this guy. He taught me a lot in biology and science class. Had the guts to say things like "Okay folks..... The state says I have to teach you this lesson on evolution, even though I don't believe it, you probably don't believe it, and certainly God doesn't believe it. But the state wants us to pretend to learn it, so I'll pretend to teach it." Schnozz was just an all-around good guy. A sportsman by nature, a tough but polite competitor who's ethics never faltered (that I saw).

Schnozz had two sons. As you might expect, they wrestled. As might also expect, they were good at it. My whole life I had one or the other in my weight class. So, as you might expect, I spent a lot of time on the bench or the second-string. Neither of Coach Schnozz's boys were ever my "buddies", although we often spent time together due to sports, or due to the fact that my dad and Schnozz were good friends.

During my senior year my buddy (Mel) took a class on "Public Relations." No, this didn't necessarily mean he had to have "relations" with the public (though he tried). Mostly it meant that he had to take a lot of pictures and write articles for the school paper. Most of Mel's contributions to the paper were about sporting events. The Public Relations class only had about 6 kids in it, and most of them were dopers. Mel was the only 3-sport jock that made all of the traveling squads, so it naturally fell to him to report on the wrestling matches in little backwater communities 400 miles away when no one but the traveling squad made the trip. Thus, he was the only big doofy dude in the state with a 1000 dollar camera taking pictures while on-deck to wrestle next.

I remember a particular occasion during my senior year; I had made the traveling squad too. The coach's kid must've had too many "counts" at that weight class or something. A high-school wrestler is only allowed a certain number of "counts". You use up a "count" each time you step on the mat with an opponent. I think we got about 25 counts allocated per season.... But the coach scheduled about 40 matches. So I was being handed an opportunity to wrestle varsity in a match even though Schnozz's kid usually wiped up the mat with a "fish" like me. It was a good plan on Schnozz's part though.... His kid usually killed me, and I usually killed the kid that I was slated to wrestle from the other school.

We had traveled to a school that was so out-of-the-way that Idaho wouldn't claim it. I mean... It was actually in Oregon, geographically speaking, but everyone acted like Idahoans... With feather boas and everything.. The town was about the size of Enterprise, and sometimes they fielded some outstanding athletes. Overall though, their sports programs hadn't measured up to ours for quite a few years. We normally beat them. But we had to earn it.

One thing you might not understand about sports in small places is this. Every year you play the same teams, in every sport. You also play the same people you played against last year. If you play offensive guard in football, the guy you played across from in 8th grade is probably the same guy you'll play across from in 11th grade. It’s the same with wrestlers. Assuming that you're about average weight for your age, you'll wrestle many of the same people year after year, all through school. Sometimes this is a good thing, such as....When two arch rival schools each have a prospective state champion. Those matches are previews of the state finals. Wrestling fans come from all around to watch those matches. They are actually the height of what ABC used to call "the human drama of athletic competition."

Then there were the matches that we "fish" competed in. A lot of popcorn got sold during my matches. I think it was kind of an unplanned intermission. I had talented wrestlers in the weight classes leading up to me, and in the classes after mine. When I walked on the mat it was a good time to go grab a smoke or hit the concession stand. As long as you didn't take more than a minute or two. My matches rarely went on for longer than that.

Anyway, I had made the traveling squad. Mel had his camera, and was giving me a pep talk before I went on the mat. It went something like this:

"You better watch out for this guy.... He looks ferocious."

"Dammit Mel, I've wrestled this kid every year since 2nd grade and never lost. This guy put the FFFF in FFFFish." I spit all over Mel with the FFFFish-thing.

"No really, I hear he's been practicing" insert evil laugh here while wiping spit off of his arms.

"He's also just waiting to rub that underdeveloped chin into your chest as he's pinning you.... You can see it in his eyes. I think you'd better take him seriously Chickhead, you could really get hurt out there..."

Right then Schnozz walked up and said "Scholz, can I talk to you for a minute?"

"I'm almost up, Coach."

"I know Scholz. I AM the coach, remember?"

"Uh, right Schn.... Coach."

Schnozz pulled me to a semi-secluded portion of the gym (it was semi-secluded because Mel and his camera were standing right next to us. Mel had absolutely NO shame. He eavesdropped constantly. Schnozz shot him a dirty look, but knowing we were buddies, forged ahead.

"The other coach has approached me and asked a favor. Now I can't grant it, but I said I'd ask you."

Now I'm sort of uncomfortable. This was really out of the ordinary. It sounded like he wanted me to throw the match.

"The other coach said that the kid you're gonna wrestle has wrestled hard every year, never missed a practice since 5th grade, and works his guts out..."

"But he's a fish coach"

I'm sure that Schnozz thought "well, so are YOU." But he had entirely too much class to actually articulate the thought.

"He's a good kid who's just not a great wrestler. Not only has he never won a match, he's never NOT been pinned. Their coach asked me to ask you to go the distance with this kid. Take him three rounds. If you've just gotta pin him, do it late in the third."

Well, this was a dilemma, but we fishes have to stick up for each other. I reluctantly agreed to think about it. That was about the time that I had to step on the mat.

We went through the normal routine of getting ready... Shaking hands, putting on the colored leg-bands that helped the guys keeping score tell us apart, putting our feet on the starting line facing each other.

I was still wondering what the right course of action would be when the referee blew his whistle and yelled "WRESTLE!"

Ol' fishy-boy shot a perfect double-leg takedown and got two points in the first 3 seconds.
Oh Hell! Now I'm two points behind, on the bottom, and Mel's on the edge of the mat with his camera. Worse still, the camera is making bzzzz, bzzzzz, bzzzzz sounds like a fashion photographer.

I broke loose, stood up and faced fishy-boy. One point went to me for the escape.

I don't hear any "bzzzzz, bzzzzz, bzzzzz."

I decided to end this thing right now, so I shot a double-leg on fishy-boy. But he had just experienced the thrill of a lifetime. He HADN'T BEEN PINNED YET, AND HAD ACTUALLY SCORED SOME POINTS!"

With his new found confidence, and victory seemingly within his grasp, fishy-boy tried to get out of the way, but was only able to clumsily smash his right knee into my face.

I saw stars. Not like in the cartoons. I was actually transported (a la STAR TREK) to another solar system with a completely different star.

Then the ref stopped the match 'cause he got too much of my blood on him or something. He called for a towel to clean the mat up, and sent me to the sideline to get my nose plugged up. I tried to exit the mat while catching the blood which was now all over both of my hands and arms and most of my face and upper torso.

"bzzzz, bzzzzz, bzzzzz, bzzzzz."

"Hey, Chickhead. It's in his eyes. He’s ferocious and he’s on a roll. The horror!"

With friends like Mel, who needs enemas?

Schnozz toweled my face off and stuck little tampon-looking cotton plugs up both nostrils. He handed me the towel and said "You're doing fine. Really making it look like he's wrestling. Stay with him, get a take down, take him into the 3rd round and then you can pin him."

I looked over at him with the tampons sticking out my nose. Fishy-boy had his whole team around him rubbing his shoulders, giving advice, looking as tough as he could while hopping from one giant duck-like foot to the other and shaking his hands while trying to look extra-macho.
I couldn't even meet his eyes.

I went back out and got a 2 point take down, then the round ended.

Fishy-boy won the coin toss and chose the superior position to start the second round. I let him maul me for the second round. He was throwing crossfaces and really working on my tampon-stuffed snot-locker.

I had just about had all the humiliation I was interested in taking. I was doing this guy a favor (shhh... that’s a secret), and he was throwing cheap-shots at me left and right.
I'm just too damned nice. That's my problem.

This thought was interrupted first by another cheap forearm, then by the sound of Mel's camera.

"bzzzz, bzzzzz, bzzzzz,"

Half of our bench, even though they knew not to expect much from me, was yelling out things for me to do to actually WIN this match. The other half was distractedly looking everywhere but the mat, trying to convince themselves that they weren’t really on the same team as the guy getting mauled by Fishy-boy.

Finally, the second round ended.

Fishy-boy's team jumped to their feet, cheering like.... well like cheerleaders, they are so proud of ol' Fishy. And I can see that all of this is just making Fishy more determined to win.
Most of the guys on my team had given up on me.

The ref started the third round and I let Fishy-boy up. One point to the Fish. It's OK, I'm ahead by a few points.

Then, dammit, Fishy head-butted me in the nose. More stars. This guy was really working on my snotlocker.

So I head-butt him back. Hard. Completely illegal. Fish stumbled, and I take him down and put him in a pinning combination on his back.

But I'm still remembering Schnozz's request "If you’ve just GOTTA pin him, do it late in the third."

So I let him fight the pin for almost the rest of the round, but I had to pin him.... It was a pride thing. He’d bloodied my nose, given me cheap shots all during the match, my teammates (who thought... no, KNEW I was a fish) were gonna razz me about getting busted up by Fishy-boy forever. So at the very end of the third round I stuck his shoulders on the mat. The ref slapped the mat really hard, which signifies the end of the match by a pin. I had done it. Done Fishy and his coach a good turn, and not come out of it too badly. Well, not TOO badly, tampons up my nose notwithstanding.

Evidently his teammates didn't notice that he got pinned.... yet again. They all jumped to their feet and cheered, waving towels and yelling like idiots. You'd have thought Fishy just won a major tournament.

Fishy left the mat with his arms raised, skipping in a clumsy, fish-kid sort of way. His great big shoes slapping the mat with every step, straight into the mob that his team had become.

I turned my tampon-stuffed nose toward our bench and trudged off of the mat. No one said "Good job Scholz." In fact, it looked like everyone suddenly had something else important to look at.

Mel was giggling like a.... well like a cheerleader, aiming his camera at my face "Bzzzz, bzzzzz, bzzzzz."

"Nice match Chick... heh heh heh."

Schnozz just gave me a knowing look and a slight nod of his bulbous nose. He never spoke of it again. Neither did I, except with Mel, everytime he reminded me of Fishy-boy taking me down right after the opening whistle.

The next Monday at school, while walking down the hall, I happened to look in the trophy case. You know, the trophy case that sticks out of the wall in every high-school hall you've ever been in? That trophy case.

It had a brand new collage of wrestling pictures that someone had lovingly arranged with mounting board and off-center construction paper snowflakes.

Every black-and-white 5x10 in that case was a picture of some unlucky Enterprise wrestler being mauled by a wrestler from an opposing team. Then I noticed the tampons in the poor bastard's nose.

It was me.

They stayed in that case until well into the spring track season.

Every time Mel and I would pass that case he'd say "Hey, Chick.... Look at these."

It only worked about 5 times before I caught on.