HE WAS A MAN OF FLESH AND BLOOD. HE WASN’T MADE OF ROCK,
ANGEL, DEVIL, CHILD – A MAN OF ORDINARY STOCK. BUT SOMEHOW HE
WAS DIFFERENT – TRUE ATHLETES ALWAYS ARE, FOR THOUGH HE
CURSED, AND BLED, AND SWEAT, HE PRIDED IN THE SCAR.
THEY TOLD HIM TO WIN LIKE A MAN, NO MATTER WHAT THE COST; SO
MANY TIMES HE VENTURE FORTH, SO MANY TIMES HE LOST. AND
WHEN THEY TURNED AROUND AND SAID, “IT’S OKAY, SON, YOU TRIED”
HE CLENCHED HIS HEADGEAR IN HIS FIST, AND LIKE A MAN, HE CRIED.
BUT FROM HIS TEARS CAME ANGER, THEN, WHEN IT CEASED TO SPIN,
HE ROSE AGAIN, DETERMINED THAT NEXT TIME, HE WOULD WIN. HIS
TREMBLING BODY STRENGTHENED; HIS HEART SOARED IN THE SKY;
AND HIS DARKENED SOUL STOOD FLAMING WITH THE FIRE IN HIS EYE.
AND SO HE WORKED RELENTLESSLY; HE STRUGGELED AND HE
STRAINED; HIS CONSCIENCE WHIPPED HIM MERCILESSLY FOR EVERY
OUNCE HE GAINED. HE RAN ON LEGS LIKE PISTONS; HIS MUSCLED
ARMS GREW SORE; HE’D TELL HIMSELF, “I HAVE TO”, THEN ASK
HIMSELF,”WHAT FOR?”
AND THEN, AT LAST, THE RECKONING; THE FINAL HOUR WAS HERE. HIS
STOMACH LIGHTENED DANGEROUSLY, HIS MUSCLES TENSED WITH
FEAR. WEAK-KNEED, HE SHOOK THE CHALLENGER’S HAND – AND THEN,
AS ONE POSSESSED, HIS INSTINCTS GAVE HIM POWER, AND HIS BODY
DID NOT REST.
HE STOOD AND FACED HIS TEAMMATES, WITH PRIDE INSTEAD OF
SHAME. HE KNEW NOT THAT HE’D WON OR LOST, BUT THAT HE’D
PLAYED THE GAME. AND SOME CALLED HIM THE WRESTLER, AND SOME
CALLED HIM A MAN, AND THE REF HELD UP HIS HAND.