We have rarely felt the urge to tuck an imaginary football under our arm and run toward the goal line.

You will not see us dribbling an invisible basketball from the bleachers.

But wrestling?  Wrestling can turn the sweetest, most gentle spirited mom into a gritty grappler.

Ahhhh….   wrestling season, when moms unite to release our own grappling inhibitions…

New wrestling mom:  “Holy mackerel – quick, call 911 – we have to get help for that poor lady!!!  Heaven’s to Betsy!  Just look at her, up there, in the bleachers, she’s having some sort of seizure, or convulsions!”

Seasoned wrestling mom: “Oh nevermind her…  that’s just Cindy doing the half-nelson solo act.  I promise you – She’s fine, her son is on the mat. She will return to normal in about 3 minutes.”

You may think she is a contortionist for the circus.  But in reality, she is the mom of a high school wrestler.  

I know because I have been there, squirming, twisting and grimacing, I assure you, it is completely involuntary.

Typically, seeing any human enthralled in these maneuvers would be considered socially unacceptable.

But this time of year, mothers all across America are out of control.  I did it and I wasn’t alone.  It is a moms only club, the dads are better able to curb their enthusiasm.

When your son is on the mat, the world sees this…

But, moms see this on that same mat…

When your son is getting his shoulder wrenched out of its socket, are we really expected to sit there all prim and proper and watch?

You’re kidding me, right?

Every wrestling mom has paid her dues.

The weigh-in…

Making weight is critical.  There was the time when one of the wrestlers let the other wrestlers cut his hair in an attempt to make weight.. this may not have ended so badly if he hadn’t let the opposing team do it.  His hair resembled a chopped salad when they finished.  I was glad no one thought to pull a few teeth, it would only take 3 or 4 molars to add up to an ounce.

The mood swings!!

During wrestling season, we never knew who was going to emerge from that bedroom. We witnessed our happy-go-lucky son, turn into a wildebeest. I begged him to just eat something. He drank so much Apple Cider Vinegar, I believe he actually acquired a taste for it.

The matches…

He once had an opponent who was easily a head taller than him. This guy must have been at least 27 judging by his full beard and the chest hair curling out the top of his singlet.

That is how this wrestler’s momma remembers him.

He literally lifted my son up and with full force – slammed him on the mat, face first.

I watched my son’s face smash against the mat – bounce up and slam down a second time, this time on the side of his head.

My mind was on replay in sssllooowww mmoootionnn.

This is against the rules not to mention he was going to need that head.

Like a rocket, I flew off those bleachers –

Just as I was catapulting toward the mat, my husband grabbed my cape the back of my top and yanked me back to my seat. It was like that cartoon with my arms and legs swimming through the air but my body wasn’t going anywhere.

Through clenched teeth, my husband told me, “You are going to embarrass him to death, now sit down and try to control yourself!”

“Not possible.” I told him.  I was seething.

The heart of a wrestler…

These boys love their sport. In one of those heart to heart – mother/son moments, I asked what he loved about it.

This is what he told me…

“I love it because it is 100% up to me.   Win or lose, it’s on me.  There is no front line or faulty equipment. I can only count on my skills and brut strength.  When I am on that mat –  there can be only one winner, it is either me or the other guy.”

I never told him I how many times I had joined him on that mat in spirit.

The reason we moms wriggle and writhe in the bleachers is because in our hearts we are on that mat struggling along side them.

Sometimes as I watched him in that spandex singlet, I would wonder how did he grow up so fast?

Wasn’t it just yesterday that he was hiding frogs under his hat and sharing licks of his popsicle with the dog?

All those Saturday mornings leaving the house before dawn, driving miles away to spend eight or more hours on the bleachers, jerking and twitching while watching those exhilarating three minutes on the mat.

Who knew that one day I would miss it?

***

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