During my free period, I went out for some clean air and to complete a mission. Buy a Twix bar and deliver to wrestler before the match. I nervously used the price-check function and inserted quarters and dimes. $1.25. I pushed the code E-7 with the utmost care. Down came the bar. I put it in my backpack and the day went on.
Technically, we were let out 15 minutes early to do a pep rally for the talented wrestling team. In reality, I got there slightly late and the team did a little dance-around on the gym floor. In good time, it was over and we were free to go. Unusual for me, I lost track of the next 40 minutes and remembered playing in the orchestra as well as waiting in the wrestling antechamber.
I put the bar in a manila envelope, unsure of wrestling team policy. Some kids who shared the locker room with the wrestling team took a peek. I shared it with them. The lights, spare a dim flourescent, was off, and the wrestlers sat in a quiet circle. "I wonder if they're doing (bad things) in there". "Nah." Soon, though, a dozen of them came out in hardly anything at all. "The weigh-in". The team spent the day not eating, cutting their hair, shaving, losing water mass, however they could to cut their weight. Then I was approached. "Give it to me NOW I'm so hungry". Quick energy boost.
I made a phone call, fiddled a tune, and made it back in time to watch the show. THe reason I took the loss was that, er, expected to be paid back. So I fidgeted with the manilla envelope as our Panthers gravely bashed the Heights by wide margins.
[I was asked about the "yellow envelope". Nah, nothing official, really.]
Contrary to what I thought, the 2 minute matches were fast-paced. The two opposing wrestlers would jostle for a bit, then one would lunge for the other's legs, and then they were on the ground. Pretty soon one was on their front as the other tried to pin him on his back. Sometimes the tide would flip, and the aggressor was now the vulnerable. For a while the guy would struggle to keep one shoulder up off the mat, but eventually he was pushed down as the referee dashed from side to side for a better view. A slap on the mat and a whistle and a loud cheer. A pin. Point on the record now, and a safety pin on the Abbey Boy Wrestler's Varsity Jacket.
Tow sophomores of ours approached the scoring table, shook the coaches' hands and left. "A forfeit", I thought. I followed the two to the wrestling team room, where to my benefit there was no future master commander yelling orders at guests.
(I was summoned by BFF.
Well I summon you out.)
"So", I said shaking the manila envelope wide open, waiting for money to be poured in. "By Christmas", he said.
I sure liked the show. I thought that the promotion with the pep proved that wrestling is a cool spectator sport.
"Well", explained Little Brother, "our wrestlers sit at a dark table in the corner staring at each other and only eat, say, an egg for their meals. They're really strange". "You see, our wrestlers are the life of our party".