I got down 2–0 almost before I had time to react. Al shot in and got me up in the air, flipping me onto my back so I was in immediate trouble. I twisted and tried to get out of bounds because he already had the leverage he needed, but he yanked me back toward the center of the mat and started forcing me down. He wanted to get this over with, and he was being more aggressive than even he’d ever been.
He got near-fall points, but I managed to squirm out of it and get back to my knees. Five–nothing, and he was still riding me. It took most of the period for me to work my way free, but I finally got to my feet and escaped just in time. Five–one, I was behind.
Al didn’t even leave the mat between periods. He just squatted with his hands on his knees and stared at the big blue S in the center circle, breathing hard. I walked off and grabbed a squirt bottle from Digit. Coach didn’t look at me.
I started the second period down, but escaped pretty quickly. Al does that. He’ll give up an escape point to get two in return with a takedown. Usually when he lets a guy go, he gets an evil smirk, kind of half-circles the guy, then goes in for the kill. But he came right back at me and threw me to the mat without any nonsense, and suddenly I was down 7–2 with his nails digging into my skin.
For the next minute and a half he rode me, trying to get me cradled, to bring my shoulders to the mat. But he couldn’t do it this time. Coach even started to warn us for stalling, since we were barely moving, but my effort was maximum, and Al’s was, too. We just seemed to be on neutral ground all of a sudden, deadlocked. The second period ended and I was down by only five points.
Al was still mad, but it wasn’t just at me anymore. He was pissed at himself, I know, because this was going far too long and there didn’t seem to be much he could do about it. It’d been a long time since he got tested like this. And now my confidence was escalating, too. I was seething. Seething in a good way, a way I knew what to do with.
I scanned the bleachers, looking for Kim and half expecting one of those movie-type breakthroughs where I’d catch her eye and feel a lightning bolt of energy and desire that would carry me to victory.
Instead, I saw my father, and the impact was different but the same. He was standing about three-quarters of the way up, arms folded, looking kind of dazed. I didn’t try to catch his eye. I tried to share his dignity.
I started the third period up, and Al was tensed below me, ready to explode to his feet the instant Coach blew the whistle. Maybe it’s a cliché, but my life had come down to a two-minute summary: the third period of this match. There was life on the other side: Kim, an escape from this town, my pride. But there was too much value in what had gone before to let it fade away without a defining moment. That moment had arrived.