Date: Fri, 9 Oct 2015 20:10:13 -0400
From: Paul Knoke <paulkdoctor@gmail.com>
Subject: INSTALLMENT THIRTY-FOUR of "THE FATHER CONTRACT" 

Chapter Sixty-Four:
 Once Upon a Time When Wrestling . . .

That Saturday morning dawned bright and clear on the Gordonsville
campus. But the home sports that day weren't outside. They were inside, in
the Field House, and the featured event was the Amateur Athletic Union's
fall Regional Wrestling Tournament. Most important, though, was that Brian
was competing. That explains why the rest of the Top Floor Gang wanted to
shadow him, to boost his self-confidence, to cheer him on. By ten a.m. they
were accompanying him to his first match!

"Look at the cars comin' in," said Brian, as they exited their dorm.

"Even more than for Varsity football games." Erik was staring at the
traffic headed toward the Field House. "I see license plates from at least
three states."

"This is what it's like at a USA-Swimming-Age-Group Regional," added PJ,
just as surprised by the flood of out-of-town fans.

"It's gonna be crowded," Phil observed, and he was right. The parking lots
beyond the Field House were already filling up and a crowd of adults and
kids, jostling for position, were filing through the front doors.

With the other boys right on his heels, Erik climbed the Field House steps,
entered one set of glass doors, pushed through the crowd in the big foyer,
elbowed his way past the double doors leading to the arena, and descended
the stairs at the back that led to the basement corridors. The vast locker
area beneath the stands was already filled with chattering boys of all ages
and all sizes strung out everywhere, most in sweatsuits, some in colorful
body-hugging nylon outfits with shoulder straps which reminded PJ of girls'
swimsuits. He'd never seen those before because the only wrestling he'd
witnessed had been on TV, or Brian at his practices. Just then, Brian's
coach, Mr. Dutcher, spotted them from across the mobbed room and motioned
for his wrestler to come over. Phil followed his roommate, weaving around
the bodies and benches as best he could, carrying the bag with Brian's
wrestling gear.

Erik and PJ climbed another flight of stairs that led directly up to the
arena. Emerging at the top, they stared in amazement at the transformation
of the huge space into a floor sectioned off by rows of folding chairs with
mats set up in the centers of each section. PJ tried to count how many
sections there were, but he couldn't see over all of the people standing in
front of him looking for seats, though he guessed about ten. There was a
lot of crowd noise, the babble of voices from hundreds of adults and kids
milling around. Erik had already explained to PJ that school wrestling
didn't take place in rings like it did on TV. "Wrestling that's all fake
anyway," he'd said with distain. "This wrestling's the real deal".

Over to the side where the general public was entering, PJ spotted a table,
behind which sat a middle-aged, heavy-set woman wearing a badge labeled
"AAU EVENT STAFF." A sign on the edge of the table read, "ADMISSION FEE 2$
PER PERSON OVER AGE FIVE." On the top of the table sat an open cash box.

He was at first surprised, then indignant. Admission fee? For what? To go
into my own Field House? What's with that? He pointed and made a face. Erik
asked, "Don't they charge admission to those big swim meets you go to? I
bet they do." PJ shrugged. "I dunno. I always go straight to the locker
room just like we did." Erik's reply was a sly snicker.

They wondered where to go next, and PJ was searching for someone to ask,
when Phil appeared, having followed them up the stairs from the locker
area. The excited youngster was full of information and announced
enthusiastically, "I talked to this kid named Matthew who works for Brian's
coach. He told me where we can watch him, way up in front. Follow me!" He
led them across the arena to one of the wrestling sections where a huge,
thick rubber mat with a big white circle painted in its middle was
surrounded by rows of folding chairs. "We don't hafta use the chairs," Phil
told them. "We can sit up close on the floor, right here." He had them sit
down at the edge of the mat, close together so they could talk over the
crowd noise.

Phil's information was accurate because soon an official pushed his way
through the crowd, followed by Coach Dutcher, Brian, and a red-haired boy
about PJ's size carrying a clipboard. Brian had on a dark-blue sweatshirt
with "GORDONSVILLE" in red letters on the front. He smiled nervously at his
Top Floor fans and came over to sit next to them.

"I've never been in a competition like this before. Gee, I hope I do okay!"

"You'll do just fine," Erik assured him.

"Yeah," said PJ. "Those other kids must be just as nervous as you are!"

 Coach Dutcher finished some business with the official and hurried over to
crouch next to Brian. "Before and after your matches, check in with Matthew
here," he said, indicating the red-haired boy accompanying him. He's
keeping track of all statistics, like how teams are doing who have kids you
might wrestle later."

I know that kid, thought PJ. Matthew Aubrey. The boy lived in one of the
other Middle School houses, and PJ had seen him in classes they'd
shared. On the few occasions they'd rubbed shoulders, he'd seemed friendly,
although rather shy like Phil, and he'd impressed PJ in a unique
way. Studious and slender, he had brick-red hair and freckles, something PJ
had never seen before. He had this inquisitive and impish look about him
that PJ thought was cute.
 
When Coach Dutcher went to check on his other wrestlers, Matthew did not
leave with him. Instead, he sat down next to Phil and whispered something
into his ear. Phil told the others, "He says Brian's gonna wrestle a kid
from the North Jersey Athletic Club."

Brian stood to warm up, stretching out his legs and forcing his body into
all sorts of strengthening contortions When he removed his sweatshirt, PJ
couldn't help admiring his little brother's bare upper body, his hard,
compact build, taut and muscular. Brian looked as tough as nails! But when
he reached down and shrugged into a pair of shoulder straps, he pulled up a
tight nylon suit exactly like the ones PJ had seen in the locker room. It
was royal-blue with red trim. Girl's swim wear or not, PJ had to admit that
he looked pretty spiffy!

 Yet PJ still couldn't see the point. Brian's back was mostly exposed. His
lower legs were bare. Half his chest was. PJ was curious. Why was this suit
supposed to make him a better wrestler? Turning to Phil, he asked, "What do
they call what Brian's wearing?"

"A singlet," the young boy explained. "It's called a wrestling
singlet. They're required in all tournaments. They're made of slippery
stuff an' fit tight like our Speedos. That's so like when you're wrestling,
your opponent can't grab hold of it."

Brian had heard PJ's question, guessed what he was thinking, and looked
over at him with a grin. "Coach Dutcher is old-school. He says he'd like to
have us wrestle the way they did in his day, without any shirts. He hates
singlets and thinks they look 'dorky.' They don't give us any real
advantage, either. But he has to stick by the rules. Hey, you think I can't
grab hold of a singlet, Phil? Wrong! And I'll tell you what else: once my
back gets sweaty, see how tough it is for them to get hold of me!"

 PJ sensed that Brian was more self-confident now. He sounded downright
aggressive!

Phil nudged PJ's arm and whispered, "Lucky for Brian that Coach Dutcher
isn't super-old school or he'd have him and his teammates wrestling naked!
Wouldn't that be neat? No girls allowed, either. Didya' know that a real
long time ago, in the original Olympics, they wrestled in the raw, I mean
no clothes on at all, and right in front of everybody." PJ stifled a laugh
but gave him a skeptical look. "It's true, PJ. They did everything in the
Olympics naked: running, wrestling, javelin throwing, the discus--all of
it. They didn't wear anything." Phil looked smug as he was relating this
news, having at last found something he knew more about than PJ did.

And what did PJ think about that? Well, maybe, he thought. After all, in my
swim meets I'm almost naked. My Speedo sure don't cover much. With a hand
on his mouth so his words couldn't be overheard, he whispered back, "I
guess I look pretty naked when I swim, Phil, but I sure wouldn't wanna try
playin' football without any clothes!" They both chuckled over that.
 
"PJ! PJ!" A boy's high voice interrupted their conversation, cutting
through the crowd noise. PJ turned to see Billy, a big smile on his face,
and behind him his dad, a big grin on his. "Well, we made it," Mr. Thatcher
said, as Billy ran to PJ's side. "Man, this place is packed! I'm glad I
didn't bring the car. There's no place to park. Billy and I walked over and
slipped in that side door you guys use during football games. Look, if it's
okay, Billy wants to stay with you. I can watch Brian wrestle standing in
the back."

Billy wiggled in next to PJ, while Erik and Phil, aided by Matthew, began
explaining the match rules and different types of wrestling holds, Matthew
promising to sing out "what hold was what" once the match started. That was
to prove important because all too soon, the action in front of them got
underway. Erik yelled, "Heads up, guys! Brian's ready to wrestle!"

 PJ heard the murmuring of a loudspeaker somewhere, heard whistles tweet
all over the place. Brian had already stepped up on the mat and was
standing just inside the circle. He faced, on the opposite side, a boy
about his own size and build dressed in a singlet that was bright-orange. A
referee stood in the middle between them. Coach Dutcher was kneeling behind
Brian just outside the circle, and the North Jersey coach was sitting
across from him on a little stool. The ref motioned for the two boys to
come to the center of the mat and shake hands. Brian was facing away from
them so PJ couldn't see his expression, but the other kid looked as if he
were smirking. The two backed off, crouched down staring at each other in
threatening postures, the ref blew his whistle, and the match was on!

The Jersey kid lunged at Brian's legs and tried to trip him up, but Brian
was just as fast and shot his legs backwards while he grabbed Jersey around
the neck. Both boys stood upright and commenced grappling, each straining
to throw the other down. "Get him, Brian!" PJ yelled.  As if on cue, Brian
hooked a foot behind Jersey's ankle, grabbed a-hold of his singlet like he
said he could, forced him off balance, and fell on top of him onto the mat!
The referee crouched down beside them and raised two fingers.

"Two points for Brian. A 'takedown'!" exclaimed Matthew, explaining things
just as he'd promised. "Yeah!" shouted Erik. "Beat him!" screamed
Billy. "Pin him!" shouted Phil. But Brian couldn't keep the squirming
Jersey kid under control. Though the other boy had fallen on his back, he
managed to wiggle onto his stomach, grab Brian's hand, yank it free, wrench
himself to a kneeling position, and stand back up. "One point for an
'escape'," Matthew told them. "Shit!" mouthed Erik. Jersey boy smirked
again at Brian.

The two wrestlers began grappling once more. In their struggling, Brian
shoved his opponent out of the circle, so the ref had to stop the action
and motion them back to the center to start all over.  When he blew his
whistle, the boys grabbed at each other, and this time Jersey got the upper
hand and tripped Brian onto his back! Despite the crowd noise, PJ could
hear the thud of the bodies. "Two more points for him," Matthew
announced. "Brian's now losing two to three." Just then the ref blew his
whistle for the third time, signaling the end of the first period. Brian
got up and quickly walked over to swig from a water bottle and confer with
Coach Dutcher. "They're working out the next moves," Erik told Billy.

 During the time-out, Matthew explained to the other boys how the second
period would begin. "Since they're not even and Brian is the one behind,
they'll start out in what's called "the referee's position," with Brian on
the bottom. He'll have to kneel down on the mat with the other kid behind
him. Brian is on defense now, Jersey on offense."

"He'll change that!" declared PJ with conviction.

Sure enough, the second period started just the way Matthew had said it
would. Brian was down in the center of the mat, knees and hands spread wide
apart, his head up, his expression a study in strategy and
concentration. Jersey was next to him on one knee, the other leg cocked to
the side, his left hand around Brian's stomach, his fingers in tight
contact with Brian's nylon-covered belly button, his right hand gripping
Brian's right elbow. The ref blew his whistle.

In the blink of an eye, with a thrusting of his legs and the scream "NO,"
Brian uncoiled his body out from underneath the Jersey boy and turned
completely around and over on top of his back!

The ref raised two fingers. "Good golly!" shouted Matthew. "That's a
perfect 'reverse'! Two points for Brian! He's back in front, four to
three!" Jersey wasn't smirking anymore.

"Yeah!" PJ raised a clenched fist. Next to him, Billy was jumping up and
down excidedly. "Hit 'em!" PJ yelled. "Nail 'em!" In the Chicago rec
leagues where he'd learned to fight, when you got your opponent beneath you
on the ground, you beat he snot out of him until his nose and mouth ran
with blood and the kid was begging for mercy.

Erik reached over with a restraining hand. "It's wrestling, PJ. He can't
punch him. It's against the rules."

Eyes blazing, every fighting instinct aroused, PJ turned on him. "What's he
s'posed to do then?"  "Watch."

Out on the mat, his chest firmly pressing down on Jersey's body, Brian
managed to hook his left arm underneath the other boy's left armpit and
around the back of his neck, grab the back of his waist with his right
hand, fling his legs out almost perpendicularly, and straining with all his
might plus pushing hard with his toes, use his own body as a pendulum and
reverse Jersey onto his back with his left hand firmly beneath Jersey's
neck!

"A classic 'half-nelson,'" gloated Matthew. "Coach D. taught him that!"

 "Pin him!" yelled Erik. PJ could see the muscles bulging on Brian's bare
back, the shiny wetness of his sweat. Jersey was having a hard time getting
any kind of grip there. Brian had Jersey's shoulder blades on the mat,
obviously determined not to let him get free. The other boy squirmed and
kicked--did everything he could to get out of Brian's grasp. But nothing he
did worked. Coach Dutcher yelled something. The crowd noise was
deafening. The ref, now bent down, looking intently underneath the boys'
backs . . . smacked his hand on the mat!

 It was over! A clear pin! Brian stood up as Jersey rolled away. The ref
raised Brian's hand in victory! The two boys stood up to shake hands. But
Jersey had a scowl on his face and wouldn't look at Brian. Good, thought
PJ. Brian just cleaned an asshole's clock!

An exhausted and sweaty Top Floor wrestler returned to sit down with his
buddies. "That was tough," Brian admitted. He slipped out of the shoulder
traps of his singlet, panting and wiping off the sweat from his forehead
and chest. Phil handed him his sweatshirt and he pulled it on. Uncapping
the bottle of water Billy passed to him, he took a long swallow and looked
around. "I hope I didn't show it, but I was scared of that dude at
first. Then I kinda forgot about being afraid and just tried to remember my
moves. Anyway, I better stick with Coach and rest up. It'll be awhile
before I wrestle again in case you guys wanna see what's going on around
here."

"I woulda' never known you were scared the way you came back and beat the
pants off that kid," Erik told him. "Look, I'm stayin' right here with you
until your next match." Added Phil loyally, "Me too." Next to PJ, Billy was
peering around uncertainly. "PJ, do you see my dad? I'm s'posed ta' check
in with him."

"Over there, Billy." PJ pointed to where Mr. Thatcher was sitting, and
Billy scurried off among the rows of chairs.

Matthew scrambled to his feet, holding his clipboard. "I gotta go check on
other matches," he said. It seemed to PJ that the slender boy gave him a
hopeful glance.

PJ got up as well and told Erik, "I'll go with Matt. I wanna see what the
Upper School matches are like. Save my seat."

Erik nodded and PJ followed Matthew into the crowd. There were matches
going on everywhere, the huge Field House echoing with the sounds of
cheering and shouting. As they pushed past groups of adults, Matthew
pointed at a mat where two boys Billy's size, one in a green singlet and
the other in a red, were wrestling like a pair of spirited puppies. "Too
bad Billy's not here so he could see this," shouted PJ over the noise. He
smiled to himself, thinking how Billy might start bugging his dad to let
him start wrestling. But for now he's better off concentrating on baseball,
he mused.  Gordonsville had no entries in such a young age group, so with
PJ beside him, Matthew kept on toward the far end of the building where the
high-school-age athletes were competing. "We got a bunch of matches over
here," he said, taking a detour around a knot of spectators.

 Then without warning, three bigger boys suddenly blocked their way. When
Matthew tried to pass, one shoved him back! PJ's stomach tightened. It was
Lester, accompanied by a pair of his buddies, hefty linemen from the
football team. Trouble, thought PJ. Even so, he vowed to try a friendly
approach. After all, these were fellow teammates.

"Hi, guys, what's up?" PJ said over the noisy clamor all around them.

But it seemed that the three thirteen-year-olds were in a foul mood, and
Lester, at least, was spoiling for a fight. He regarded PJ with scorn and
told the boy next to him, "Look what we have here."
 
"Fag Aubrey with the coach's pet," sneered the lineman. "It figures these
two would know each other."

PJ ignored them. If these guys didn't want to be friends, there was nothing
he could do about it. But then Lester poked Matthew in the chest and said,
"Aubrey, you freckled wimp. They let you keep the stats, huh?" He stepped
forward and snatched the clipboard from Matthew's hands. "A dork like you,
Matthew Aubrey, you fag, shouldn't even be here!" Carelessly Lester flipped
a page and spit on it.

Matthew, stunned, could only mouth a "Hey!" But PJ had heard and seen
enough. He knew all about bullying, and in Chicago he'd learned there was
only one way to handle it. They'll be afraid to rough up Matthew because of
what Coach Dutcher will do. But me, they'll say I started the fight, which
I'm fixin' to do, an' the first asshole I'm going to get is Lester, right
in the nuts with my foot! The others may beat the shit out of me, but it'll
be worth it!

He started towards Lester with his fists clenched and ordered, "Give him
his stuff!" Then from behind him came a familiar voice. "What's going on
here?"

PJ half-turned, grinned, and let out a sigh of relief. It was Randy, former
captain of the Middle School swim team, now a fourteen-year-old in the
Upper School. And right beside him was another rangy fourteen-year-old,
Chip, who'd played baseball with PJ the previous spring. That evens the
odds, he guessed.

Randy stepped forward to confront PJ's antagonists. "You heard him. Give
that other kid back his stuff!"

This unexpected appearance of allies from the Upper School immediately had
the thirteen-year-olds backing off. "I-I was just looking at his notes,
Randy," Lester stuttered." I didn't mean anything by it." He put the
clipboard back into Matthew's hands.

"You guys can get lost now," Chip told them. At that, the three bullies
turned and disappeared into the stands.

Randy exchanged an amused glance with Chip, at the same time waving off
PJ's efforts to thank him. "Shit, man, the way you were getting ready to
kick some ass yourself, you probably didn't need us! That Lester is a major
jerk," he added. "Are you guys still stuck with him on your football team?"

Grimacing, PJ nodded. "Yeah. Unfortunately."

"That's gotta suck." Randy looked at Matthew. "Who's this, PJ?"

Chip answered before PJ could reply. "His name's Aubrey. He's Coach D's
manager. My roommate says he's a good one, too."

"If you're a friend of PJ's, you're a friend of ours," Randy said, shaking
hands with him. Matthew was looking a bit awed.

Only then did PJ notice the blonde girl standing behind Chip. She was
whispering something to him.

Chip grinned with mock formality as he introduced her. "PJ, meet my sister
Carol. Carol, this is PJ. Carol's visiting here from Virginia. She's
playing hooky for a few days. Just passing through to see me. My dad's
taking her to check out some girls' schools in New England. She wants to
transfer from Mary Baldwin to one that's got a ski team."

"She's only here, Chip," Randy interjected, "to see how the animals live."
That got laughs or smirks from all of them. "Carol, PJ's the kid we told
you about," continued Randy. "The one who knows Jack Canon."

PJ barely heard this, all his attention on Carol. Here was the second
person he'd met that day who ranked high on his "cute" scale, and this one
was female. With that smile, with that twinkle in her eyes, she instantly
reminded him of Lauren, his jet-skiing buddy in Florida. This girl was more
grown up, more mature-looking, but she was looking at him the same way
Lauren had.  "Do you ski, PJ?" Carol asked.

"Uh . . ." PJ made an effort to gather his wits. "No. I snowboard a little,
though."

"Cool!" Carol's expression lit up with interest.

Oh, shit! PJ thought. If she asks questions, she'll find out my only
snowboardin's been on our Hill, 'an the only trick I know is how to slalom.

Chip broke in with, "Hey, when is Jack gonna visit you again, PJ?"

Relieved at the change of subject, PJ turned to him and answered, "Gee, I
dunno. He's so busy. The Sox are tryin' to win their division an' so . . ."

"Chip explained to Carol, "PJ's got all the inside dope. He owns the team."

"Really?" The girl's blue eyes widened and she looked at PJ with even more
interest.

"Aw-w, No . . . really . . . It's actually not like that." PF fumbled
around for words, feeling more self-conscious than he'd ever been in his
life.

"Hey! I bet Jack'll be here for Fieldstone weekend," Randy said. "Right,
PJ? Everybody comes for that."

"Um-m . . . Well maybe . . ." PJ started to say. But Randy was telling
Carol, "That's in two weeks. Fieldstone's our big rival. There's parties
all weekend an' the Upper School has a dance." He smiled at her. " Try to
get your folks to bring you up. They can visit Chip an' I'll take you to
the dance. An' if Jack Canon's here, PJ will fix it so you meet him. Right,
PJ?"

"Uh-huh. Oh sure . . ." PJ's one thought now was to escape before there
were any more questions about snowboarding or Jack's visit. And one more
thought: why did he feel a little jealous that Randy might take Carol to
that dance!

He gulped and managed to say, "Randy, Matt's gotta check on other matches
an' Brian's due to wrestle again. We can't miss that, so we gotta get
goin'. Come on, Matt." (Poor Matthew, all but forgotten, had been standing
quietly back in the shadows.)

The older boys smiled as if understanding PJ's embarrassment and desire to
get away. Yet as he and Matthew were about to leave, he worked up the
courage to say to Carol, "Our Middle School football game will be Thursday
afternoon that week. So, if you want to come early for the weekend . . ."

Chip winked at him. "I'll see If I can talk my folks into it."

"Good idea," Randy agreed. And PJ could swear he saw Carol nod her head in
a "Yes."

As they headed off, Matthew tugged on PJ's hand and eyed him
gratefully. "Thanks for sticking up for me back there. Were you really
gonna take on those three jerks all by yourself? "

"Yeah. What they were doing was wrong."

"I'm not much of a fighter, but I would've done my best to help you,
PJ. This clipboard could do some damage to a thick skull!"

They both had a good laugh over that. PJ's heart, which had been pounding
after his near-fight and his encounter with Chip's sister, slowed back down
to normal.

 * * *

	The first thing Erik said when PJ got back was, "You missed seeing
a kid from Franklyn Prep wrestle. Don't worry, Travis wasn't here an' it
was nobody we knew or I woulda' come got ya'." In the meantime, Billy had
returned and reported with great self-satisfaction that he'd passed on his
dad's and his own congratulations to Brian for a wonderful match and both
their best wishes for the next round. He was so proud that he'd gotten all
the big words right.

PJ decided not to say anything about his run-in with Lester or his meeting
up with Chip, Randy, and Carol until later. Instead he sat down next to
Erik and Billy and watched the last period of a match between a boy
representing the Orange County Mat Masters and one from the Susquehanna
River Rogues. Orange County won, but he could have cared less. When Matthew
finally rejoined them, PJ asked, "Who does Brian wrestle next?"
 
"Let's see . . . ." Matthew, reviewed his clipboard notes. "It'll be his
quarterfinals. He'll be wrestling this kid from the Allentown Youth
Club. It shouldn't be too long from now."

He was right. This time Brian's opponent was wearing a dark-green singlet
and was slightly taller. An advantage, PJ mused. Yet once the ref blew his
whistle, it was Brian who made the first offensive move, a rapid advance
toward Allentown and an attempt to pin the other boy's arms to his
sides. The gangly youth quickly broke the hold and tried to shove Brian
off-balance. That didn't work because Brian was too solid on his
feet. Determined to regain the upper hand, Brian backed up, then hurled
himself at the Allentown wrestler, pushing the taller boy back on his
heels. With a quick move, he grabbed him around the shoulders, spun him in
a circle, snaked both arms underneath Allentown's armpits, and clasped his
hands behind his neck!

"Brian's got him in a 'headlock'!" shouted Matthew.

"Nice move, Little Brother!" yelled PJ.

The others yelled out similar praise. The Allentown youth was obviously in
pain because he'd snapped his head back over the top of Brian's knuckles
and he was grimacing with his eyes tightly shut. Brian's next move was
lightning-swift! He hooked his right leg around Allentown's right heel and
tripped him. Both wrestlers collapsed onto the mat. The ref raised two
fingers to signal the two points for a takedown. Brian was on top, but was
able, still in his headlock, to roll his opponent over onto his back. In
the blink of an eye, he broke the hold, encircled Allentown's right leg at
the thigh and brought it up to his chest, threw his full weight onto
Allentown's upper chest by leaning on his side just below his chin, brought
his right hand underneath Allentown's head, and ground both his shoulders
into the mat! Brian's legs were splayed out to the side, one trapping one
of Allentown's arms. The boy's head was practically immobile because his
chin was so jammed against the top of Brian's chest, the bare part above
his singlet, which gleamed with his sweat.

Matthew was almost beside himself in exultation. "Do you see that? Brian's
got him in a 'cradle'! That's another classic Coach Dutcher taught him!" PJ
was having fun watching his shy acquaintance get so excited!
 
Erik, Phil, and Billy were all yelling "PIN HIM!" PJ and Matthew joined
in. The ref was down on his knees again, peering underneath the two bodies,
trying to see the positioning of Allentown's shoulder blades. The boy
thrashed with his free arm and free leg to get loose, but without any
success. In two or so seconds, Matthew shouted, "Near fall!" In maybe three
seconds, the ref slammed the mat with the palm of his hand and blew his
whistle to signal that the match was over! And the first period hadn't yet
ended!

Both wrestlers got to their feet. The Allentown boy was looking glumly at
Brian, but managed a weak smile when they shook hands. PJ felt bad for him,
and he knew that Brian did too.
 
Afterwards, Matthew escorted Brian off to check in with Coach Dutcher,
Billy went to join his dad who was beckoning to him, and PJ decided to
wander around some more on the chance that he might run into Carol
again. This time, Erik wanted to keep him company, and PJ was fine with
that. If they did see Carol, he would feel less shy with Erik there, and he
might get a chance to show off a little in front of his roommate!

As for the bullies, he didn't think there'd be much chance of having any
more trouble with them. Not after that encounter with Randy and Chip. But
as he and Erik started walking toward the stands, both glad to get away
from the loudness of the spectators cheering matches, he briefed his
roommate on the run-in with Lester. "What a fuckwad that kid is," was
Erik's only comment. It wasn't long before they stumbled upon a wrestling
mom selling drinks and hotdogs, so they each bought one plus a Coke to wash
it down and sat on a nearby bench to enjoy an unanticipated lunch in
relative quiet.

Neither was prepared for what happened next.

"Bet you didn't know I wrestled." From seemingly out of nowhere, Jacob, the
husky fullback on their football team, sat down next to PJ. Like Brian, he
had on a Gordonsville warm-up suit and he was wiping sweat off his face
with a towel. "Shoot, I just lost my second match, though. The competition
here is tough." He looked at PJ. "How's Brian doin'?"

Tense with suspicion after his earlier encounter with Lester, PJ stared
back at him. Jacob was another of the thirteen-year-olds in the clique that
had been hostile since the beginning of the season. At the moment, however,
he was certainly acting friendly enough.

"Brian's in the semi's," PJ answered. "He pinned his man in the
quarterfinals, so he's doin' good."

"That Brian's a tough kid," Jacob said. He eyed PJ appraisingly. "I know
you don't wrestle. You sure look like you could, though."
 
 "Aw-w . . .  well . . ." Taken aback by this unexpected praise, PJ wasn't
sure what to say. "I've never done any wrestling. I'm okay at swimming, so
mostly I do that." After a brief pause, he shyly added, ""I really like
baseball a lot too. But I'm not very good."

"Well, you're good at football," Jacob told him. "At least I think so."

PJ shook his head. "Not really. Erik's way better. Mostly I play 'cause he
encourages me. Erik's my . . ."

"Your roommate. Yeah, I know." Jacob took a breath as if getting up his
nerve. Then he leaned forward to look past PJ and meet Erik's eyes for the
first time. "Listen," he said. His face had turned very red. "Listen
. . . at the beginning of the season it was--I doan' know--I didn't like
havin' a new coach, practice was like all different. It was like nothin'
was gonna be the way I thought. . . ." Jacob gathered himself
again. "Anyway, I said some stuff . . . I did some stuff . . . I was a
jerk." He held his gaze on Erik with the sincerest of expressions. "You're
a good kid. A good quarterback, too. I wanted to say that . . . " Reaching
past PJ, he held out his hand. Erik took it and the two boys solemnly
shook, leaning towards each other with PJ in between.
 
"Thanks," said Erik, his own face reddening. "Thanks, Jacob. I never
thought for one minute you were like those other kids."

In the awkward silence that followed, PJ spoke up. "I think we gotta good
team this year. It's been like forever since Gordonsville Middle won a
championship. Me 'an Erik think it's about time we had one. How 'bout it,
Jacob?"

 "Championship . . .?" the older boy repeated that word in a tone that
showed he was contemplating the idea for the first time. At last he
frowned, shook his head, and said, "I don't know about winning a
championship, but this I do know: we go up against Hagerton next Thursday,
an' those public school kids hate our guts! If we play 'em like we did
Perry, we'll get our butts stomped!"

"So let's not play 'em like we played Perry," Erik said. He reached in
front of PJ to place a hand on Jacob's shoulder. "Let's play 'em like
champions. Let's do some butt-stompin' of our own!"

"I'm for that. I'm with you, Erik. I'll see what I can do about some of the
other guys."  Jacob stood up. "I better get back. My roommate's match is
comin' up. I promised I'd be there for him. I'll see you guys at practice."

With that, the stocky boy walked away. "Well, that's a start!" said Erik.

Replied PJ, "I think you got more guys behind you than you think."


* * *

The two roommates rejoined their friends to find Billy waiting for them and
Brian's semi-final match about to start. This time he was up against a boy
from the Bristol Athletic Avengers, blond-haired, and outfitted in a
singlet of dark purple. The kid looked like he meant serious business. It
wasn't that he was any bigger than Brian, or any more muscular, but it was
the way he carried himself, the way he looked at Brian with an expression
of such intensity and focus, as if he were anticipating what Brian would
do.

At the referees' whistle, Brian opened with another quick move, a lunge at
his opponent's legs. Bristol backed up, and when Brian started to rise from
the mat, he made a lunge of his own and grabbed Brian in an armlock,
spinning him around in an attempt to throw him off-balance. Brian broke the
hold and turned partly sideways, only to have Bristol grab him around the
ankles and trip him. This time Brian fell down, and Bristol was on top in a
flash, his arms around Brian's neck in a headlock, his intent clearly to
roll him over onto his back.

The ref, of course, had already raised two fingers to signal the
takedown. PJ exclaimed the obvious to Erik and Billy: "Brian's in real
trouble, guys! We'd better start cheering for him!"

Phil was already yelling encouragement, and Brian may have heard his
friends, but hear them or not, he wasn't about to give in so easily. He
squirmed and kicked, he broke the headlock, he arched up, he twisted away,
he regained his feet.

"An escape," yelled Matthew! "A point for Brian!"

In the center of the mat, the two boys clutched at each other, jockeying
for position, circling round and round--and then Bristol tackled Brian to
the mat a second time! The ref held up two more fingers and almost
simultaneously blew his whistle. The first period was over.

Brian couldn't talk with his friends during the short time-out because he
had to confer with Coach Dutcher. PJ, Erik, and the others had plenty to
say, though. Mostly it was about how tough this match was. Phil summed it
up, when he said, "Brian's behind on points, so he needs to step it up. He
needs all the help we can give him!" Billy chimed in, "We gotta keep
cheerin' real loud!"

The second period started with Brian on all fours in the referee's
position, just like in his first match. Bristol had his blond head right
behind Brian's dark one, a study in contrast, Bristol's eyes peering out
into space as if he were meditating, Brian's eyes looking straight ahead
with an expression of fierce determination. The ref blew his
whistle. Brian's right leg shot out from underneath his body, into a
step-out which allowed him to swivel around and twist away from the other
boy. He again regained his feet. The ref raised a finger.

"Another escape!" yelled Matthew. "I got it now!" boasted PJ, taking pride
in his ability to keep score. "That means Brian's only behind by two!"
  
Bristol, however, was far from being intimidated by what had happened. He
lunged again at Brian, began grappling with him, pushed him backwards,
threw his hands around Brian's waist, tumbled him to the mat! But the ref
blew his whistle.

"Not a takedown," said Matthew. "They're out of bounds!"

The two wrestlers had to return to their neutral positions, crouching in
the center of the circle. Now Brian made the first move, a dive at
Bristol's ankles, a hooking around one foot and a nifty tripping move!
Bristol fell flat on his back, Brian on top, the ref raising two fingers to
signal a legal takedown.

"Now Brian's tied on points, right Matt?" exclaimed Erik. "You bet he is!"
responded the freckle-faced boy.

Bristol squirmed and wriggled and worked his lean body this way and that,
Brian holding on to him for dear life. But neither could gain any advantage
before the ref blew his whistle to signal the end of period two.

 "This match is too close for comfort," observed PJ. Billy looked up
anxiously. "Will Brian win?" Erik answered, "Let's hope he does. He's even
with that other kid, but barely. Cheer hard for him, Billy!"

The final period started with Brian on top, this time on offense, with
Bristol on the bottom. If he can only hold on, thought PJ. But Brian looked
tired.

What happened next was a blur! Somehow Bristol reached up, grabbed Brian
around his neck, and threw him over his head and onto his back. PJ wasn't
even sure how he did it! The next thing he knew, Bristol was on top of his
friend's chest, his arms around him in a headlock, his body straining to
pin Brian down. The ref held up two fingers to signal a takedown. Now it
was Brian's turn to squirm and wriggle. He arched his back into an inverted
"u," his butt far off the mat. The other boy's blonde head was peeking
wide-eyed over his shoulder! A sudden heave! Brian threw Bristol sideways
and stumbled to his feet! The ref threw up one finger.

"Golly geez!" exclaimed Matthew. "Did you see that? That takedown? Brian's
escape? Now Brian's back within a point!"

The two wrestlers dropped into their crouches and began warily circling
each other, looking for any window of opportunity. PJ could see that Brian
was winded. He was breathing hard. Sweat dripped down his face, down his
neck, down the top of his chest, down his arms, down his legs, even down
one nipple visible out the side if his singlet. Not that Bristol wasn't
tired because clearly he was breathing just as heavily. But he didn't seem
to be sweating as much, as if he still had a reserve of energy that Brian
lacked. So maybe it was no surprise that he scored the final takedown of
the match, a swift rush at Brian which carried his exhausted opponent to
the mat. He tried for a pin, but it was no-go. Brian held on in the final
seconds before the whistle blew. Still, he had lost, 5-8.

When the two wrestlers shook hands, Bristol smiled and said something to
Brian which PJ couldn't hear over the crowd noise. But he was sure he'd
witnessed an example of sportsmanship at its best.

* * *

At the awards ceremony, Brian found out that the boy who'd beaten him in
the semi-finals, the wrestler in purple from the Bristol Athletic Avengers,
had won it all, had triumphed over his opponent in the finals of their age
group. Brian and Coach Dutcher were among the first to congratulate
him. Brian exchanged with him a few private words of mutual praise. Then he
proudly showed off his third-place medal to all of his friends. PJ thought
it was just as fancy as the ones he'd gotten at his swim meets in
Florida. "That kid from Bristol's name is Wyatt," Brian said. "He told me I
sure was something else, especially when I told him this was my first
organized meet. He told me to keep at it because I was really good. What a
neat guy!"

Matthew was also there, jotting down all the final results on his
ever-present clipboard. That's when PJ took him aside. He'd just had
another one of his brainstorms!

"Look, Matthew, the wrestling team isn't the only one who needs someone
like you to keep book on them. I think our football coach would really go
for the idea! How about you meeting me and Coach Lewis on the practice
field Monday afternoon?"

"You really think so, PJ? Wow, that would be super!" Matthew's freckled
face had that cute boyish expression on it which PJ was beginning to love.

"I'll be there!"

PJ squeezed Matthew's hand in farewell and turned with the rest of the Top
Floor Gang to await Brian's arrival from the locker room. Once he'd emerged
all showered and dressed, Mr. Thatcher caught up with Billy and accompanied
them outside the Field House. It was a beautiful fall afternoon.

"That was quite something," he told them. "I had no idea there were
organized meets like this for kids. Brian, what you accomplished was
terrific! Third place! Against that kind of competition. Really good!"

Somewhat embarrassed by this praise, Brian turned red, gave Mr. Thatcher a
grateful look, but then dropped his eyes. He said wistfully, "I sure wish
my dad had been here to see it."

Instantly Mr. Thatcher's had an arm around his shoulders. "Of course you
do. And I bet your dad will wish he could have been here, too, once you
tell him about it! He'll be so proud of you!" His arm tightened in a
hug. "He's gonna make it to one of your football games isn't he?"

"Uh, huh." Brian nodded.

"Well, you can bet I'll fill him in all the details when I meet him. He'll
be proud of you all over again."

PJ, standing off to one side, was glad no one was looking at him because
there was a lump in his throat. He was thinking of the swimming medals he'd
won, and the football trophy for "Best Overall Performance". Like Brian,
who wanted to share things with his dad, he'd wanted so badly to share his
awards with Jack!

And then he got a grip on himself! Wait a minute, PJ, this is your Buddy
Brian's turn to shine in the limelight! Stop feeling sorry for
yourself. Stop playing the little weirdo who nobody wants. Help Brian
celebrate his own day!

As a way of cheering himself up, he mentally counted off all the good
things that had happened that day: First, Brian may not have won, but he
came darn close to it! An' look what other neat things I accomplished! I
met up with Matthew an' we can set him up with Coach Lewis. I met up with
Jacob an' made another friend for me and Erik on the football team. An' I
met this cute girl named Carol. What a day!

PJ's thoughts were interrupted by Mr.Thatcher. "Guys," he said, ruffling
Brian's hair, "somewhere in the fridge back at my house there's hamburger
meat. An' in our backyard there's a grill. Billy will show you. Wadya' say
we--"

"All right!" Erik whooped, not needing to hear another word. He took off
for the Main Gate, the rest of the boys following. Mr. Thatcher, laughing,
brought up the rear.

* * *

Author's Note: Editor Paul tells me that there's a ton of mail from fans
furious at Jack for the way he's been treating PJ.  My bad, gang.  I should
have put in a little something back in Chapter Forty-Nine, "The Outcast"
(Installment Twenty-Six) to explain myself.  It'll be there in the
softbound book when we offer it for sale late next year (yes, there are
many more installments yet to come).  Meantime--watch for something at the
end of the upcoming Installment Thirty-Six.

Do you really think Jack wants to forget all about PJ?  O' ye of little
faith!  You know PJ hasn't forgotten him!  To quote the late, beloved Yogi
Berra, the story "ain't over till it's over."  And as another great man,
Mister Al Jolson, told his audience, "You ain't seen nothin' yet!" -- A. J.

CONCLUSION OF INSTALLMENT THIRTY-FOUR

Editor Paul K. Scott's e-mail: paulkdoctor@gmail.com 

And you guys keep writin' in, 'cause A. J. and I love to hear from you!