Pinned by Alfred C. Martino Page A

why he had just lost, opening himself up for the truth.
    Did I run enough?
Bobby knew there were nights when he could've stretched a three-mile run into a four-mile run.
    Did I work hard enough in practice?
He remembered drills when he could've pushed himself harder.
    If I'd known from day one that Korske was going 129, would I have worked on perfecting my switch? My sit out? My single-leg? Of course.
    Finally, Bobby asked himself:
Was I as prepared as I should've been?
    The answer to this was a very obvious no.
    Focus, preparation, execution—that's what had to separate him from his opponents. And now Bobby understood, with a feeling that he would not reveal to the others, who looked to him as their captain, there was
always
more he could have done.
    Coach Messina put a firm hand on Bobby's shoulders. "We don't have a single wrestler moving on to the finals yet. That's unacceptable. I want you out there preparing the others. Get these guys ready to wrestle. And we need you to win the consolations for third place."
    Bobby nodded. "Be there in a minute, Coach."
    "No, you're a captain. You get out there now."
    Coach Messina was so damn exact. Input information in one end, output some neatly thought-out answer on the other end. No waste of emotion. No extraneous words. Discriminate.
    Bobby stood up. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. He had to face his teammates, his father and Christopher, the Millburn fans, the other spectators. He had to face the defeat, then put it behind him. Later, he would watch Korske in the finals. He would get a chance at him, down the road.
    Down the road, at Jadwin.
    Coach Messina had told him so.

16
    The dining-room light flickered. Ivan leaned over the oak table, careful not to disturb the arrangement of silverware and glasses. The bulb buzzed, then blinked off. Ivan tapped it once, then another time, until, after one last annoyed rap, the light stayed on. He shook his head.
Another thing that needs to be fixed.
    He felt neither hungry nor very much like sitting down at the table. Winning the Hunterdon Central tournament so handily—three pins in three matches—left him restless, his body needing to move around, his thoughts wanting space.
    He heard the oven door shut. His father walked in, holding a silver platter with two thick pieces of sizzling meat, charred along the edges. "Dinner fit for a champion," he said. He placed two plates on the table, stepped back, giving the room a thoughtful look, then nodded, pleased.
    After a long day at the farm, his father had worked hard to prepare the dinner. Though his father would never say it, Ivan was certain it was his way of apologizing for missing the first two matches. Not that it mattered, Ivan thought. Both matches hadn't made it into the second period, anyway. The attention made Ivan uneasy. It was just another Saturday night, just another tournament victory. It was
not
the state championship.
    He sat down, unfolded a cloth napkin, and spread it over his lap, as his mother had taught him. He ate quickly, craving the steak and potatoes. After a few bites, his stomach, shrunken after six weeks of cutting weight, felt as if it would burst.
    "That boy from Manalapan was strong," his father said.
    Ivan shrugged.
    "I remember when Wrestling was not so easy for you," his father continued. "You were young and it was many years ago, but you should not forget. Tell me about your first matches."
    "Not much to say."
    "Where were the boys from?"
    "Didn't notice."
    "Their names?"
    "Don't know."
    Ivan reached into his pocket, pulled out a medal, and handed it across the table.
    His father held it up to the light. "I must build a wood cabinet for all your medals and trophies." He spread his hands wide. "Large glass doors. And one spot in front for the state championship medal. That would be nice."
    "Sounds like a lotta work."
    "A lot of work?"
    "Too much work."
    "No," his father said.
    "Papa, you come home tired every night. Now you work