Pinned by Alfred C. Martino

position, Bobby looking to maintain control, Seitzer fighting for the escape.
    Time was ticking away—a match with Korske was waiting. Bobby felt Seitzer weaken, so he drove his opponent's head toward his knees, setting up the snap-back. It was waiting for him. Right there. He could rip Seitzer to his back, score near-fall points, and ice the match.
    But unexpectedly, inexplicably, an errant thought—perhaps about Korske, or maybe his parents—cracked Bobby's focus, and he hesitated a moment too long.
    Seitzer ducked his shoulder, hips whipping over his head. Bobby recovered momentarily, stepping over the roll, but as he did, Seitzer locked his wrist and hooked his leg. A Granby roll. A move so graceful that, even as it happened, Bobby managed a hint of admiration. Then he braced.
    "Hold on, Bobby!" Coach Messina yelled.
    Bobby felt Seitzer lean back hard. Bobby scooted his hips toward the outside circle, trying to get out of bounds before the referee made the call. He inched closer. One leg out. He needed to get a shoulder over the line. So close, Bobby knew, but impossibly far.
    "Reversal," the referee shouted an instant before the buzzer sounded. "Two points, Manalapan."
    Bobby collapsed.
    A wave of disappointment crushed him. They were staring, he was sure. Every person in the gymnasium was staring, mocking his loss. Bobby struggled to his feet but did not raise his head. The referee lifted Seitzer's arm in victory, drawing cheers from the Manalapan fans gathered at one corner of the gymnasium.
    Bobby walked off the mat, passing his teammates, Christopher, and his father, who offered a quiet, "You'll get him next time." Bobby gathered his warm-ups and looked over at mat number 2.
    Holding an eleven-point lead, Korske was looking for a pin. With his Essex Catholic opponent flat on his stomach, Korske reached around and under the wrestler's waist, trapping his left arm and tightening.
A gat wrench,
Bobby thought. Korske went up on his toes and drove toward his opponent's left shoulder, then rolled and arched, twisting his opponent to his back. The execution was stunning. A sophisticated move against a good wrestler, and yet Korske made it look as easy as drilling.
Incredible
..., Bobby thought. As he turned away, he heard the referee slap the mat, signaling the pin.

    Coach Messina pointed. "In the locker room."
    Bobby shuffled toward the door marked VISITORS .
Here it comes. What's Coach gonna tell me? That I had the match and pissed it away? Damn it, I know that.
    Inside, Bobby threw down his headgear and straddled a locker room bench. He covered his head with his hands, feeling the throb of frustration along his temples. He heard breathing and noticed Coach Messina standing beside him.
    "Six minutes of hard wrestling, not five minutes and fifty seconds," Coach Messina said. He slapped a locker with his hand. "You dominated that match, but you let up for one moment, and look what happened. Bobby, you're good enough to beat any one of these top guys. But you can't have a bad match, or a bad period, or a bad ten seconds. Not at this level."
    "I wanted a chance at Korske," Bobby said.
    "I know you did."
    Bobby looked up. "Think I could beat him?"
    "Not the way you just wrestled," Coach Messina said. "You have to become mentally tougher. Can't have a lapse in concentration. Not against Korske."
    "This was my chance."
    "You'll get another."
    "Not this tournament."
    "No, not this tournament," Coach Messina said. "Beating Korske today wouldn't make your season, anyway. There's a long way to go. But from this point on, promise yourself, no letting up against anybody. Not for a moment. Imagine every opponent is Korske. Every match. Then, down the line, at Jadwin, you
will
get your chance. And you
will
beat him."
    It was then, in the dim locker room, his coach looming above him, that Bobby quickly pushed aside self-pity. Coach Messina was coldly honest; Bobby knew he had to be that way with himself. And so, he considered