Six Minutes

Six Minutes

The fear that gripped him was almost one of extreme terror, but not quite. Mike wouldn’t allow himself to give in to fear entirely.

“Do you see who you have to wrestle?” asked the heavyweight who sat next to him. “That’s Gary Martinez. That guy’s a gorilla,” he said, shaking his head and placing one hand on Mike’s back. “Good luck,” he said, sounding like it would be a miracle if Mike survived.

Mike could easily pick out his opponent. On the other side of the mat, he sat second to the end, just like Mike. Martinez was muscular and looked more like a bronze statue Mike had seen at Caesar’s in Las Vegas than a high school junior. He had dark, scruffy hair, and his face looked like a statue, too. Not a nice one, more like the gargoyle faces Mike had seen on the sides of buildings in Los Angeles.

In contrast, Mike did not look strong. His shoulders and back were okay, but his arms, even though he worked on them, looked like sticks with small knots for biceps. Mike was taller than Martinez, and his legs longer and much thinner than Martinez’s tree trunks.

Mike started wrestling the year before as a freshman, and he fell in love with the sport. He ended up being the captain of the junior varsity team, much to the surprise of his father.

This year he was on varsity and doing well. He was able to think on the mat, which had led to many victories, and even though he didn’t look it, he was surprisingly strong.

He loved the fear right before a match started. The knots in his stomach told him that he was alive. They tightened as he shook hands with his opponent and remained until the whistle blew, starting the match. Then, for the next six minutes, there was a job to be done, and physical effort and concentration replaced the fear. Six minutes; a lifetime on the mat.

Before he knew it, it was time to step onto the mat. Mike was shaking the massive paw of Martinez. This time he didn’t think the knots of fear would go away.

After they shook hands, they stepped back and got into their stances. The whistle blew and the match was on. They circled each other. Martinez went for Mike’s legs, but he was sloppy, and Mike sprawled away and was up again. Mike moved in a little closer and tapped Martinez on the forehead with the palm of his hand. It got Martinez’s attention. They circled some more, and Mike moved in again. Mike tapped Martinez on the forehead again, Martinez’s growled. The crowd gasped, thinking that Martinez would eat Mike for lunch, literally.

Martinez’s attention was drawn upward to his forehead. Mike lowered his body in a fluid motion, and, like a cobra, attacked Martinez’s tree-trunk legs. With all of his body’s strength, he lifted and turned Martinez down on the mat, scoring two points.

Martinez let out a second growl that would have been the envy of the biggest grizzly bear in Alaska. The crowd was now sure that Martinez was going to devour Mike and use his bones for toothpicks. Mike held on. The round ended. Mike was up by two. The crowd was shocked into silence, except for Mike’s brother, who was cheering loudly and receiving dirty looks for his effort.

Round two started with Martinez in the down position. Martinez tried to get up, but Mike pulled on his leg and stayed on top. Martinez used his strength, building up to his hands and knees, and then slid out onto his butt. He tried to get a reversal, worth two points, but only succeeded in getting free, scoring one. The two faced off again, the score two to one.

Mike tried again, striking Martinez on the head and going for the legs, but Martinez was able to sprawl his legs back and land with his weight on top of Mike’s head. Mike held on to Martinez’s beefy legs, but Martinez was wet with sweat and too slippery to hold on to. Martinez slipped around behind and scored two points for the takedown. Martinez was winning three to two. He was on top of Mike, Martinez’s massive muscles bulged.

The crowd knew it would be over soon. Martinez was just playing with this scrawny kid. He would soon turn him on his back and pin him, ending this farce. The match had already lasted three minutes longer than all but one of his matches this season. That match had ended in a pin at three minutes twenty seconds. It would be over soon; they all knew it.

Martinez tried. He tried every move he knew, but Mike was fast enough to counter them all. They tumbled, they rolled, and they huffed and puffed. They stood up and slammed back down onto the mat, sweat poured from their bodies like rivers after a snow thaw. With two seconds left, Mike escaped, tying the score at three.

Mike’s brother cheered. The crowd was angry but silent. The whistle blew and the round ended. Mike looked good, Martinez didn’t.

Mike took his position on the bottom, on hands and knees. Martinez got into position behind him, one hand on the elbow, the other on his belly. The referee warned Martinez about moving so slowly and told him he would award Mike a point if he stalled again. Martinez had not had to wrestle into the third period all year, pinning most opponents in round one.

Martinez backed off and then took his position again, heavily, resting on Mike. The referee started the round. Mike sat out quickly; Martinez was too slow to follow. Mike was up, scoring a point going ahead by one. Martinez got to his feet, and Mike shot for his legs again. Martinez stopped him, fell on top, then slid around behind him and scored two points. The score was five to four, and Martinez was happy with it. He just wanted to lie on this kid.

Mike escaped and came at Martinez again. The score tied five to five. This time Mike tried a fireman’s carry, trying to throw Martinez over his shoulder. Mike shot between Martinez’s legs and went on one knee. The setup was good, and it almost worked, but Martinez was heavy and knew how to use his weight. Martinez ended up on top of Mike. With twenty seconds left, the score was seven to five in favor of Martinez.

Mike switched, scrambled, tumbled, and was up, scoring one. Seven to six, Martinez was still winning. Martinez stood up, flat-footed at the edge of the mat, seven seconds to go. Mike moved in fast and picked Martinez up, landing him on the mat. It was a beautiful takedown, one of his best ever. The referee didn’t award the point that would win the match, though. Martinez’s body was outside the circle. With four seconds left, Mike tried to pull his massive opponent back onto the mat. He couldn’t. The six minutes were over.

Martinez’s score was seven; Mike’s was six. The wrestlers pulled themselves up and staggered to the center of the mat, legs wobbly. They shook hands and the referee pulled Martinez’s hand high into the air-the winner. Mike and Martinez fell together in a hug, knowing in their hearts, they would never have a tougher match, ever.