It all hinges on moments. A tolerance for pain. Stamina and deep intestinal fortitude. In the end, there's no one their to bail you out. Your teammates and fans are somewhere out there, glimpsed through the sweat in your eyes, heard through the roar in your ears.

        Winners stagger to privacy and repose until the next match, shaking their wrists, putting cotton on their bloody noses, gasping for breath, doubled over in discomfort - and it's only day one.
        Glimpse the extreme loneliness of a kid, darting by, headed for the outside area around the memorial fountain. Tears in his eyes, flinging his headgear into the geyser as he collapses and sobs, a senior beaten in his last trip to state. He'll be OK, just needs a minute to absorb his defeat in solitude.
        Back inside, six mats are going, 12 kids are pushing themselves to the limit. It's the summit of their careers. For most, born of youth clubs, summer camps, four years of pushing the body to make weight - each six minutes from the next round of competition, or less, if someone makes a mistake. Then, it's the harsh slap of the referee's hand on the rubber mat and a roar from someone's hometown crowd..
        Ed Burton's voice, the announcer extraordinaire for as long as anyone can remember. "Over there folks, on mat number six, ladies and gentleman, we've got a freshman, in his first year of competition, giving last year's runner-up the battle of his life. His proud parents, Becky and Herb, born and raised in Prineville, must be busting at the seams. That senior he's tangling with, Logan Perkins, is a 4.0 student and his daddy was a state champion for Enterprise in 1977." Every kid gets his moment in the light, until Saturday night, when just three mats remain. Championship night. 

        Corners of the building filled with small towns. Hermiston is making lots of noise in the southeast sector. Rows of statisticians and result-keepers with computers hold court at floor level.  
       At best, it's a tired smile, a sore body and the knowledge that for six minutes, maybe less, an entire town was calling your name, urging you on, the voices rising above the other 12,000 in the building. It's something that stays with you in life.
       The rewards are special at the OSAA State High School Wrestling Championships. 

© 2003 Michael O'brien