Chapter 5

 

Stevens walked off of the mat, having beaten Shaw the same way he did last year at team states: a pin in the third period. The score was closer this time, though. Shaw scored three points on Josh, taking him down and escaping once. But Stevens had dominated the rest of the match – he scored his thirteenth point right before pinning Shaw.

“Whoa baby! That’s right Coach! First one to finish camp undefeated! You know what that means: steak dinner baby!” Stevens said as he high-fived everyone around.

“Alright Prophet…this is it.” Josh said, turning his attention to me, “Does anyone else know about who you’re wrestling?” Stevens asked as he wiping sweat off of his body and breathing pretty heavy.

“I don’t know…are you fine?” I asked him, handing him a towel.

“What you mean my lungs?” He looked around nervously, “Yeah…just a little tired…that’s all.”

I could tell Josh was lying, but this wasn’t the time or the place to argue about it. That’s when I realized that all eyes in the athletic center – parents, wrestlers, coaches, everyone – had turned their attention to the mat I stood next to.

“I think someone knows.” I said, nodding towards the stands.

“Huh?” Stevens looked up and stood there silent for a moment.

“Ho-o-oly s**t!” He said with a laugh. “Just like states Campbell…just like states…except for this time, you win!” Stevens smacked me across the face and put his hand on his chest, covering his iron cross tattoo.

I put my hand over my chest, covering my own tattoo. The night of the state championships last year, after we were all done wrestling, Stevens and I went to the tattoo parlor across the street from our hotel. We both got a blue iron cross with a white outline and a panther’s head superimposed on top of that: what had become known as the “B.L. Smote crest.” It incorporated our team colors and mascot…and Stevens and I both had one in the same spot, symbolizing our brotherhood. Placing our hands over it was a gesture of brotherly love, a quick and quiet “Go get ‘em” whenever we had a tough match.

“Isaiah! Let’s go!” Skodak shouted, walking up beside me. He turned me to face him and bent down to get in my face – quite a stretch, considering I was only 5’ 10”.

“Win this match, and even Stoker will fear you! He won’t even want to be on the mat with you!”

I looked into Leon’s eyes and nodded. He let me go and I walked over to where Coach was standing. I stuck out my hand and he took it, smiling.

“Looks like you’re the main event, huh Prophet?” He laughed. “Well, let’s not disappoint your biggest fans, alright?”

Coach nodded over to the front row of the bleachers closest to the mat, and I saw my parents. My adopted parents, at least. But that still meant a lot to me, that they made the early morning, two and a half hour drive to come and see me wrestle – and that was before they knew I was wrestling Besswine. Travis Johnson, my father, sat there with his dreads pulled back into two pigtails, the way I liked to wear mine. My mom, Britney Johnson, sat between his legs, getting her video camera adjusted before we started wrestling. She had every single one of my matches since fifth grade taped, organized, and archived in the basement of our house. And she had started to convert them all to DVD before the end of last season.

I smiled and shouted “I love you” to them. Mom blew a kiss to me and Dad just smiled, mouthing the words “Go get ‘em.”

I looked up at Coach; the smile had faded from his face. He was all business now.

“Isaiah…oh, Isaiah. This is it buddy. You do this, you’re going D1…I guarantee it.” Coach looked at me with a sincerity I’d never seen before. “Let’s prove to everyone you are as good as they don’t believe you are. Let’s go son.”

Coach smacked me across the face and I felt the adrenaline hit my brain like a tidal wave. I pulled my knee pad up and started towards the center of the mat. Besswine was already there, wearing some Michigan shorts and a sleeveless Under Armor shirt. He looked my way and nodded: but he wasn’t intimidating in any way. It was almost as if he considered me an equal. His almost submissive attitude actually reminded me of some of the kids I had wrestled before…kids that knew they were good, but knew that I was better. I shook the thought out of my head and stepped up to the line.

“Hang on.” I said, and pulled my T-shirt off. “Stevens! Throw me my Under Armor!”

Josh threw me my blue short-sleeved Under Armor shirt. With this match having the possibility of being very intense, I figured it would be best to wear something skin tight, something that wouldn’t impede my movement. I pulled the shirt on and turned back to the starting line.

“Sorry.” I said.

“It’s alright.” Taylor said, extending his hand. “Good luck.” He said authentically.

“You too…” I said surprised, taking his hand and shaking it firmly…

 

…The whistle blew and Isaiah rushed towards Besswine, pushing and pulling, trying to find some type of position to work from. Campbell pushed Besswine’s arms back in a strong V-block. Besswine pushed hard, and Isaiah let go of one of the V-blocks.

“Nice! Nice!” Skodak screamed from the sidelines. “Nice move, Prophet.”

Isaiah dropped down to one knee and slid in for a fireman’s carry. Besswine sprawled back enough to stop the carry, but Campbell was used to scrambling from that position.

“Alright Campbell, alright.” Coach Smitt said calmly, “Stay there…he’s your weight, he can’t grind you down…just work for a leg!”

“Besswine! Besswine! Keep hipping into him. Keep his head posted to the mat and break him down!” Coach Brushfield yelled, standing up from his chair, veins popping out of his forehead.

“Some people never change.” Smitt said with a chuckle to Stevens, who was sitting next to him keeping score.

Meanwhile, Campbell had locked his hands around Besswine’s right thigh and posted his hands to the ground. He began to put pressure into Besswine’s leg with his shoulder, walking around until he was almost behind his opponent. Campbell came out on top, scoring a takedown.

At this point, most wrestlers would’ve stopped wrestling from sheer excitement. Isaiah Campbell, a high school wrestler, had just scored on Taylor Besswine, the sixth best wrestler in the nation at the college level. But Campbell kept his cool and just kept on wrestling. He switched over to cover Besswine’s right side, which was most wrestlers’ off-side when they were on bottom.

But Besswine was an undefeated Iowa state champion, and a NCAA All-American. He had no “off-side.” Besswine hit a switch, coming out on top of Campbell.

“Let’s go Prophet! Let’s go!” Stevens yelled from the sidelines.

Isaiah struggled on bottom for the rest of the period, moving and working, but never scoring anything. The ref blew the whistle and called the end of the first period.

“Okay Besswine, just calm down, take it slow. This kid’s good – he’s a real technician though, so try some power moves, okay?” Brushfield said, he himself calmed down by now.

“Campbell…CAMPBELL!” Coach Smitt yelled. Campbell was winded, leaning on his knees and breathing heavy. “You’ve got this, son! You just have to believe! You took him down! Sure he reversed you – you’re not used to people knowing how to work off of that side. But it’s okay – wrestle your match! Now, go get ‘em!”…

 

…I looked at Coach, only understanding about half of what he said. I knew that I could at least hang with Besswine. I just had to change my perspective – I wasn’t wrestling high school kids now, I was wrestling a beast of a kid with a year’s worth of college experience.

“Isaiah! Isaiah! Look at me!” Megan was standing on the edge of the mat. “Come here! Look…you can do this. Your mom told me to give you this.” She kissed me on the cheek. “And I wanted to give you this.”

And she kissed me on the lips. She pulled away with that same smile that I loved to see. She walked off and I stared at her leaving, and then realized the ref was calling me back towards the center of the mat. I jogged back over there to see the ref flip a coin – green. Besswine would get choice of position for the second period.

“Coach?” Besswine asked in Brushfield’s direction.

“De-…no, take bottom.” Brushfield answered.

I looked back at Coach, confused – that couldn’t have been the right call. He sat in his chair, shaking his head…

 

…Campbell covered over Besswine, staying on the right hand side. As the whistle blew, Isaiah let Besswine up, giving away an escape point.

“D****t Prophet…” Stevens said, shaking his head and putting his hands down at his sides. “D****T!”

“Josh, just calm down,” Coach Smitt said, “Just let Isaiah do his thing. Everything will be fine.”
            “That’s what you said at States.” Stevens muttered under his breath.

Back on the mat, Isaiah was trading positions with Besswine, neither gaining any ground. Isaiah finally took a step back and squared his feet up.

“Good God!” Stevens screamed, throwing the scorebook into the air. “This is States ALL OVER AGAIN, Coach!”

“Just shut up.” Coach Smitt said, putting his head in his hands. “What the hell are you trying, Prophet?” He asked almost inaudibly.

Isaiah stepped towards his opponent, posting his left hand on his shoulder. Besswine attempted to clean this off into a Russian tie, but Isaiah was quick enough to switch hands before Besswine could get a good grip. Finally, Besswine was forced to post his own hand against Campbell’s shoulder, which is exactly what Campbell wanted. He threw in an underhook with his right hand, cranking on this and stepping to the side of Besswine.

“No throws! No throws!” Coach Brushfield was yelling. “Don’t let him put you on the mat like that!”

But before Brushfield could get his last words out of his mouth, Campbell stepped across Besswine’s body, grabbing his wrist and pulling it towards him. Using his upper body to throw Besswine off-balance, Isaiah stepped behind his legs and tripped him.

“You’re kidding…” Stevens said, frantically looking around to find the scorebook. “He did it! He did it!”

Campbell put Besswine straight down onto his back, keeping him there long enough to earn three back points. Besswine rolled back over to his stomach and Campbell threw his left leg in, deep into Besswine’s thigh. Campbell locked a figure-four around his foe’s leg, reaching over and grabbing onto his opposite ankle. Campbell stalled out the rest of the period with this spread eagle attempt, actually putting Besswine on his back once, but not enough to get any points…

 

…7-3—I had a four point lead over Taylor Besswine. I’d never even led Stoker by that much. And Besswine was an All-American. I couldn’t help but repeat that fact in my mind. It kept me pumped. I walked over to Coach and he patted me on the back.

“Nice job son, nice job. It’s your choice…go ahead and make your own decision.” Coach was talking about my choice of position for the third period. Making our own decision was an honor reserved for only a select few. Stevens had not even been given that privilege before.

I looked at my folks, then to the scoreboard, then to Coach, then to Besswine, and repeated that cycle, plus a few others, what seemed like millions of times. Finally, I looked at the referee and motioned that I wanted to go into the neutral position.

“You sure son?” The ref asked, but I knew what I wanted. I didn’t want to be stuck on bottom; nor did I want to get reversed on top; neutral position seemed like the best choice. Coach showed no emotion either way, but I figured I would hear about it afterwards.

I stepped towards the middle of the mat, extending my hand out to Besswine. He shook my hand and whispered, “You ready?”…

 

…At the whistle, Besswine shot in real low on Campbell’s right leg. Campbell did not get sprawled back in time, and ended up in a bad scrambling position. Trying to hip into Besswine, Isaiah soon found himself lifted into the air. It was at this point Campbell finally got it all figured out: Besswine was a hustler. He had waited, feeling Campbell out, and now, that pure, beastly strength was being shown. As Besswine tripped Campbell down to the ground, he was on him quickly, cranking in a power-half.

Campbell winged down, and brought his right leg up. As he did this, Besswine sunk a leg deep into Campbell’s hips. Campbell flopped to the ground with the force that shook the power-half out. Besswine kept his half-nelson sunk in on Campbell’s left side, and attempted to pull Campbell’s right arm back into an arm bar. Campbell swam out of the arm bar three times, then finally sat out and grabbed Besswine’s foot. He placed an elbow right into the middle of Besswine’s calf, pulling up on his foot and putting pressure on his shin. Campbell used this pressure to pull Besswine’s foot out of his hips, and then managed to scramble away, earning an escape point. This brought the score to 8-5, still in favor of Campbell.

“Less than one minute, Prophet!” Coach Smitt yelled from the sidelines. “Just keep moving, keep circling!”

Prophet began to circle around Besswine, circling once to the left, then once to the right. Campbell faked a couple of shots, and then on his third circle he saw an opening. He tapped Besswine’s head on the way down to a double-leg takedown. Besswine just flopped right to his stomach, but before the ref could call Prophet’s two points, Besswine based up and hit a Peterson Roll, putting Prophet right onto his back. The ref hit the mat and began counting as the bell ring to end the match…

 

…“Oh God…please…just two points, just two points…” I could here my Mom saying from the sidelines.

The ref looked back and forth from me to Taylor Besswine, and then to our coaches. He raised his hand in the air and gave the signals.

“Two points, takedown, red,” The whole crowd fell silent, listening for the announcement of the century, “Two points, reversal, green. Three points, near-fall, green.”

All heads in the stadium turned to the scoreboard, and watched the last seven points get added to the board. 10-10. I had scored ten points on Taylor Besswine. We were tied at the end of the third period. That meant overtime—first point wins.

“Good Lord Campbell, you had to make it dramatic, didn’t you?” Coach said with a smirk, “Well, however you planned it, here we are. Look at me; you’ve taken him down everyway you know how: throws, shots, and scrambles. I honestly don’t know what to tell you, aside from ‘Score first’.”

“Gee, thanks Coach.” I said with a grin. I grabbed one last drink of water. I turned around the look at Josh, who was shaking his head and smiling.

“Don’t give up the low-leg, don’t try to throw, and don’t force the scramble. I am thinking a high-crotch.” He said matter-of-factly.

“But I hate the high-crotch. I was thinking of a slide-behind.” I shot back.

“No, no, this is Taylor Besswine. Slide-behind won’t work.”

“What about the pud-trip? It worked.”

“Because he wasn’t expecting it. I’ve seen him counter a slide-behind before. But you need to get out there, man. The ref is looking for you.”

I ran out to the center of the ring, still trying to decide what to do. Besswine stuck his hand out and I shook it firmly. Part of me wondered if this was Coach Brushfield’s test to see if I was good enough for Michigan wrestling.

“Alright boys, you know the rules. First point wins. You ready? Good. Step forward.”...

 

…The whistle blew and Campbell pushed back into Besswine, standing him up straight and locking a body lock around his right shoulder and under his left arm.

“S**t. He’s not really doing it, is he?” Leon Skodak asked.

“Lord in Heaven…a body-lock slide-behind? Why? I can’t believe…” Campbell’s father said before he was interrupted by action on the mat.

Campbell slid down Besswine’s body, pulling the body-lock down to Besswine’s waist, and then pulling him down to the ground. Besswine shoulder-rolled out of the move, and there was no change of control, and no takedown. Stevens stood on the sideline, motioning for a high-crotch.

Campbell rolled his eyes and put a V-block onto Besswine’s right arm. As he pushed Besswine around, he waited for the right moment. After about the eighth step, Besswine pushed back against the Prophet, who then pulled the V-block over his head, drove an arm between Besswine’s legs, and turned the corner, pulling his body on top and scoring two points.

“TWO!” The ref screamed, as the B.L. Smote team, Campbell’s parents, and all of the stands erupted in cheers. Isaiah Campbell had defeated Taylor Besswine, sixth best wrestler in the nation.

But Campbell made no motion of joy. He helped Besswine off the mat, gave him a quick hug, and raised his hand in the air.

“Damn good match, Prophet.” Besswine said as he shook Campbell’s hand.

“You too, buddy.” Prophet answered back, right before being swung around in the air by his best friend, Josh Stevens.