“Hercules!” he shouted at Ambrose, and Ambrose shook his head in disbelief. He was listening to his coaches, but not listening. When Bailey interrupted, the frenzied instructions ceased and three sets of frustrated eyes turned on him.
“What are you yelling about, Sheen?” Ambrose was numb. In twenty seconds his shot at a four-peat would go up in smoke. And he couldn't seem to shake off the lethargy, the sense that none of this was real.
“Remember Hercules?” Bailey demanded. It really wasn't a question, the way he shoved the statement at Ambrose.
Ambrose looked incredulous and more than a little confused.
“Remember the story about the lion?” Bailey insisted impatiently.
“No . . .” Ambrose adjusted his headgear and looked over at his opponent who was still getting his fingers wrapped while his coaches threw instructions at him and tried not to look euphoric over the turn of events.
“This guy's a lion too. An Altoona Mountain Lion, right? Hercules's arrows weren't working on the lion. Your shots aren't working either.”
“Thanks, man,” Ambrose muttered dryly, and turned to walk back to the center of the mat.
“You know how Hercules beat the lion?” Bailey raised his voice to be heard.
“No, I don't,” Ambrose said over his shoulder
“He was stronger than the lion. He got on the lion's back, and he squeezed the shit out of him!” Bailey yelled after him.
Ambrose looked back at Bailey and something flickered across his face. When the referee asked Ambrose what position he would take, he chose top. His fans gasped, the entire township of Hannah Lake gasped, Elliott Young cursed, and Ambrose Young's coaches' mouths dropped along with their stomachs and their hopes for another team title. It was as if Ambrose wanted to lose. You didn't choose top when you were down by one with twenty seconds left in the match. All Altoona had to do was not get turned–or even worse, escape and get another point–and he would win the match.
When the whistle blew it was as if someone hit slow motion. Even Ambrose's movements seemed slow and precise. His opponent scrambled, trying to push up and out, but instead found himself in a vise so tight he forgot for a moment about the twenty seconds on the clock, about the match that was his to win, and about the glory that would come with it. He sucked in a breath as he was shoved face first into the mat and his left arm was yanked out from under him. The vise grew even tighter and he thought about slapping the mat with his right hand, the way the UFC guys did when they were tapping out. His legs shot out, splaying for leverage as his left arm was threaded past his right armpit. He knew what was happening. And there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.
Slowly, precisely, Ambrose wrapped himself around his opponent, tying up his legs as he tipped the lion onto his back, never releasing the pressure. In fact, Ambrose's arms trembled with the amount of power he was exerting. And then the count began, one, two, three, four, five. Three back points. Ambrose thought about Hercules and the lion with the golden fleece and stretched and tipped the lion from Altoona just a little more. With two seconds left on the clock, the referee slapped the mat.
Pinned.
The spectators went wild, and the whole town of Hannah Lake claimed they had believed in him all along. Coach Sheen looked at his son and grinned, Elliott Young fought back tears, Fern discovered her nails were shredded, and Ambrose helped his opponent stand. He didn't roar or leap into his coach's arms, but when he looked at Bailey there was relief in his face, and a small smile played around his lips.
The tale of his first match spread like wildfire, and the chant of Hercules accompanied Ambrose in ever increasing volume from one match to the next, providing fodder for his longtime fans and flaming a whole new following. Ambrose didn't falter for the rest of the tournament. It was as if he'd flirted with the edge and decided it wasn't for him. By the time he took the mat in the finals, his last match in his unprecedented high school wrestling career, the whole arena roared the name Hercules.
But after he dominated his last match and the referee raised his right arm in victory, after the announcers went wild with speculation as to what came next for the incredible Ambrose Young, the four-time state champion found a quiet corner and without fanfare, slid his singlet around his waist, pulled on his royal blue Hannah Lake Wrestling T-shirt, and covered his head with his towel. His friends found him there when it was all over and the medals were being awarded.