I've been wrestling a long time. My brother, who is older than me by five years, was a seriously good high-school wrestler until he had to stop with a broken elbow. When I was nine, I let him convince me to try out for the middle-school team. I sucked. The first year my only success was in redefining the amount of noise takedown dummies could make while being tossed around by older kids. But I loved the sport, and knew I wanted to get good at it. That was thirteen years ago. In high-school I won four league titles, four new england titles, and was national prep champion twice. So far in college I'm a two time all american, and going for my first national title in a couple of weeks. I'm not trying to brag by listing this out, simply establish that I have the credentials to say certain things about the sport.
Over the past few days one of the larger stories in sports media has concerned a young wrestler in Iowa, who defaulted from his first match in the state tournament rather than face a girl. See this column, by Rick Reilly of espn, for the background. http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/news/story?id=6136707
A few things strike me about this situation. First, the girl in question achieved a 20-13 record in Iowa, and qualified for the tournament under her own power. Iowa high-school wrestling is legendary for its' brutality and technical excellence. Great wrestlers from Dan Gable down to the Leclere brothers can attest to this. Look at the roster of the Iowa Hawkeyes, the best college program in the nation, if you don't believe me. Some of their finest athletes have better records in college then they did in high-school. I've never met this girl or seen one of her matches, but I know that anyone who qualifies for that tournament needs protection from nothing. The other side of this has to do with the boy, who threw away a shot at his dream for what he claims was religious belief. Leaving aside the fact that Iowa state champions never have to buy a drink in their lives, his outdated attitude towards women is deeply disturbing.
Every Christmas vacation I stop by to help with a couple weeks of practices at my old middle-school, under the same coach who taught me the sport a decade ago. It's a lot of fun, and an easy way to give back to a program I love. This past winter, for the first time, there were three girls on the team. Three friends, who'd all been interested in trying it for about a year and had decided to sign up together. I'd seen girls wrestle before, and had even competed against a few before I outgrew the smaller weight classes. But coaching them was different. After all, I'm a 22 year old man, and coaching does involve a good deal of physical contact. What I came to notice, over the fifteen or so practices I attended, was that the girls were only uncomfortable when I treated them differently from their teammates. So I sucked it up, got on the mat with them, and never had a single problem. My last day, all three approached me after practice to thank me for working with them. I should also say, the three girls outworked every guy on the team, were always first to practice, and never complained about anything. One day as I was leaving, I caught sight of the three of them, running sprints relay fashion on the school's indoor track.
The point here is this: if a girl decides to participate in a sport, then she deserves to be treated with the same respect as every other competitor. That means, instead of bowing out from some twisted notion that women are delicate flowers, all the guys need to stop whining and strap on their headgear. Yes, its a little awkward. But not nearly as awkward as a girl must feel, her first day in the wrestling room surrounded by guys. That girl in Iowa didn't want to be the first female match winner in state history because of a default. She wanted to compete and find out if she was the best. Based on her record, it might just have happened.
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