The team headed back to school on January 3, 2008. We had double session practices until classes began nineteen days later. It was during this break in academic semesters when our team building typically occurred. The only students on campus were athletes, and as a team, we saw each other for at least five hours a day. Our numbers were already meager, and we could not afford to lose anyone else. Luckily for our team, we had Nick Logan. Everyone on the team connected with Logan, whether young or old, inexperienced or a seasoned veteran; he was the glue that held us together, the bridge between old and new. All teams need someone like him.
The second semester saw the addition of another coach, Bob Smith, arguably the greatest wrestling coach in Rhode Island history. At Coventry High School, he won seventeen consecutive state titles and earned the Coach of the Decade award for the 1990s. Early in his return to our team, he was the only instructor at practice and gave the most inspirational wrestling speech I have ever heard. The team’s favorite quote from it was, “You’ve got to look the devil in the eye, shoot a blast double on him and tell ‘im to go to hell.” He was such an asset for the younger wrestlers and a perfect fit for a team already doing so well. He and I never skipped a beat from our time together during my freshman season.
In spite of the excellent atmosphere in our wrestling room, our additional coach, and our sensational first semester, my faith in the team was low. We were young, inexperienced, and lacked depth, a combination that usually spells disaster. Many things had to go right to accomplish our team goal of winning a New England title. One injury to any starter and our dream would pop faster than a bubble. The starting ten, in order, were -- Brian Hoyt (@bjhoyt02), Travis Drappi, Michael Bonora, Kevin Sutherland, Mike Martini, Brendan Guarino, Brendan Casey, Nick Logan, Kevin Davis, and Ray Moore. Four of the ten were freshmen. We had three backups in Ryan Hardy, Joe Manley, and Chris Dean (@npc_dean) at 125, 174, and 197. [Footnote 8: One of our team members did not return for the second semester, dropping our team size to 13.]
After working hard during the double sessions, we were starving for a chance to begin wrestling other teams again. The national duals at Lycoming College were going to be a massive test for us. Multiple teams were ranked in the top ten and more than ten in the top thirty, including RIC. In my weight class, the fourth, sixth, and eighth-ranked wrestlers would be looking to knock me off. The way the chips fell, I ended up wrestling number eight, Luke Baum.
In our two previous matches, he had never taken me down. I was confident.
When our bout began, Baum scored a takedown right away and took control of the match. I was on the bottom, losing 3-1 with a minute left in the final period. I looked up into the stands and saw the New York team, Cortland, cheering for my opponent. I understood that people enjoy an upset. Even so, I had worked very hard to achieve my ranked position, and this one loss could tear everything down. I thought, “What am I doing? I have to win this match.” I escaped and got a takedown right on the line to win by one point.
I learned from that match just how big that X on my back was. Of course, I had known all season it was there, but I had not realized the extent of what it meant. Baum had a lot of videotape on me from our previous matches and had clearly studied it well. I also watched those tapes but did not analyze them the way he did. That tends to happen in all sports. The favorite watches the film just as the underdog does, but each watches with a very different perspective and for a different reason.
Aside from my scare, our team wrestled an excellent tournament. We beat three teams ranked in the top fifteen in the country -- York College, Ithaca College, and The College of New Jersey (TCNJ). Before the season, if someone had told me that RIC would beat TCNJ in a wrestling match, I would have laughed. With a few Jersey boys on their side, RIC did do it. One, in particular, Brendan Guarino, pulled through with one of the biggest pins of the season. Then Davis glued his foe’s shoulders to the mat to seal our win. Our reaction in a candid team photograph says it all. I jumped four feet off the ground.
We placed fifth in the tournament, as we suffered our first loss of the season to Loras College, 20-19. With our 4-1 mark, I finally knew that our team was not a New England fluke. If we stayed healthy, we would be the favorites to win the NEWA Championships in late February.
I recognized following the team tournament that there was a lot of work for me to do before nationals. I also became aware that Lycoming was the last place on the regular-season schedule, where I would wrestle anyone who was nationally ranked. From January 13 until March 6, the only wrestlers I would face were on New England teams.
The 141-pound weight class in New England was much different in 2008 than 2007. There were plenty of tough wrestlers, just none the caliber of those I had previously encountered -- Gaeta (four-time All-American), Lacroix (third-place finisher in the NCAAs), Marsh (All-American), and Conklin (two-time national qualifier). I had to rely heavily on my teammates to help me improve. The one guy I leaned on the most was Mike Martini. I also counted on my accumulated knowledge over the years to help pull me through as I read and reread the notes I had written to myself.
Our next match of note occurred at the New England duals, where RIC was the number one seed. On that particular Sunday, our two other team captains, Casey and Davis, were out of the lineup. Even with those great wrestlers, we did not match up well against the number two seed, J-Wu. It was going to take a miracle to win the tournament.
We headed into the first match-up with J-Wu in the team tournament final, coming off three wins. It was not pretty for the RIC Anchormen. Our whole team wrestled terribly, losing eight of the ten weights. Looking at the positive side, our second-place finish was the highest in RIC’s history at that particular tournament. [Footnote 9: This is still the highest finish for RIC through the 2022 season.]
My next bout of significance would come against a Division II team. The previous year against this same team, I had beaten my opponent by nine points. That fact did not bring me much comfort because two of my three takedowns came via the fireman’s carry. I knew my adversary would shut that down this time around.
As I expected, our second meeting was much more difficult. Now I ask myself, was it more difficult simply because I thought it was going to be? Oddly, it seemed that he was content just keeping the score close. I was winning by one with a minute left, and he took a single shot during the match’s final seconds. He was stalling, so I won.
Occasionally, wrestlers encounter an opponent who clams up and tries to keep the score close. No great upsets ever happen with that strategy. Until the 2007-2008 season, my opponents always came after me. Wrestling aggressively against me played to my advantage. I scored at least half of my takedowns on my opponents’ attempts. Once they began to employ avoid tactics, it was difficult to adjust. In the back of my mind, I had to keep telling myself, “When you get to nationals, no one will run.” It was important not to change drastically against these types of wrestlers. If I did, it would have opened holes in my defense that more skilled opponents could capitalize on. I knew my brand of wrestling, highly offensive with a solid defense, would be successful against the competition I would encounter in Iowa.
What added to the difficulty of the situation was the competency of the rival coaches. They had scouted me very well. Constantly the screams from opposing corners were, “Here comes the dart,” referring to my low single or, “Watch the fireman’s.” It was very frustrating and limited the use of my two most effective moves. My objective during matches now was to avoid putting myself in danger. In my mind, even if the scores were close, if I was never out of position or in jeopardy of being taken down, I could not lose.
It was about this time when Martini introduced me to one of the most challenging things I have ever done. We simply referred to it as “The Run.” It consists of putting the treadmill up to ten miles per hour and running at least three miles. When he first urged me to do it, I was hesitant. Eventually, I succumbed to his pressure and ran at that speed for over twenty minutes. Every second was painful, but the sense of accomplishment when I was finished was worth the constant discomfort. Next time, it was four miles in twenty-four minutes. The plan was to push myself to five miles in thirty minutes.
The idea was cut short when I strained ligaments on the outer part of my right foot in early February. I did luckily catch a nice break. Once in my stance, the pain magically disappeared. It must have seemed very peculiar to others that I limped to the mat yet did not skip a beat once on it.
Brendan Casey’s father passed away right after my injury. As expected, the passing was tremendously hard for him. Athletes might have to deal with loss at some point in their careers. Their performance depends on their state of mind. Some can use the competition as an emotional escape or release. Others use it as a distraction. A few continue to compete because they think their loved ones would have wanted it that way. On the other side of the coin, some people see no point in playing a game when a loved one has just left this earth. When my brother’s best friend, Sam Hernandez, tragically died, Robbie had no desire to play a high school basketball game. It all depends on your personality, and no way is the right way.
I was lucky not to have dealt with that kind of tragedy during my competition schedule. My grandmother passed away a month before the first tournament of my senior year. Before the opening meet, I had enough time to get into the right mindset. Casey handled his situation much better than I think I could have. After five days at home, he returned to school, and I asked him how he was doing.
He responded, “It sucks, but I’m not going to sit around and feel sorry for myself. My father wouldn’t want me to be sulking for him.”
The response surprised me slightly and increased, if that was possible, my respect for Casey. Life throws you some nasty pitches, and sometimes you have to swing even if the ball is in the dirt. This was one of those instances, and Casey did not let it beat him.
Despite our lopsided loss, the RIC and J-Wu dual was a highly anticipated match between the country's thirteenth and fourteenth-ranked teams. Besides being cross-town rivals, Lonnie Morris, the J-Wu head coach, and his assistant, Brian Allen (@ba_winateverything), had been teammates with Coach Jones on the championship teams of RIC’s past. I was confident we could turn it around and win, as my team did in 2004 against them to earn the league title.
The buildup finally came to a head on February 12, 2008, when we drove to the other side of Providence. We were now the underdogs and favored only at two of the ten weights. We started the match with Drappi upsetting his opponent by decision. I was up next and won 15-3, but not by fall as I was hoping. At 149, Sutherland did more than expected and won by a major decision. After three matches, we were up 11-0. We needed a stick from Martini, as he had done the previous season against his rival.
This time, Martini was on his back within thirty seconds. Without much more scoring, the J-Wu wrestler held on for the win. The loss shifted the momentum. The final score was 22-11, in favor of J-Wu. Even if Martini had pinned, we would have still come up a bit short. [Footnote 10: If I also had won by fall, the score would have been 19 – 19.]
RIC had no reason to be ashamed. Everyone wrestled well, and it was one of those rare situations where we lost and did not leave feeling like losers. They were a better dual meet team than us. Regardless, I was still convinced that we would prevail in ten days when the conference championships commenced. We were a tournament team that I believed would place all ten guys at the championships. I felt that we were the only team with a shot at doing that.
The last dual meet for RIC’s three captains took place on February 15, 2008. Knowing that I would never again wrestle in front of some great people choked me up a bit before the last home match at the Murray Center.
Senior night was a great night of wrestling. First, our team shut out Trinity College. Then we crushed the number four team in New England, Bridgewater State, whom we had edged only by a point at the New England duals.
For these two final matches, I decided to switch something that wrestlers do not tend to change -- my wrestling shoes. The ones I had previously worn had never found a place in my heart as all my previous pairs. My friend, Colin Smith (@colinsmith157), still had the same style of shoes I had worn out my first year of college, the gray and blue Sydney 2000s. In my opinion, they were second only to the black and teal Smith Elite Internationals. I constantly searched the web for either of those two shoes to no avail. One day I noticed that Colin wore my exact shoe size. I decided to ask if he would let me borrow the shoes for the stretch run. He readily handed them over, and I gladly slipped on those shoes for every match from then on. While their grip may not have been what it once was, peace of mind that I was comfortable in my shoes trumped the traction.
Superstitions are commonplace among athletes. I used to be very superstitious in high school. By the time I was heading into my senior year of college, I had tried to limit them as much as possible. I did not want any excuses for why I did not win a match. To break superstitions, I purposely would do things differently. I convinced myself superstitious beliefs had nothing to do with the outcome of matches. I did not listen to the same music, perform the same warm-ups, or say the same prayers. That is why I was able to switch my shoes. The most important thing is one’s performance on the mat. I knew by then that what socks I was wearing would not affect the outcome of a match and that if I let it, it might mentally ruin me.
Following senior night, there were only two tournaments left of my career. The pressure on me was slowly building all season, leading to this conclusion. I felt it from the time I learned I was the top-ranked wrestler in the nation in my weight class. In the beginning, I kept telling myself to take it one match at a time. I tried not to look at what the ramifications might be if I lost. To counter the pressure, I would think to myself, “If I wrestle to the best of my ability, I cannot be beaten.” Even if that was not true, it was comforting to feel that everything was in my own hands. As the season wore on, I started to like the pressure. I wanted to overcome it, and I miss it now. There was something about being in those situations that made me feel electric. It excited me when I was in a position where everyone’s eyes were focused on my every move, like a gladiator in the Coliseum of antiquity.
All athletes should want to feel pressure. Great wrestlers want to be in a tied match with a few seconds left. They enjoy that moment, it is well-earned, and athletes deserve to revel in that feeling. There is no gratification in doing something that comes easily. The pins and technical falls were not my proudest moments. What I prided myself on was when the chips were down, and I was losing in the third period, I had the heart to keep on fighting. When a wrestler can envision themself in that type of situation before it happens, they will be much better off when they do occur. Getting nervous and thinking panicked thoughts such as “Oh my God, this is it, I have to do this” causes negative things to happen.
The practice week before the conference championships was always a special time. Everyone always seems to give it their all when they see the light at the end of the tunnel. It was the end of a long journey that started five months earlier. The majority of wrestlers on our team did not qualify for nationals. Thinking back, it is a shame I could not stop and savor the moments more. My eyes were set on a national title, and nothing was going to cloud them.
Most people thought I had nothing to worry about at the conference championships. That was untrue. My nerves were just as jumpy as anyone else’s. In my head, I pictured what would happen if I lost, despite preparing for success. It was easy to see how my story could have had a different ending. It could have been: Number one in the country going in, fourth in the conference going out. As quickly as possible, I tried to rid myself of the negative thoughts. Besides those feelings, prior to the NEWA Championships, I also had to deal with a physical problem.
On the final practice day, I felt a bit under the weather. I had to go to the campus health service center anyway to get a note for scars left from the ringworm I had battled before Christmas. I was taking no chances with not being allowed to wrestle. The standard procedure at the health center was to take a temperature on every patient. When the thermometer clicked in my ear, it read 101.6. The nurse practitioner told me, “You can’t wrestle in the tournament, so there’s no reason to get a note for the scars.”
I laughed out loud. If a fever were enough to stop me from entering the New England tournament, I probably would have never wrestled at the collegiate level to begin with. I realized it was no joke when she said, “Michael, I know this is important to you, but you have the flu, and it will get worse over the weekend.” As calmly as I could, I explained that if I did not wrestle in this tournament, I would never be able to live with myself. We finally agreed that I would take my temperature before each match. If it was over 100, I would not compete. While nodding my head in agreement, I tried to conceal my smile. She loaded me up with thermometers I had no intention of using. Then, she instructed me to tell Coach Jones to call her and take ibuprofen every four hours. Following our agreement, she wrote the note for the scars. As I walked out, I thought, “This just got a lot harder.” [Footnote 11: I cannot wait for the day when someone else’s story will include battling through Covid.]
On the drive up to the University of Southern Maine, where the championships were held, I mapped out my game plan. I knew I would not have the optimal capacity in my lungs. The idea was to build an early lead before hitting cruise control. That plan was not going to contribute to winning a team title. I knew I had to tell my coaches about my situation. It did no one good if the coaches were yelling to keep attacking when I had to save myself for the next matches. Out of everyone, Ray seemed the most nervous, although he managed to say, “We’ll get through this.” Every four hours, I ingested ibuprofen, cough medicine, and inhaled plenty of nose drops, though I never did use those thermometers.
To make matters worse, I had to wrestle five matches instead of four, as I did the previous year. The top seed does not automatically get a bye in college tournaments. I reminded myself of what my high school coach, Mr. Lore, always used to say about wrestling matches. “You can do anything for six minutes” (make that seven minutes in college). While that was true, I knew I would have to win three matches on the first day and two on the second if I won them all. I tried to stay positive and told myself I was lucky the flu struck the weekend of the conference championships instead of just before nationals.
I continued to repeat in my head, “All that matters is to win and advance.” It was not important if I was impressive in doing so. I told the coaching staff my idea of starting strong and then protecting, and they agreed it was the best bet. Now the plan of attack was different though the goal remained constant: Make it through the tournament intact, get to nationals and win a title there.
There were obvious dangers in my game plan for the 2008 NEWA Championships. If coaches or competitors on the other teams picked up what was going on, I would be vulnerable to a constant attack from my opponents, aiming to wear me down. I did not want anyone to figure out that I was sick. At first, this circle of trust did not even include my parents. My reasoning for keeping them in the dark was to keep their nerves in check.
My parents were suspicious from the get-go. I had to reassure them I was fine until they finally conceded the point. That was until Travis Drappi accidentally slipped and asked them how I felt. My parents responded with slight bewilderment, “What do you mean? He’s not okay?” In typical Drappi fashion, he said, “Uh oh, was I not supposed to tell you?”
When the qualifier got underway, our team’s diminished numbers did not matter anymore. It was our best ten guys versus everyone else’s best ten. Due to my health, I would not be able to stick around and support my teammates as much as I would have liked. I felt terrible about that. My teammates understood the situation and knew when the season was on the line, each athlete had to come through for themself.
Within seconds of my first match, I was taken down by an opponent whom I had beaten by twelve points only two weeks prior. The first thought to pop into my head was, “This is going to be really hard.”
Ray later told me, “I thought that was it. I thought you were going to lose and were not going to have enough strength to wrestle back. Then I kept telling myself no, he worked too hard; he won’t lose now.”
My next thought during the bout was, “He is not going to roll over.” Not many wrestlers do in the conference championships. I regrouped and pinned him.
During my second match, I felt awful with the nastiest “cotton mouth” of my life. You are lucky if you do not know what “cotton mouth” is. It usually occurs when you are almost entirely dehydrated and there is no saliva left in your mouth. When this happens, even the simplest tasks become difficult. I managed to get through the quarterfinals with a sloppy performance and moved to the semifinals. Seven of my teammates joined me as semifinalists, which meant that eight RIC wrestlers medaled in the tournament. It was not the ten we were hoping for; still, it was a very respectable showing.
In my third and final match of the day, I won by three points. The next positive for RIC came at 157. The match had huge team ramifications, as it pitted a wrestler from the first and second-place squads. Martini squared off against his J-Wu counterpart, who had beaten him in the dual two weeks earlier. In a much more significant bout than their previous meeting, Martini won by a pin in the first period.
At 197, we had a similar scenario, except Kevin Davis had never beaten Diego Crespo. Crespo was a defending New England champion and had been a New Jersey state champion in high school. We hoped Davis could find a way to succeed when we needed him so badly. During an upper-weight clinch thirty seconds into the match, Davis decked Crespo with a lateral drop that shocked the gym. The win could not have come at a better time, and the match became the highlight of the tournament for our team.
What was even more impressive about Davis’s pin was that he was dealing with health issues too, and was not medically cleared to wrestle until our drive up to the University of Southern Maine. Two days before the journey, he had seriously injured his right knee and could barely walk. The doctors said that they would not allow him to wrestle due to a potential tear of his ligaments (it did end up being a meniscus tear, which later required surgery). He was finally cleared because, at that time, he had not taken an MRI that would have revealed the tear.
With the conclusion of the first day of the tournament, J-Wu was one point ahead of us. Just as we did, J-Wu had eight wrestlers left vying for the top spot. Three RIC guys were on the winner’s side of the bracket with Martini, Davis, and me, all in the first finals. The rest of our team could still win their brackets with a lot more work.
My first final the next morning was against Matt Ulrich (@matthew.ulrich) from the host school, Southern Maine. I was still battling the effects of the flu but knew I had to tough it out two more times to advance to nationals. The plan was to physically beat him up in the match’s opening moments to break his spirits and take away any opportunity for his fans to cheer. I started strong with a quick takedown and kept the pressure on him for as long as I could. The final score was 9-3 in my favor.
The winner of the first finals did not have to wrestle again for more than seven hours. I used that time to sleep. I did not bother to stick around and see who would come through to wrestle me in the “real finals.” My guess was I would face Ulrich again since he had beaten the third-ranked Dylan Rittenburg twice. I had wrestled both of them already and did not need to scout anymore. Either way, I knew I had to win the next match, no matter who I was wrestling. That is the mindset every wrestler should have at all times.
Martini gutted out a victory in the first finals with his second overtime win in three matches. Davis’s fate was unfortunately different. Maybe it was his knee; who knows since he would never use that as an excuse. When he lost the first finals, he had to wait and see who the winner of the wrestleback bracket would be. To no one’s surprise, it was Crespo. On his way to the title, Crespo ended up edging Davis in what I was told was a great match.
Day two of the NEWA Championships turned out to be RIC’s shining moment. The guys in the wrestleback brackets collected three third-place finishes, two fourths, and a fifth. Their performances meant the fate of the team title rested on the matches Martini and I would each wrestle. When Coach Jones told us that, it pumped me up even more. My goal now became to earn a major decision and ensure an extra team point, just in case Martini faltered.
My assumption that Ulrich would win was incorrect, as Rittenburg came back to beat him. It set up a rematch of the Springfield tournament finals three months prior. In that match, I had won, 10-5. Rittenburg already had proven that regular-season matches could not foretell future knockout bouts contested under much more pressure. I knew that the outcome of our previous match meant nothing. All that mattered was this one.
Walking in, I noticed a spotlight hanging from the center of the gym. The fans were boisterous and ready for the finals to start. I walked slowly as my name was called to meet in the middle of the mat for the pre-match introductions.
As the 2008, 141-pound New England title bout began, my adrenaline was pumping so much that I did not feel any effects of my flu. With thirty seconds left in the finals, I had built a five-point lead, which was not enough for a major decision. What I needed was a takedown straight to my opponent’s back. Then, it happened. Rittenburg went for a five-point throw to tie. That was his only option. I was ready for it. I caught him on his back for two seconds. The referee awarded me the takedown and two back points as time expired. I celebrated more after that match than any other in my entire career.
Martini’s match was another nail-biter. Neither finalist could gain the upper hand by the end of regulation. They had a scoreless neutral overtime, and then the situation worked in Martini’s favor as it was his third match to reach that junction in the tournament. As in his previous matches, he escaped and then rode out his foe to win in the tiebreaker period, somehow winning the tournament by collecting only one takedown in all four of his matches combined. He knew his strengths and used them well. I had never seen him that happy.
Only weeks before, Martini had been ranked in the country for the first time. That pumped him up and helped him win a New England title. A wrestler has to use everything available to their advantage, whether it is being angry over not being ranked or using the rankings to get into a better mindset. When Martini won the 157-pound title, we knew that RIC had clinched the team championship.
Before the announcement of team champions, I felt like a little kid on their way into Disney World for the first time. When the announcement finally boomed over the public address system that RIC was the NEWA Champion, the feeling of euphoria continued and grew. Having only thirteen guys on a team and winning the title in the way we did had been unthinkable at the beginning of the season. Jones and Paquette were awarded the head and assistant Coach of the Year awards. I would later tell Casey and Davis, “We ‘old’ guys led a bunch of kids to the ‘Promised Land,’ and I hope they enjoyed it half as much as we did.”
The good feelings did not last long for me as the flu kicked into high gear, making the next eight hours filled with shivers, coughing, and achiness. Our team had to sit around for two hours while Coach Jones attended the wild card meeting. When the coaches emerged, their four choices were a bit surprising. Rittenburg, the wrestler I had just defeated, was awarded one spot, despite losing to two different wrestlers in the same tournament. Ray and I were discussing the decision when Martini chimed in, “Well, it makes sense, he lost to Bonora, and since there was no way anyone was beating Bonora, he kind of won the tournament.” I just laughed and thanked him. That sentiment and what my former coach, Mr. Chern, once said about cloning my DNA was probably just offhand remarks long forgotten by those who uttered them, but never by me.
The drive home was long, uncomfortable, and freezing cold. Ray and I did not make it back to our house until 4:00 A.M. The whole ride, I was daydreaming about a hot shower. That moment when I finally found the water covering my entire body was blissful. I stayed in the shower for more than twenty minutes, letting the water engulf me. When I got out, I fell on my bed, towel and all, and succumbed to exhaustion. I was drained emotionally as much as physically. The rest of my team went out and celebrated. I slept.
Everyone’s season officially ended that weekend, except for Martini and me. Six of our teammates were recruited to practice with us until we left for Iowa. The amount of support Martini and I received over those two weeks was tremendous. Ray, Hoyt, Drappi, Sutherland, Guarino, Casey, and Logan came to every practice to push us just a bit more. They were all still floating from our New England title. If Martini and I had only each other to wrestle live with, it would not have been as productive of a training period. We would have gotten too accustomed to the other’s moves and found it easier to allow ourselves to progressively slack off as our bodies tired. Instead, having a fresh guy coming in every minute did not allow that to happen.
As I was working out with Hoyt one day, my knee locked out for the first time since the preseason, and was stuck in that familiar position. I dropped to the mat, clutching my leg. Hoyt backed away and asked if I was okay with panic in his voice. I told him I just needed to straighten my leg out real quick. As I was about to snap it back into place, our athletic trainer ran onto the mat and yelled at me to stop. She took my leg, massaged it for a few minutes, and slowly extended it. Instead of the violent snap back into place that I was used to, it gently slid back to where it was supposed to be. My knee was a little tender for the rest of the practice, but I was able to finish the workout.
To this day, I still wonder why my knee locked up right before nationals. Then I did not have time to give it much thought. I knew I could not let it affect the way I wrestled. If my knee locked while out in Iowa, I would simply have to find a way to overcome it.
Another physical challenge I had to deal with was the after-effects of an injury that had first occurred sometime during the previous semester. Martini and I were having one of our intense scrapping sessions when he hit me with a blast double to the center of my chest. I folded up like an accordion. From that moment on, every time I fully exerted myself during a live wrestling situation, my chest would scream in agony. The deeply bruised chest plate spelled trouble during a closely contested match. I took comfort in the knowledge that almost everyone at nationals was going to be a bit banged up too. I decided to ignore it as much as possible and treat it in my conventional stubborn way -- by praying.
Despite my chest pain, knee scare, and razor-sharp focus, I enjoyed those last practices immensely.
I had been the number one ranked Division III wrestler in the country from the beginning of the season to this point. With my New England performance, I was sure to be the top seed in the national tournament, and because of this, I started to receive extra attention. First, an ABC-TV camera crew arrived to interview Martini, Coach Jones, and me. The story’s focus centered on our team’s New England championship, the first for our school in sixteen years. [Footnote 12: As of the 2022 season, this remains the only RIC conference title in 30 years.]
A few days later, I received a phone call from an NCAA reporter, Amy Farnum-Novin. She wanted to write a feature article about me. She explained her reasoning for choosing me, “I picked you since you are not from a Wartburg or Augsburg type school.”
I smiled and said, “Isn’t that the truth.”
Those teams had finished one and two in thirteen consecutive NCAA Division III Wrestling Championships. [Footnote 13: From 1995 through the 2022 championships, either Wartburg or Augsburg has won every team championship, excluding those canceled due to Covid-19 in 2020 and 2021.] Rhode Island College had never finished in the top ten. [Footnote 14: Unfortunately, this is still true as of the 2022 championships.]
During the phone interview, Amy asked, “What will be the key for you to win out in Iowa?”
“I just need to keep my composure,” I replied. “If I am faced with a situation where I make a mistake, I have to realize there is enough time in the match to come back.”
I fully believed in my ability in any situation.
I also did two other phone interviews, one with The Rhode Island Sports Review and the other for my hometown newspaper, The Nutley Journal. When the media coverage subsided, my housemates joked, “Look at our big star.”
Traditionally, wrestlers do not wrestle to be in the limelight. I certainly was not a sports star. While I appreciated the attention, I never gave it much thought. My mindset was that when all was said and done, the only thing that would matter was how I felt about everything. If those interviews had not happened, the national tournament would still have been just as significant to me. I trained for years for this shot, and now, with two weeks left, I was getting some recognition. That was not what I had pushed myself so hard and worked so many years for.
Right before we were set to ship out, I received two more notes in addition to Robbie’s letter, which still said, “Do Not Open Until Iowa.” Coach Chern wrote me an email, which in his unique way, said exactly what I needed, at the exact moment I needed to read it. Christina mailed a package of treats and a big card. Her words of encouragement always made me smile. I was now ready to face the biggest challenge of my life.
What You Can Take Away from Chapter 11:
Always stay positive.
Limit your superstitions to achieve peace of mind.
Great wrestlers never attempt to keep the score close. They wrestle to win.