Unfortunately for Wooly, he didn't survive the first cuts. He was gone after the first day. He was always more of a baseball player, anyway, so he really didn't care. I, on the other hand, was still there for day two.
The next day, I felt the loogie hit the back of my t-shirt before I even knew they were behind me. "You'll never make the wrestling team," said a squeaky, yet raspy voice, which I knew instantly belonged to one of the Kylye brothers.
The Kylye's had just moved into our neighborhood, and had been causing trouble for me ever since. Neither was particularly large, but they both had bully in them like stink in a skunk. They were some of the biggest jerks in school and were toadies of the kingpin jerk himself - Tony Davis.
I'm not absolutely sure why they liked picking on me. Most likely, it was because I let them do just about whatever they wanted without fear of recrimination. They spit on me, pushed me around, bumped into me, and said whatever they wanted to me, and I didn't do a doggone thing. I now wish I had, but as a skinny, pimply teenager, I simply didn't want to fight.
The oldest, David, was a year younger than me, but was just about as tall, and had a nose that looked like a dog's hind leg. I'd heard he'd taken a baseball bat to the face in Little League, but it wasn't something I was going to ask him about. The youngest, Mike, was a year younger than him, but just as mean. Together, they were about as unpleasant as two pre-pubescent toughs could be.
I continued to walk across the gym floor toward the front of the line, ignoring them as much as possible. We were doing layup drills in gym class and it was my turn to rebound.
"Hey, stupid," one of the brothers said when we got to the end of the shooting line. I didn't know which one it was, though I had looked him in the eye. They were interchangeably evil, so it really didn't matter. "You hear me, stupid? You'll never make the wrestling team. You're not tough enough, ya little girl. Give it up now before the whole school sees what a big sissy you are."
"Come on, ladies!" erupted Coach Griffith as we did monkey rolls on the wrestling mats that afternoon. "Pick it up! Let's go! Let's go! Let's go!"
Coach was actually a relatively likable guy when he wasn't in a gym. Once he stepped across that threshold, however, all bets were off. He'd played middle linebacker on his college football team and had been on the practice team for the Chicago Bears. He'd also been a drill instructor in the US Army, and he treated his students like they were plebes.
We did monkey rolls until our clothes were soaking with perspiration, after which Coach divided us up into the same weight classes we'd been in the day before. Robert Linkous, his cousin Donald, Ray Hepner and I were all in the 112 class.
"Here's how we're going to whittle this down, gentlemen," Coach bellowed as we all sat down around him. "I'm going to divide you all into pairs. Each pair will wrestle and the winner will move on. The loser will go home."
Every boy in the gym glared at the others sitting next to him, as if his whole future depended on this victory. I, on the other hand, looked at Robert like my very life depended on it.
When the names were read off, however, I was paired with Donald Linkous. He'd been in my class since my family and I had moved to Virginia three years earlier. Like everyone in Mrs. Pollet's 7th grade class, we felt a certain kinship, almost an "all for one and one for all" type of thing. Today, though, it was every man for himself.
I put Donald on the mat with a single-leg take down, shot around to the back and rolled him over onto his back like he was a piece of bacon. Three seconds later I was climbing off with my head held high and a smile on my face. The whole affair had taken less than a minute and a half. Donald shook my hand and raised it in the air. I patted him on the back as we walked off the mat and he headed for the showers.
The heavyweights came next. Tim Franklin pinned Tom Bissinger in about five seconds. Then Evan Helms beat The Bald Eagle, Randy George, on points. Finally, Robert Linkous and Ray stepped onto the blue and gold.
Closing my eyes, I silently prayed that Robert would lose. My hands shook violently as he shot into Ray's legs. I closed my eyes and grimaced when he got the chicken wing and grabbed a leg. And I hung my head in desperation when he cradled him and rolled him onto his shoulders. I ached to help Ray, but I was helpless to assist him. One, two, three and the match was over.
Robert shot to his feet and ran toward me. Sticking his unctuous finger in my face, he bellowed, "You're next, chump!"
Coming soon - Part III
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