Wednesday, June 30, 2004

First Place Loser

The first wrestling medal I ever won was at the 1996 (or '95) East Hartford JV tournament. I took the bronze in the 140 lb. weight class. Was I happy? No. Not "no" because I of an unrelenting drive to in no circumstance accept less than first place, but instead I was mortified because in this instance I had won third place - third place out of three.

The 140 lb. mark is fairly close to the center of the bell curve of underclassman high school boys' weight distribution. Usually, it would be one of the more stocked brackets because there are so many 140 lb-ers. This day was just a fluke. I think there may have been a snowstorm, in fact. For whatever reason it ended up being just two others and myself.

This was my freshman year. That first year I only ended up winning two matches. FYI, I happened to turn that around and the very next year I only lost two...though yes, that first year was a long one. This particular tournament was in the mid-season, so my confidence had already been checked by many losses, so on seeing there were only three wrestlers and with a quick calculation understanding what that would mean with the bronze medal, I was hit with a feeling things might go sour.

The first match I did pretty well for myself at the time. I made it to the second period before I was pinned. Again, at the time it was relatively good for me to make it past the first period. The second match did not go as well. I found myself fighting to stay off my back with only a depressing 30 seconds logged on the clock, though admittedly not an unfamiliar scene that year. Soon it was over and I had two losses.

I spent the rest of the afternoon worrying about the approaching medal ceremony. I had been seen losing twice, but had anyone seen me win? Um, they didn't, 'cause I didn't. I had also been to enough tournaments already to know what was coming. As numbers of participants in these JV tournaments would fluctuate week to week depending on which schools were present, the number of matches it would take to win a medal changed each tournament. It also differed between weight classes. The wrestlers would always try to out-do each other by boasting how much tougher his own road to a medal had been. "How many matches did you have to win?...three? Psh, I won five matches for my medal!" At the medal ceremony it was revealed to my teammates that I had won a medal, so soon the questions came. "How many matches did you have to win, T.J.?" My insides were churning before, during, and after everyone would ask. I wanted to disappear. I should have lied and told them that I had won two matches or something...no one would have known. Oh, my honestly got me in trouble that day.

One could have a reasonably sized bracket and easily win two or three matches without themselves medalling. When my teammates who had a day like that found out I hadn't won any matches but still received a medal, my ticket was punched. They hated me. They hated nothing else more than me at that moment and the only way to channel that anger was to mock and ridicule me.

I kept my eyes on the floor until we left. I also kept to myself. I wanted to take off my badge of shame handing like a burning dead weight around my neck and stick it in my pocket, out of sight and mind, but everyone had already seen me receive it. My life needed a fast-forward button right then. On the bus ride home I pretended to sleep to I wouldn't have to talk to or face anyone. I listened the whole way home, and occasionally the talk would turn to T.J. "Hey Coach, how did T.J. lose twice and still get a medal!?!" I kept my eyes shut and my face buried in that school bus seat until the ride was over.

Fortunately, high school boys have short memories and it never came up again. I hated that medal because of what it represented: it was a false medal, a physical lie. I hated even looking at it, and I stuck it in a drawer. In the upcoming years, as I began to grow a collection of legitimately won medals, I took it out again just for variety to place with the other medals and trophies. I had gotten over that day and now it became a funny thought to myself. I guess I can laugh at myself now. Also, maybe more than that even, I kept it because the weight class is listed on it; it lets me remember a time when I was once at most 140 lbs.!!!

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