The Octopus had his choice of position when the second period started, and he chose to be on top. The wrestler in the top position has a definite advantage. If the guy on top is smart — smart, strong, and aggressive — the guy below might as well kiss the match good-bye.
I thought back to what Gail had said. I was smarter than Max — usually. Now I just had to make myself as strong and aggressive as he was. That was the only way I would be able to stop him from taking me.
We assumed our positions, the ref blew his whistle, and I moved. The Octopus moved at the same time, yanking my arm back to force me to fall flat on my noggin. But I rolled with the move instead and slipped out of his control.
Simultaneously a cheer exploded from the Jefferson Davis fans.
I was hoping for at least a few seconds’ rest, when the Octopus dove at me, catching me by surprise. In a moment he had a half nelson on me and was pushing my shoulders against the mat.
Oh, God! I thought. No! I couldn’t let him pin me! I couldn’t let him win!
I could see his sweat-glistening face inches above mine, his dark, fiery eyes glaring like an angry tiger’s, his white teeth fanned out like a picket fence.
“This is it, Small Fry!” he whispered. “This… is… it!”
In that brief moment, when he lessened his concentration — and loosened his hold just a bit — I jerked up my right hip, broke out of his control, and rolled up into a sitting position. At the same time I grabbed the arm that he had wrapped around me, pulled it tight against my stomach and rolled over, dragging him after me. Another roar came from the stands — from the Franklin fans for the Octopus’s getting a near fall, and from the Jefferson Davis fans for my earning an escape and then a takedown.
But Max twisted his wrist free from my grasp and in a lightning-fast move got behind me, wrapping his left arm over my left shoulder and his right around my stomach. The Franklin fans cheered again as the ref’s right arm — the arm with the green band — went up and two fingers flashed.
The Octopus was rolling up more points, and I said a silent “thank you” prayer as the whistle blew, ending the second period.
I took the top position as the third period started, one arm wrapped around the Octopus’s right shoulder, the other gripping his left arm. I thought of the chicken wing, a hold Coach Collins had taught me. But you had to be careful with it, he had warned me, or you could get points scored against you, or even injure your opponent.
Was it worth it? I thought. Should I take the risk?
I considered Max’s build, his strength. It would take a lot to hurt him. And he was already far ahead of me in points. How much, I didn’t know. He had to be at least eight points ahead, which meant a major decision and four points for his team. He was well on the way to what the newspapers would call “an undisputed victory.”
What did I have to lose?
I’ll use it, I decided.
The whistle blew. I moved, tightening my grip on his right shoulder and dropping my hand to grab his left arm. At the same time, he rolled hard over onto his side, pulling me with him, and in seconds had me in a half nelson.
Oh, no! my mind screamed as I heard the Franklin fans cheer. The Octopus was heading for a superior.
Seconds ticked on as I thought of holds both Clint and Coach Collins had taught me. I had little chance of winning now. No chance at all, except by a pin.
Max was shooting for a fall himself when, suddenly, I was in position to put the leg trap on him. I earned a point for the escape, then two more for a takedown. Dead tired, I saw that we both were near the edge of the mat, and that the Octopus, sweating profusely, his chest heaving with each breath, was deliberately crawling off of it.
The whistle shrilled. We rose to our feet and stood in the center of the mat. Quickly I dug back into my think tank for a hold I could put on the Octopus to finish him. I was probably out of my mind. Hoping to finish him was like hoping to win a million-dollar lottery.
But I couldn’t let him win. He’d never let me forget it. And he’d made my life miserable enough already.
I stood with my right foot slightly in front of me, clearly remembering Clint’s instructions for a move and hold I felt was now my only hope.
The whistle shrilled again. This time I moved before the Octopus did. I shot my right knee between his legs, ducked my head under his left armpit, and grabbed his thighs. I was tired and breathing heavily. But Max was bushed, too. That’s where I had a slight advantage: he may have been taller than me, and stronger, but I had more stamina.
I stepped forward, straightened up, lifted him off the mat, spun, and drove him to the mat. I pounced on top of him as I did so, got a half nelson on him, and started to press his shoulders to the mat.
I was close to pinning him! Press harder! Harder! I told myself. I was sure that this was it, and even more sure when the shouts and screams of the Franklin Junior High fans threatened to bring down the ceiling.
But it wasn’t over yet. The Octopus uttered a loud grunt, and his right hip sprang up, breaking my hold.
But, quick as he was, I was quicker. I yanked him back down on the mat, this time exerting all the strength I could muster to press his shoulders against it. His face showed that he was straining every muscle in his body.
And out of the corner of my eyes I saw the ref get down on his belly next to us, raise his right hand…
And then bring it down… once… twice…
I leaped to my feet, my ears filled with the cries, the cheers, the whistles of the Jefferson Davis fans.
I had won! I had pinned the mighty Octopus!
A hand grabbed my right wrist and lifted it up high. “The winner!” the ref announced.
The Jefferson Davis fans came running down the stands then, yelling like crazy. They hugged me and shook my hands. Mom was teary eyed as she threw her arms around me. Carl was beaming.
“You did it, bro,” he declared, smiling broadly. “You beat the Octopus.”
I’d never seen him so delighted about my winning in my life.
And there was Dad! I stared in disbelief, a lump forming in my throat. He hadn’t ridden to the meet with the rest of us. He’d probably decided to come at the last minute. I didn’t care. He was there.
He grabbed my shoulders and pulled me against him. “Good work, son!” he said. “Darn good work!”
“Thanks, Dad!” I whispered, my tear-stained eyes closed.
When I opened them again I saw another face, not more than a foot away.
“Congratulations, Sean,” Gail said softly. “You were terrific.”
“Thanks,” I said.
She waved and walked away. I wondered if I’d see her again, if I’d ever get a chance to talk to her again. Well, there’d be plenty of other meets between her school and mine… who knew?
A hand tapped my shoulder. I turned. It was Max.
“Congrats, Bailor,” he said. “I hate to say this, but you’re a better man than I thought you were.”
“Thanks, Max,” I replied. “You’re pretty good yourself.” Then I remembered something. “Wait here,” I said, and ran to the locker room. A few seconds later I was back.
“Here,” I said, holding out his I AM KING button. “This belongs to you.”
He looked at it, then at me. “Keep it,” he said. “You deserve it more than I do.”
“But it’s yours,” I declared. “And I don’t want it. Please take it.”
Reluctantly, he took it. Then, after gazing at it for a moment, he crushed it in his hand, turned, and left.
Watching him walk away, I knew that tonight’s defeat had earned me more than points. I knew the Octopus and his cronies would never torment me again.
Mom grabbed my hand and gently squeezed it. “Take your shower, Sean,” she said. “And then we’ll go home for a real family celebration. How’d you like that?”
“I’d like that a lot, Mom,” I said with a grin. “More than you know.”
How many of these Matt
Christopher sports classics have you read?
Baseball Pals
The Basket Counts
Catch That Pass!
Catcher with a Glass Arm
Challenge at Second Base
The Counterfeit Tackle
The Diamond Champs
Dirt Bike Racer
Dirt Bike Runaway
Face-Off
Football Fugitive
The Fox Steals Home
The Great Quarterback Switch
Hard Drive to Short
The Hockey Machine
Ice Magic
Johnny Long Legs
The Kid Who Only Hit Homers
Little Lefty
Long Shot for Paul
Long Stretch at First Base
Look Who’s Playing First Base
Miracle at the Plate
No Arm in Left Field
Red-Hot Hightops
Run, Billy, Run
Shortstop from Tokyo
Soccer Halfback
The Submarine Pitch
Tackle Without a Team
Tight End
Too Hot to Handle
Touchdown for Tommy
Tough to Tackle
Wingman on Ice
The Year Mom Won the Pennant
Takedown
Sean Bailor is a wrestler whose fights don’t always take place on the mat. His younger stepbrother is constantly razzing him about being small; his mother accuses him of picking fights and acting like his no-good father; and his stepfather is uninterested in anything he does. But worst of all is his nemesis, “the Octopus,” a top-notch wrestler who seems to relish the idea of crushing Sean when at last they meet face-to-face on the mat….
Matt Christopher is the writer young readers turn to when they’re looking for fast-paced, action-packed sports novels. A resident of South Carolina, he is the author of many books, among them The Kid Who Only Hit Homers. For a listing of all his latest titles and information on joining the Matt Christopher Fan Club, turn to the last page of this book.
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