Duane Koukol: A poem for Issik
February 18, 2015
To the editor:
Dedicated to my Grandson Issik Herod.
First Place 3-A Regionals 2015.
Two days and two matches?
And the last, for first place?
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Unheard of, after years of wrestling and coaching.
A first round bye and a third round bye, because of a misunderstanding youth?
I put my hand on his shoulder.
No words, disappointment written on his face.
There will be better days, maybe later today?
Coach of the blue and gray.
Yes, there is always drama, many times far too much!
The last match, one twenty six, for first place.
Scouting of the last foe.
All thrown in, as the whistle blows.
It didn't start well for the blue and gray!
Down eight to two with forty-three seconds to play!
A slap on the head gear, possibly a mistake?
Make me mad and I will make you pay!
A point is given for the slap.
That breaks the snap, head gear loose.
Now it's eight to three.
You have forty-three seconds, an eternity?
No voice left in the stands!
All are on their feet!
Now quiet, before the last whistle!
Forty-three seconds, a memory, or a crushing defeat?
He could have pushed off.
Rode out the time.
Went home with a win.
Sometimes, the head, bigger than judgment, so with him.
I will show you, what a double leg looks like!
I'm so much faster than you?
Then it will be ten to three.
For all you loyal fans to see!
But after all those take downs.
One waits for the next.
Now it's up and under, dangerous but,
A fish caught in its own net.
Bring him down, chest to chest!
When you hit the mat, no air left!
The resounding thud, yes-yes-yes, a pin!
With eight seconds left and hyper ventilation setting in!
Earlier that day, thanks for all the years of entertainment.
Bad Dogs, high school, little did we know, best yet to come!
Memories forever, 'The Fight' Montrose Regionals, warm February day.
And Lord; "Thanks you for wrestlers and grand-children, by the way!"
On their way to Denver today.
Go yee dogs of war!
Carry the flags high!
The flags of the blue and the gray!