#firsttournament

“Dad, I am ready to start peewee wrestling,” I told him affirmatively one day at the start of my first grade year.  “I have been practicing long enough, and want to start going to tournaments.”

“Are you sure?” my dad asked, trying to conceal the excitement.  It was not hard to tell he had been waiting for this proclamation; he was happy it came so soon and so easy.  Any son of Larry Lane’s was GOING to be a wrestler; he was just relieved it wasn’t going to be a struggle.

“Yeah, I have been thinking about it a lot, and I am ready.  I know I will do well.”

The fall rolled by and my dad coached through the high school season, but he knew he was just getting started.  The real season—peewee season—started after the state tournament, and his boy was going to be wrestling in tournaments for the first time.

My first competition was in Grand Junction on a Thursday night.  After school, we loaded up our van—the stud wagon, as it became widely known—and made the two-hour trek to my first peewee tournament.

Everything was fine when we arrived, except for one minor problem: Stryker wanted to wrestle.  Why was this a problem?  The youngest age group at the tournament was for first and second-graders, and Stryker was in pre-school.  This did not deter Stryker, as he was excited at seeing all of the other kids running around on the mats.  He was the opposite of me in many respects.  I was afraid to try new things; he was daring.  I didn’t want to wrestle in tournaments before I was ready; Stryker didn’t see the point in being prepared to wrestle in a peewee tournament.

Most youth league parents lie about their kids’ age so they can dominate younger competition, but my dad was ready to lie about Stryker’s age to put him at a two-year competitive disadvantage.  I mean, Larry Lane had a son that wanted to wrestle—was he going to tell him no? 

I was not entirely comfortable standing in the registration line.  I was never the type to break rules, or breathe easily in the company of those breaking rules.  What if Stryker got busted and we had to leave?  I wouldn’t be able to wrestle!  That would throw off my entire game plan!

After a tense wait, we stepped up to the first and second grade registration desk.  My mom filled out our registration cards and handed them to the official.  He gave us a thorough examination and had us step on the scale.  I weighed 75; Stryker weighed 50.  The official wrote down our weights and gave us another look.

It was obvious we were brothers.  We arrived at weigh-ins at the same time.  We had the same haircut.  We had the same wrestling shoes.  We wore matching Nucla mini-matmen t-shits. 

Oh, and we were registered as Tucker and Stryker Lane. 

The official wasn’t buying it.

“So you have two first graders, huh?” he asked my mom.

“Yep,” my mom said with her best poker face.  She always had to do the dirty work.  My dad liked to come up with his grandiose plans and charge my mom with executing them.  “When will brackets be posted?”

“Just wait a minute,” the official told her.  He re-examined our registration cards.  “Stryker, here, is quite a bit smaller than Tucker.  I take it they aren’t twins?”

“Oh…..no,” my mom stammered, her wheels spinning.  “Stryker is really smart, so we started him in school earlier than Tucker.”

“Uh huh,” the official responded with incredulity.  “Do you have a birth certificate or any other form of identification verifying Stryker’s age or grade?”

“No,” my mom answered, crestfallen.

“Well, we both know Stryker is not in first grade, so I can’t allow him to wrestle in this tournament.  But I’ll tell you what: if you can find an opponent that wants to have an exhibition match, we can try to work something out after the tournament is over,” the man explained.

Stryker was disappointed that his debut would have to be put on hold; I was just relieved that a major scene had not been created.  After a minor scare, I was, in fact, successfully registered for my first peewee tournament.

The competition went as well as I had expected.  I was the only first grader in the 75-pound bracket, but that did not stop me from going 2-0 against second graders and taking first place.  I won my first match by technical fall and my second match by pin.

I collected a blue ribbon and championship bracket for my effort, and my dad took us to Arby’s for dinner.  You know you are from Redvale, Colorado when the opportunity to eat fast food is a really big deal and without a doubt considered celebratory.

When we got back to Redvale, my dad stapled my ribbon and bracket to the walls of our wrestling room, the first official adornment in what would become a weekly ritual.

Oh, and Stryker got his exhibition match.  There was a 50-pound second grader that liked the idea of wrestling a pre-schooler.  Much to his chagrin, however, Stryker was tougher than expected.  The match was an instant classic, the first demonstration of Stryker’s proclivity for making things interesting. 

After getting thrown around by me on a daily basis, Stryker had gotten really good at fighting off his back, and a high bridge had become his go-to move.  He wasn’t used to being on top, and any time his opponent would try to get off bottom, Stryker would immediately give up position and go into a high bridge, ceding a reversal and back points in the process, before fighting his way back.  We all screamed ourselves hoarse trying to keep Stryker from high-bridging all the time, and in the end, he figured it out.  He fought hard and got his hand raised in his first career match, despite being three years younger than his opponent.

The referee let Stryker keep the bout sheet from his exhibition match, and my dad hung it up on his side of the wrestling room.  It was only a matter of days, though, before real awards made their way onto Stryker’s wall, as we were able to sneak him into a few tournaments before the season ended.