Only a single dim, yellow light illuminated the entrance to the gym. The otherwise dark parking lot was small and filled with empty cars - so full that I had to park in the grass. The cold air clung to the silence of the black night, which, being January in Arkansas, began at 5:30 PM.
I looked once again at the postcard that had been slid under my apartment door. On one side - "Men's Wrestling Club - Thursday Night, 7 PM" in plain font, with a logo of two men standing in old-school wrestling gear, shaking hands. I'd just moved to Fayetteville a week ago and knew nobody, but this postcard was mysteriously in my apartment the day I moved in. I looked at the clock - 6:50. I braved the winter chill and jogged inside.
Inside was a dull murmur. The building was just a basketball court, outfitted with wrestling mats, and a hallway, where there was a changing room, and two older men sitting at a plastic folding table. Some men had already taken to the mats, stretching and warming up, while some were chatting quietly in the hall. I walked up to the check-in table.
"A new face," one of the old men said. He had a thick gray mustache. "Welcome. ID?"
I pulled my passport out of my sweatshirt pocket and handed it to him. He looked it over, and took my name down on paper. "From Australia, are you? What brings you here?"
"Work," I said bluntly.
"Well, whatever brings you here, we're glad to have you," he said. "We're a small group, but we have a lot of fun."
"You got a suit?" the other old man asked. He was thin and had hair that had clearly been dyed black. "You can't wrestle without a suit."
"I, uh, don't have one," I said. "I didn't know what to bring."
"No trouble," mustache said. "We have an extra around just in case - though, it's nothing special." He handed me a gray cotton singlet.
"Thank you," I said.
"What's your wrestling name?" the slim one asked. "You need a wrestling name for us to put on the bracket. Doesn't have to be your real name - people here call me Goldy."
"You can use your real name, though! I'm Ron," the mustachioed man said with a smile.
"Uh..." I hesitated, without a clue on what to call myself.
"I'll put you down as Roo," Goldy said. "Like kangaroo, Aussie. You okay with that?"
"Sure," I said.
"Welcome, Roo," Ron said. "You should probably get changed - we'll start in about fifteen."
I nodded, and headed towards the changing room. There were about ten men inside. Some men wore classic wrestling singlets, while others wore uniforms with low cut necklines that exposed almost their entire abdomen. Some men had clearly foregone underwear under their attire, their bulges sticking out and leaving little to the imagination. Most had some kind of underwear on. I couldn't imagine going commando under my singlet.
"Hey, you look lost," a smiling, broad-shouldered man said to me. He had red hair and wore a classic green singlet, which highlighted his toned, muscular torso and pinkish skin. "Am I right in guessing you're new?"
"That obvious, huh?" I asked.
"Oh, and an accent? Well, welcome - they call me Spot around here, because, well... spots," he said, pointing at his face.
"I'm, uh, Roo," I said. "I just moved here from Australia."
"Nice! Well, we have a pretty simple tournament set up tonight. It's actually our annual tournament, where the winner and runner-up go to the state tournament. Have you wrestled before?"
"A little," I said.
"Cool. We have all skill levels in this group, so hopefully it'll be fun."
"Good to know, thanks, Spot."
"No problem," he smiled. "I'm going to go stretch out - hope we get to wrestle!"
I smiled, and changed. Other than one other man I'd seen stretching earlier, I was the only non-white man there. I'm six feet tall even, with darker, Latin skin I got from my Brazilian mother. I had curly, dark brown hair that I kept short, but strange, green eyes, which must have come from my father. I wouldn't know - we'd never met. I was an athlete in university, and kept my body in shape - I'd always had an athletic build, and kept the discipline to stay fit.
I kept my simple white briefs on and slipped on the singlet - it was a bit snug on me in some areas, and was far too loose of a fabric for good wrestling, but it would be enough for the night.
I joined the rest of the men on the mats and stretched a little before Goldy got up on a bench. "Okay, gents, let's get started. We've got a 16 man draw tonight, thanks to our newcomer, Roo." Someone clapped politely. "Here's the lineup," he said, and read out a list. I'd be up against someone called Billy on mat 4, in round B.
I watched the other matches, seeing some skill and talent from a few competitors. Goldy and Ron refereed one match each, and two other volunteers reffed the other two matches. Spot was one of the volunteers, and from what I could tell, everyone played fair.
When it was my turn, I took to the mat. My opponent, Billy, was about 5' 7", and was slim built. I easily had sixty pounds on him.
"Let's have fun," Billy said, smiling and shaking my hand.
"Uh, yeah," I said. He seemed optimistic, despite his disadvantage.
