58 Seconds - Part IV - Conclusion

I wrestled Robert Linkous again the day before every match for the next three weeks. Coach kept both us on the team, so to see who would be the first stringer, he had us wrestle for it. I beat Robert Linkous every single time.

I was 3-1 at the end of the first two weeks, having beaten other kids from Radford, Giles and Shawsville. The only loss, a pin at the hands of the eventual State runner-up at Carroll County. Our next two opponents were a home match against Galax and then a match at Blacksburg.

None of us at Christiansburg ever liked the Blacksburg Indians. They were always so smug because they were better than us at football and basketball. We were bound and determined that wrestling would be their Waterloo. Everyone wanted to compete in that match. It was going to be in front of their whole student body.

There turned out to be just one small problem. The home match against Galax was on Wednesday night...during Mutual.

I don't know how it is in other places, but in my ward you did not miss Mutual. I NEVER missed. Not for sickness. Not for death. Not for wrestling. And so, with trepidation, I told Coach that afternoon that I wouldn't be there.

"That's up to you, son," he said. "But you'll have to wrestle second string tomorrow against Blacksburg. Robert will get your spot in both matches."

I looked at Coach with confusion etched all over my pubescent face. "Second string?" I said, voice quivering like Quaking Aspens. "But, but..." My voice trailed off into the vespertine air. "I'm FIRST string!"

Coach shook his head. "Not if you miss tonight's match. There'd be no time to wrestle it off between the two of you before tomorrow. Since he would wrestle first string for us tonight, he'd also be first string tomorrow. I'm sorry, son, but that's the way it is."

Crushed. Crestfallen. Deflated. Defeated. All good words to describe my feelings at that moment, but none came close. I felt like I'd been stabbed in the back. Robert Linkous had had his revenge.

There was never any doubt what I would do that night. Though I felt a duty to wrestle for my school, I felt a stronger call to duty at Mutual. I don't remember what we did. We probably had Toastmasters, then some sort of Scout stuff. It didn't really matter. I was where I knew I was supposed to be, and it made me happy.

The next day, though, when I saw the student body pouring into the gym, I longed to be the starting 112-pounder. I pleaded with Coach to turn me loose, but he was adamant. I'd skipped the match the night before, so I was second string. The fact that Robert had lost to the wrestler from Galax didn't matter. The message was clearly sent and received. I hadn't been loyal to the team and now I had to pay.

When the match finally began, I sat on the bench and scanned the bleachers. Some of these same students had been at Mutual the night before and had told me they were anxious to see me compete. I didn't tell them that I was going to be a bench warmer, and when Robert was called at the 112-pound slot, I sank into my chair and endeavored to hide myself from their wondering gazes.

Robert quickly lost his match by pin, and it angered me to no end. I knew I'd have whipped that kid, a point I proved two weeks later when they came to our gym. That match was over in less than one period as I pinned him with about five seconds left. Tony Davis and his myrmidons were on the front row.

On this day, though, I felt the fury wash over me like a fierce, warm summer's rain. Sitting on the bench was the hardest thing I'd ever done, and watching my weight class fall to an inferior wrestler made it even worse. "Doggone it!" I said under my breath, squeezing my lips together tightly and wrenching my hands.

After a few more matches, I was a fine, well-cooked stew of anger and self-pity. Just as I was dipping into that stew to dish myself out a good, heaping helping, the announcer said that the match was going to pause for a few moments while they gave the second string teams their chance for glory. I looked down the bench at Coach with mouth agape and brows furrowed. He looked back and motioned to the mat, almost challenging me to show him what I had. Finally, here it was. My chance to show Coach what a big mistake he'd made.

A sudden excitement pounded in my chest when they called my name. I strapped on my helmet and nearly ran onto the mat. Shaking the other wrestler's hand, I turned and went back to my spot, anxious for the match to start. Determination and resolve boiled over in my heart like water in a teapot. If ever I was ready, this was the time.

The referee had barely put the whistle into his mouth before I was on that poor kid like stink on a skunk. Though I was just a scrawny 112-pounder, I felt like Thor, God of Thunder. In my mind, my muscles rippled threateningly and I exuded invincibility.

Shooting across the mat, I got a one-legged take down and had him on the mat within 15 seconds. Lying on his back, I took occasion to quickly scan the crowd. The eyes of every student and teacher in the building were on me and it boiled my blood and excited me beyond measure. I felt a sudden rush of adrenaline course through me and I almost felt sorry for the kid on whom I was lying.

Shooting a quick chicken wing, I got a half nelson on him from the opposite side. In what would soon become my signature move, I stacked the kid onto his back, hooked his leg and listened for the referee's hand to slam down on the mat, signaling my victory. To his credit, he kicked and made every effort to loose himself from my grasp, but the kid really had no chance. In what seemed like no time at all, it was mercifully over. I'd pinned him in 58 seconds.

I stood in one bound, reached down and helped him up. I shook his hand and the referee raised mine as I looked over at Coach. He grinned and gave me the thumbs up and I smiled broadly knowing that he wished he'd sent me out during the main match.

I lettered in wrestling that year and even did all right in the District championships. I didn't win, but I didn't get pinned, either. Somewhere along the way, though, wrestling lost its appeal.

When the school year ended, Coach Griffith left for another job. I tried to warm up to the new coach, but it just wasn't the same. The year after that there was another new coach, but I was never able to recapture that zeal for grappling.

Tony Davis beat me up once more and would continue to pick on me throughout my high school career. In fact, one day in Industrial Arts he had one of his bootlicks come up and bump me while I was working on the band saw. If I hadn't been watching what I was doing, it might have cut my finger off.

I hadn't seen "Touchdown" Davis in 25 years when he passed me on one of the roads in town and showed me with one finger how high his IQ is. I haven't seen him since, which is way too soon for me.

The Kylye's, luckily, backed off just a bit. And I mean just a bit. They still made fun of me, but neither of them tried to do anything physical again. Thankfully they moved away from the neighborhood a short time later. They're out there somewhere, though, probably picking on the 112-pound guy in the cube next to theirs.

Robert Linkous never gave me any more trouble. While I would never say that we became friends, he never picked on me again. Years later we'd see each other from time to time at the store or at a game somewhere and he'd say hi. We'd stand and visit for a few minutes and relive the glory days.

It was the first year CHS ever had a wrestling team and we were always quite proud of that fact. Today, they've won 10 State wrestling championships in a row, and I like to think that I helped set the stage for that.

But like the Springsteen song says, those days were gone "in the wink of a young girl's eye." I never got another letter for wrestling, nor did I ever win District, Region or State. But when I look back at it, I'm glad I went to Mutual. Though there were consequences, it was the right thing to do. I'm glad I had to wrestle second string, because now, no matter what else I do or fail to do, I'll always have those 58 seconds.

And the knowledge that at least once in my life, I did what I thought was right.

58 Seconds - Part III

I didn't sleep much that night. Thoughts of being torn to shreds the next day spilled from my conscious to my unconscious thoughts. They burned the back of my eyes like fire the entire night until my alarm clock uncaringly buzzed at 6:30 the next morning.

Dragging myself through the daily routine of shower, teeth, comb, dress was agonizingly painful. "Let's just get it over with" was the one thought that pounded incessantly through my brain.

Sitting in English class that morning I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Wooly.

"You ok?" he asked.

Slogging through the inky fog of self pity back toward reality, I looked at him and said something like, "Yea, I'm fine."

But I wasn't. I knew I had no chance against Robert Linkous. Short of discovering a secret strength pill or a long lost cape on my back, nothing would save me from my impending misfortune.

Except for maybe one thing. Fear.

I wished for a reprieve that whole day, but sooner than I wanted, practice was upon me and I found myself putting on my practice singlet and helmet. Being only 112 pounds, I would be one of the first to take the mat. After Joe Miles whipped some other kid at the 105-pound class, Coach called Robert and me to the center of the mat.

Robert stared into my eyes with a look of equal parts disdain, anger and loathing as Coach instructed us to have a fair fight. I looked at my feet. Then, in an instant, the whistle blew and the match was on.

The excruciating fear I felt at that moment was stronger than any other emotion I'd ever felt. Not even telling Lisa Howell how I truly felt about her had made my knees shake so uncontrollably. I was terrified, and it was oddly empowering and strengthening.

Robert was the first to make a move. Sauntering confidently over to me, he smacked the left side of my helmet, just to get my attention. Then he smacked the right side a little harder, making my ear ring slightly. At that point, all of the noise from the gym funneled directly into oblivion and all I could hear was my own heart beating frantically.

As Robert tried to shoot in and grab my legs for a two-leg takedown, I instinctively put my hands under his arms in defense, sprawled as quickly as I could, and fell violently toward the blue and gold. This action alone drove Robert's head directly into the mat beneath me. Spinning quickly toward his back, I laid down on top of him and grabbed him around the waist.

"Two points Schetselaar!" bellowed Coach. I'd scored the first points on a takedown I hadn't even started, but I somehow felt that it wouldn't be enough.

Putting my full weight on Robert's back, I tried to grab his legs. Cradling him onto his back would spell the end of the match, but it would be much more difficult than I'd planned.

As I pushed my left arm under his head and tried to pull his right leg toward his chin with my right arm, he stiffened his back and legs and tried rolling away from me. I countered by sinking a half nelson from the opposite side and tried to use his momentum to carry him over onto his back. It didn't work.

Robert grabbed my left hand and pulled it out from behind his head, rolling his legs on top of mine and trying for a reversal. I didn't know much about wrestling technique at this point, but I'd wrestled enough with my dad on the living room carpet to know what didn't feel right...and this didn't feel right.

Pulling my legs quickly to the side, I stepped back over his legs and caught him on his side. I quickly sank the half nelson and pushed as hard as I could. Slowly, ever so slowly, I rolled him onto his back and put the entire weight of my body on his chest. I ground my chin into his right shoulder, hoping it would discourage him from trying to roll against me. It worked. I quickly grabbed his right leg and listened as Coach counted one, two, three. It was over, and I had pinned Robert Linkous!

Getting onto my knees, I pulled my weight back over my feet and stood, looking down at Robert's prostrate body. He stayed there for a second or two and then stood. Like a roaring wave, the sound in the room returned and I could hear nothing but the deafening silence. No one had given me a chance to win, including me. It was the most stunning upset anyone had ever seen.

Coach raised my hand as the victor and I walked quietly and meekly back to my place at the edge of the mat. No one spoke to me, but they all looked at me with mouths agape. No one had expected it and no one yet believed it.

Coming soon - Conclusion

58 Seconds - Part II

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

58 Seconds - Part I

Robert Linkous was as mean as a striped snake.

And twice as tough.

I was so afraid of him that I'd wait until I got home from school to use the bathroom. I didn't want to get caught by him in the men's room at school because I knew it would mean a powerful beating. So, on more than one occasion, I nearly floated home on the bus.

Christiansburg High School had never had a wrestling team before the fall of 1974. Early that spring, the School Board had hired a former drill sergeant as the school's first coach. He started teaching Math when school was back in session, finally starting up the wrestling team just after Columbus Day.

I'd seen the fliers about the team taped to the school walls near the gym. They piqued my interest. Having never been a particularly tall or large boy, I figured basketball and football were out. Wrestling, I thought, just might be my ticket to jock-dom.

"I want to go out for the wrestling team," I said that night at dinner.

My mom almost choked on her macaroni casserole. "Wrestling team? At school?"

Dad beamed. "You know," he said, "I was on the wrestling team when I was in high school, too."

"Really?" I said, between bites. "How did you do?" This was virgin timber to me. I didn't know much of anything about my dad's high school days beyond a Vitalis-laced crew cut staring out from the 1947 yearbook.

"I was pretty good," he crowed. "I had to beat a guy named Dan Jackman to get onto the team. He was the meanest kid in school."

I took another bite in anticipation.

Protesting ever so slightly, Mom said, "But what if he gets hurt?"

Dad shook his head and swallowed and said, "He'll be fine. It's not football. Wrestlers don't get hurt very often and when they do it's just muscular stuff. He'll do great."

Wiping his mouth with the paper napkin, he asked, "When are tryouts?"

"Tomorrow after school," I replied before spitting out the next, most important question. "So, can I try out?"

Mom readjusted herself in her chair while Dad stood to take his plate to the sink. "I don't see why not," he declared. "I think it will be good for you."

Mom pursed her lips and nervously acquiesced. "I'll pick you up when you're done."

There must have been 60 boys sitting in the old, wooden bleachers after school the next day waiting for Coach Griffith to come out of the locker room. Wooly and I sat near the top, hitting each other’s knuckles with the teeth of a black, plastic comb, each drawing a small amount of crimson on the other's hand.

"Listen up!" said a booming voice from the gym door. The comb flashed back into my pocket.

From behind his clipboard, Coach Griffith thundered. "I assume all of you are here to try out for the wrestling team." We all nodded.

"That's great," he continued. "But let me give you the plain, hard facts. There are 14 weight classes in high school wrestling. We'll need a couple of backups who can fill in from time to time. That brings the number to a maximum of about 20 boys who will make this team. That means that more than half of you are going to go home after this week's tryouts and will not come back."

Wooly and I looked at each other with mouths agape. I guess we thought it was more like the track team, where everybody got to run. Never did we think the attrition rate would be that bad.

"Does anyone want to leave now?"

Nobody did.

"All right then, let's get to work."

Coach started by dividing us into groups according to our weights and sizes. Wooly, being much stockier than me, was put in the 126 pound class. I was 112.

Standing barefoot on the large, blue and gold wrestling mat in the center of the gym, I looked around me to see what other losers were in my class. Nearly choking on my own anxiety, I saw Robert Linkous standing right next to me. He was 112 as well.

Coming soon - Part II

Birthday Boy

Saturday was Jacob's 12th birthday. Unbelievable, really. Twelve years since he was born? Seems like a week and a half. I can still remember everything about that day like it was yesterday. It's almost sad to think that he's way more than halfway out of my house. Actually, it's very sad.

Anyway, last in the morning I took him and his sister over to the stone house for some sledding. Having just bought two nice sleds that morning, I figured the kids were ready for some serious sledding. I was right, but only half right.

Jacob took to the hill and didn't want to let up. He must have gone down two dozen times in the two hours we were there. It was literally slide down the hill, walk back up to the top and get right back on the sled. To the right you can see him carrying his new sled. Actually, I didn't give either one of the sleds to either one of the kids. They were both given to both of them. Therefore, there was no fighting about which one they were going to use. I'm so smart. And they call my sister oeyes1.

Hannah, on the other hand, hit her head on the very first run and was never the same until we left. Well, let me take that back. For a while she was very grumpy and didn't want to go down the hill at all. But when we started going down together, all three of us on two connected sleds, she was ready to go for it again. To the left you can see her in her grumpy state.

The snow was very, very icy and very hard, so I can see why she would not be anxious for that to happen again. When we all went down together, however, we stayed going straight down the hill and no one was hurt again. Below you can see videos of them on the hill with their brand new sleds. Perfect day for sledding.

Yesterday's picture

I just took this picture yesterday on the way home from work. I thought it was a nice, idyllic scene. I hope you enjoy it, too.

Yesterday's Snow

The snow here yesterday was beautiful, but very dangerous. Salt trucks laid down salt and sand yesterday morning on major roads. By the afternoon, however, it was all gone because it rained almost all day before changing into snow. Consequently, it was almost as if the roads had not been treated at all. And the bad thing about the snow was that it started falling in earnest right as the evening commute started. There were people in their cars for up to 7 or 8 hours trying to get home from work. It only took me an hour and 40 minutes. It is usually a 40-minute drive. Twenty-four miles. That's it. Top speed was 27 mph.

On the way to work this morning I saw at least a dozen cars stranded in the ditch. I was very blessed to get home safely, though when I did get there I had to park in the road. The car would not get up the driveway. This morning I went out to discover that it had been buried by the snowplows coming through the neighborhood. I'm tired today because of the snow I had to shovel this morning (an hour and 40 minute job).

It's all good, though. I'm thankful for the safe travel last night. I'm thankful for the safe travel today. I'm thankful that I even have a car. And I'm thankful that I have such a good family who tried to shovel the driveway before I got home. The trouble was, it was snowing so hard that they would shovel about five feet, turn around and it was all covered again. They are so dear to me. I love them with all my heart.

The View from my Window

This is the view out of my window here at work. If you'd like to get a larger view of it, just click on the picture. We got some snow overnight and now it's putting down some freezing rain. You can't see it from the picture, of course, but we just had thunder, too. We're supposed to get more snow tonight. I've heard anywhere from 1 to 10 inches. Who knows? The weather is a moving target anymore. Signs of the times, my friend. Signs of the times.

This World's Beauty

THERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparell'd in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore;—
Turn wheresoe'er I may,
By night or day,
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.

The rainbow comes and goes,
And lovely is the rose;
The moon doth with delight
Look round her when the heavens are bare;
Waters on a starry night
Are beautiful and fair;
The sunshine is a glorious birth;
But yet I know, where'er I go,
That there hath pass'd away a glory from the earth.

(Ode - Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood by William Wordsworth

The words to this poem haunt me, but not for the reason you might think. Wordsworth could string words together with such clarity and beauty. The only problem is that I don't happen to agree with them. Sure, things have changed from when we were children. Maybe they've changed even more from when Wordsworth was a child. It surely doesn't snow as much around here as it used to. Weather as a whole has become an increasingly inexact science, it seems. There surely is more pollution and fewer trees and other greenery. Maybe that's what he meant by "a glory" having passed away from the earth.

The thing is, I still see so much beauty in the world. I look for it. I cherish it. And when I do see it, I try to capture it by taking a picture or two. Below are some of my favorite nature-ish pictures. I hope you enjoy them.

After the Storm

Isn't winter a beautiful time of year? I love the quiet beauty of a snowstorm, the ice that clings relentlessly to the downspout and the frosty slab that covers a frozen pond. I love the naked trees shivering in the wind, if only for the fact that I know that life still thrives within its frozen branches.

I love when the howling wind picks up a handful of drifted snow and hurls it through the air, momentarily filtering the sun's futile attempt at warmth. I love the glowing fire that lights and heats my home, crackling sparks flying heavenward. I love winter.

Actually, Autumn is my favorite season of the year, Summer my least. Winter falls between the two. But I find rare beauty in the frozen tundra, the arctic blast and children's laughter as they throw the year's first snowballs.

Sometimes old man winter blows harder and colder than you think you are able to bear. The wind whistles through your clothes, chilling your bones to the marrow. Snow whips up off the ground and is blown against your face. Extremities seem to freeze in the cold, icy air. If you've ever experienced a Virginia winter, you know how absolutely freezing it can get, saying nothing of more nether regions.

The winds of adversity also blow extremely cold. Chilling feelings to the core, change, along with its companion, anguish, affect everyone at one time or another. No one is immune to their icy glare, their freezing touch or their shiver-creating breath.

For some, storm after storm batter their good intentions, a veritable Nor'Easter of adversity slamming them with immeasurable intensity. Others, meanwhile, are met with hurricane-force winds that freeze them to the center. Everyone feels the effects of winter, whether you live in a tropical climate or not.

The great thing about night, though, is that morning is right around the corner. Winter always gives way to Spring. Soon, tender shoots will begin to emerge from the thawing ground, buds will sprout from the shivering branches, and the air, that chilling, freezing wind, will surrender to the warming zephyrs of Spring.

There is light at the end of the tunnel. No matter how angry old man Winter looks, Spring is just a little way off. The sun always comes up tomorrow, all you've got to do is hang on.

We got a winter storm last night. It only dumped about an inch of snow on us, just enough to delay schools by two hours. On my way to work I saw the sun rise over the snow-covered hills through a small break in the clouds. It got me to thinking how blessed I am that the Lord is always there. The love of our Savior is always there, ready for us to enjoy...if we will. The clouds will part. The sun will shine. He is over all.