Wrestling and
cow poop offer new
worlds of adventure
The Blue Mound Wrestling Club hosted a tournament in Luverne Friday night, and it was our family’s first exposure to wrestling competition.
Jonathan and many of his first-grade friends are new to the program and, so far, had experienced wrestling only in practice.
Practice, from the one session I observed, amounts to not enough coaches trying to sincerely instruct way too many not-so-sincere little wrestlers on a giant red mat in a small noisy room.
The wrestlers I noticed in practice (my son mostly) were having a great time rolling around on top of each other and giggling. They didn’t appear to absorb much of the boring but essential information, like “how to pin your opponent and win a match.”
Those same wrestlers, I couldn’t help but notice Friday, looked quite different when faced with real competition.
They looked scared. They had good reason to be.
The wrestling world, we learned, is filled with intense young athletes and their one-time wrestling star dads who bring a distinctly competitive edge to an otherwise friendly get-together.
Community wrestling clubs, Luverne’s included, start honing their members as young as three years old. It was pretty clear from Jonathan’s first turn on the mat Friday night, that he’d been matched with one such experienced wrestler.
In seconds, my son was flat on his back, his head firmly locked under his opponent’s armpit.
He looked a little bewildered and shaken coming to the sidelines, so I ventured to the floor to offer encouragement. I struggled for the right words to prepare him for Round 2, but knowing nothing about the sport, all I could muster was “Be tough, kid. I love you, no matter what happens.”
Suddenly, out of nowhere, the right words came to me. They were coming from the mouth of a nearby dad coaching his son — Jonathan’s next opponent.
“Just listen to him,” I whispered.
Between his mom’s unconditional admiration and stolen information from the enemy, our little wrestler proudly came home with a third-place trophy (I think all the kids got trophies).
And I thought soccer was an adventure.
Adventures in cow poop
Life in the newspaper world isn’t boring either.
One of these days I’m going to learn it doesn’t pay to dress up for work that requires occasional visits with barnyard animals.
I arrived to work freshly showered, wearing shiny black shoes and neatly pressed khakis when a call from the fairgrounds sent me back out the door with a camera.
There were 2,000 head of cattle corralled for an auction in makeshift pens for the biggest sale in 30 years.
I carefully navigated the fairgrounds, stepping between questionable dark piles and gingerly climbed atop a round bale to capture a wide angle shot across the penned up livestock.
Walking back to the car, I was patting myself on the back for staying clean when something startled a steer just on the other side of the fence.
He bellered and stomped a large hoof in the middle of a deep puddle sending a generous spray of you-know-what across the front of my pressed slacks and on my shiny shoes.
During the drive home to change, I couldn’t help but ponder how many other jobs offer such … well … adventure.