I think I own those blue shoes.

Went to a wrestling match last night in Colfax, WA. Wasn't anything like the real thing. Just a bunch of sweaty high school boys playing rough on a mat while fathers shouted what sounded like odd obscenities at them and their wives told them to calm down. There were no catchy names, unless you count Knezovich (the son of the Spokane County sheriff). I was hoping for something a little meatier, like The Devastator or The Boulder. The outfits were a little boring as well. The closest they got to the real thing was the one with the pirate on the thigh. Granted, it was made from spandex and kept riding up the poor kid's bum, but it was something. (I later learned the whole team wore the same outfits. No individuality at all.)

Wrestling terms are something else. It's like a foreign language, and if you didn't know better you might think everyone was talking about break dancing or strippers. For example, the hip pop, hip heist and hip lock are not just for prostitutes. Neither are the undercup, swisher, belly down or drive him over his ear.

While this is all very serious stuff to the parents and coaches who attend the meets, it all sounds a little crazy to me. Also, another observation: Washington wrestling families seem to be quite the rednecks. I thought North Idaho was bad, but apparently Eastern Washington has quite a pull for them as well.

In all seriousness though, I found myself clenching my every muscle as I watched the matches. My jaw actually hurt when we left two hours later. Those boys took some serious beatings and I never saw any tears. (They probably waited until they were home in their rooms and well away from their peers and their dads.)