el Capitán

A coaching mentor once told me that wins and losses don’t matter. I didn’t trust this advice. I’ve seen many coaches not win and then go looking for a new job next season. He said, “If all I’ve ever taught kids was how to win, then I failed them.”

I never truly understood this until I was able to coach a team of my own. My first team was a wrestling program on the rise. Four years I served as their head coach, and when I took over the program, the team itself averaged around six wrestlers, and the program hadn’t won a team match in over a decade. My first year, we finished the season with nine wrestlers and four team victories, at which they discussed building me a statue. My second year, we finished with a solid twelve-man roster and ten team victories. Again, I declined the Hall of Fame nomination.

But things changed in my third season. In my third season, we were contenders.

Season three came with a host of returning starters, committed players who were going to push the team to new heights. One such player was a senior captain named Ediberto. Eddie came from a proud family of Mexican immigrants who brought their family to America to find greater opportunities for Eddie and his siblings. I recruited him to kick for me for the Varsity Football team, as he was primarily a Cross-Country runner. I talked him into wrestling, and as it turned out, he was pretty dang good at it.

As a sophomore, Eddie’s teammates chose him as captain. He was a natural leader, not just through his inspirational words, but through his actions, as well. Few kids did a better job of “walking the walk”, so to speak. Another tradition on the team was, if you qualified for individual playoffs at the end of the season, we assigned you a pro wrestling style moniker, a nickname, and after Eddie easily qualified for playoffs his first season, the kids chose for him “el Capitán”, clearly a nod to his Mexican heritage. Eddie resisted this, but ultimately gave in.

Season three, Eddie was on a tear. It was his Senior season, and he raced through his regular season. He successfully cheated his way through hydration testing (don’t ask). He won a few gold medals in tournaments. He almost got disqualified in a match with a female for being too much of a gentleman (weird, I know). He marched his way through region and cake-walked to a region championship. He made it look easy.

Lower State Qualifiers. Two brackets: championship and consolation. The championship bracket was for 1st and 2nd place and the title of Lower State Champion. If you lost at all, you moved down to the consolation brackets and could only wrestle for 3rd or 4th place. 1st through 4th moved on to the State Championship Tournament, and the rest would hang up their wrestling shoes for the season. For Eddie, it was Lower State Champ or bust. He just needed four wins to get his crown.

Round one.

Easy work. Eddie took a shot right off the whistle, grabbed a deep single leg, spun the guy outside to his face. From there, Eddie went to work. From top, I trained my team hard to work pressure on the head and always work cross-faces to power halves. Eddie could have taught clinics on it. He dug his forearm deep into the back of the poor Guy’s neck, working the shoulder to try and throw the half. Guy wasn’t giving it up. When Eddie would lift his forearm off, Guy’s head would fly up. Immediately, Eddie would throw his arm across Guy’s face to the far elbow, essentially “punching” Guy on his way. Perfectly legal, I swear. After Guy’s jaw felt the fury of Eddie’s palm-heel strike, he gave up the half and accepted his fate, giving Eddie the pin.

Round two.

A little tougher. Dude was a brawler, wanted to score his points on his feet in neutral. He played the takedown game at first, getting two takedown points and releasing, giving up one point each time. He was good. He got three clean takedowns and ended the first period up 6-3. I was impressed; Eddie so rarely gave up takedowns. Before the second period began, Eddie won the toss and was able to choose: down, top, neutral, or defer. He looked at me, and I smiled.

“You know what to do.”

Eddie nodded, breathing heavy. He told the ref he wanted down, and he dropped to the down position. As good as Dude was on his feet, nobody could hold Eddie down. On the whistle, Eddie burst forward, and Dude had to grab him with locking hands to hold him down. Penalty, warning. Second whistle, dead sprint. Again, grabbed with locking hands. Penalty, one point. Third whistle, Dude was expecting another burst of speed, but instead, Eddie sat out, palm up, turned, hooked the knee and spun around on top. Locked both legs around Dude’s, forearm to head, press down with all his weight. Dude’s shoulder came up in defense. Eddie hooks it, runs the half, and starts to twist Dude’s upper body all the way around. Dude was in agony, and to stop the pain, he put both shoulders on the mat and gave Eddie the pin. Two down.

Round three.

Kid was good. Sophomore, preseason ranked in the state. We knew Kid was going to be a beast. Eddie wasn’t outclassed by any stretch of the imagination, but the high ranking, Kid’s record and gold medal count, even the way Kid moved around the mat intimidated Eddie just a little. Even if he wouldn’t admit it.

The first minute of the match was all grandstanding, athletic specimens, walking in circles, sizing each other up, taking false shots, locking up and releasing. Anything that might give them a clue about the best form of attack. When they locked up, Eddie had the clear strength advantage, so Kid released immediately; he knew it wasn’t going to be a power game, so he pushed back and circled, looking for an advantage. Despite his age and experience, Eddie got impatient first. He leaned in, trying to lock up, and Kid backed away; when Eddie saw himself overextended, he placed his forward knee on the mat and took a shot. It wasn’t as deep as he’d intended, and he was only able to hook a single leg. Kid wrapped his arm around Eddie’s grabbing shoulder with his other hand jamming down on top of Eddie’s head. When Kid’s reaching hand was able to grab the wrist of the hand pressing down, he successfully locked in the three quarter Nelson hold, and the slightest pressure on top of Eddie’s head sent him straight to the mat. He spun around on top of Eddie to claim his takedown points.

No matter what Kid did, Eddie defended. But no matter what Eddie did in defense, Kid had another plan. For the next forty seconds of agony, they battled on the mat, countering each move, and parrying each counter. Finally, in an effort to cut into the lead before the end of the period, Eddie pushed up and off of his knees, but his bracing arm and his back knee came too close together, and Kid saw his opportunity. He threw himself over Eddie, reaching one arm around Eddie’s head and one around his leg. He rolled Eddie over and onto his back, a full cradle. Eddie kicked as fiercely as he could, the only thing keeping both scapula off the mat. They struggled, fighting for their lives. I sat in that corner, screaming “Short Time!” and counting down the clock. The ref spun into position, waiting for the moment where both shoulder blades would touch, when the buzzer sounded. End of the first period. The ref awarded Kid the three near-fall points and ordered them to their feet.

Eddie looked at me; he was gassed. That period went as terribly as one could, and he faced a deficit of 5 points heading into the second. He won the coin toss, and he looked at me. We weren’t desperate enough to take down right away, and we had ground to make up. I made an “X” signal with my arms across my chest, and Eddie told the ref he would defer to the third. Kid chose “Up”, a confident choice (he saw how much damage he did on top in the first period). Eddie took the down position on the mat.

Second period. Eddie thrust from his position like he was shot out of a cannon. Kid did not lock hands. Instead, he simply let Eddie go. Good move on his part, conservative. With Eddie back on his feet, the dance began again. Circling to their right, to their left. A few fake shots, some mild lock-up attempts. After grumblings from both benches for stalling calls began, Eddie reached in for a lock, but Kid timed it perfectly; he dropped his level a mere inches from the mat and snatched Eddie’s exposed ankle, pulling it in easily. Eddie fell to his butt with a grunt and spun to his stomach. Kid went to work.

Eddie took a beating here, with Kid working every direction to get under his shoulder to run a half Nelson. Several times, Eddie grabbed his composure and maneuvered forward, inch by inch. Kid was able to throw a strong half in on Eddie’s right, but the thrust moved both of them outside of the circle. The ref blew the whistle, returned them to center mat, Eddie in the down position. On the whistle, Eddie ducked his inside shoulder inside and rolled, executing a clinical Granby roll, reversing quickly, putting Kid in the down position and earning himself two points. Without hesitation, Eddie snatched Kid’s near wrist and darted his forehead right into the back of shoulder near the armpit. This flattened Kid to the mat immediately. Eddie continued to grind his feet into the mat, forcing Kid’s shoulder up until he threw the half and turned him. Kid was on his back for only a few seconds, long enough for him to use Eddie’s momentum against him, flipping Eddie to the mat. Buzzer buzzes. The referee awarded Eddie with two near fall points, and then Kid with a last second reversal. Period two ends at 9-5.

Third period. Eddie chose “down” as he needs the points. On the whistle, Kid sold out by reaching under Eddie’s shoulders and around his neck. He pulled the head in tight and stacked Eddie on the mat. Eddie rolled through after a few moments, long enough for Kid to get two near fall points. Afterwards, they scrambled for control over one another, with Eddie coming out on top. The next minute and a half were sheer torment; Eddie was down 11-7, desperate for points but unable to find any. With Kid flattened out, Eddie on top trying for a power half, Eddie threw everything in. He cross-faceed the life out of Kid, and using that momentum, he was able to snatch the far leg and clutch both hands together, a cross-face cradle. The crowd roared as Eddie locked it in, turning Kid to his back. Kid fought with all his might, inching closer and closer to being flat on his back. Then, abruptly, the buzzer sounded. Match over. The ref awarded Eddie three back points.

Eddie lost 11-10.

Eddie wept on the mat, exhausted and destroyed. Kid tried to help him up, but to no avail. The referee raised Kid’s hand in the air in victory. My assistant coach and I carried Eddie off the mat. He stormed out of our hands, running to the back corner of the gym and out the rear exit. We followed, along with Eddie’s father.

Outside in the crisp winter air, three men stood over Eddie as he sat on the ground, shivering, weeping. I told him how proud I was of him, how he left it all out on the mat. My assistant coach, an older man who has forgotten more wrestling than I’d ever know, complimented his execution, reminded him that third place was still achievable and that he was still heading to state. Eddie’s father, who didn’t speak a word of English, soothed Eddie in Spanish and regailed him with praise. Eddie calmed down, the tears stopped, and his breathing returned.

A roar came from within the gym, but we didn’t bother checking on it. Moments later, the rear exit door on the other end of the gym flew open, and another wailing wrestler stumbled out in tears. He flung himself against the wall, weeping bitterly, when the door flew open again, his father stomping out. The scene was the complete opposite of what happened in our huddle. This young man’s father, who also happened to be his coach, flew into a tirade, yelling and screaming, saying how disappointed he was in his son and how this was his only chance and that he should be ashamed of himself. The young man twisted into himself and wept bitterly, and the father took no pity, leaving his son on the dirty ground, drowning in tears.

As three grown men stood in front of Eddie, gameplanning the best way to get him back on his feet, Eddie stood. He brushed himself off and excused himself politely. He walked the length of the gym to the feet of the young man weeping against the wall. Eddie slid against the wall right next to the kid. I don’t know what was said, but I know the young man wept harder. He wept into Eddie, and Eddie spoke softly back to him. Just a few minutes later, the young man was on his feet, hugging Eddie. They patted each other on the back, and the young man went back inside, tears dried away. Three grown men stared at the scene taking place, wordless. For Ediberto, it was more than just a game. He walked back to us, bent and grabbed his headgear off the ground.

“Thanks guys,” he said, “Let’s go win third place.”

And he did. He got a bronze medal in Lower State, and went on to place 5th in the State Championship two weeks later. But winning’s unimportant. Ediberto went on that year to get a full scholarship for Cross-Country running, graduate college, win several marathon races, and come back to coach the Cross-Country team a decade later. He married a beautiful woman and has a beautiful baby boy, one who will hopefully wrestle for me one day.

He won’t be known for his high school accolades. But he will be known for how he made people feel. He was an athlete, no doubt. More importantly, he was our Captain. And he continues to lead that life to this very day.