A few months ago, I wrote a blog about getting an “(ankle) pick-me-up” from a Big Ten wrestling match. Last weekend, I once again returned to Carver Hawkeye-Arena to see Iowa face off against the Michigan Wolverines. My friend from Wisconsin, seeking a break from the state’s exploding trees–before moving to the Midwest, I had no idea it was possible for cold weather to turn bark into a ticking time bomb–came back to Iowa City for the showdown. After a tiring week of preparing for midterms and submitting my writing to literary magazines, I was grateful for yet another chance to absorb myself in sports rather than study guides.
My friends and I settled in our seats, trying to talk over the noise of the busy stadium. Then, framed by bright bursts of fire, the wrestlers ran out onto the sidelines, and the match began.
Though the energy of the crowd remained high throughout the duals, the Hawkeye score was running low compared to Michigan. We were lagging behind by only 4 points, but as Iowa struggled to muscle through the competition, that 4-point separation seemed infinite. Until the very last match of the night.
As Iowa closed the gap and proved dominant in a matter of only two periods, we were all on our feet jumping and screaming, cut off by the booming declaration that “Hawkeyes win!”
We filed out of Carver alongside all the other content college students (and disappointed Wolverine fans), imitating the gruff “blood time” announcement we kept hearing during the tournament and enjoying the warm night air of Iowa’s “fake spring.” We got all the way back to my friend’s minivan, past the pitch-black woods and dim train tracks, when we realized something was wrong.
I do have an interesting track record of events going awry in some way (such as my anaphylactic Oktoberfest and thwarted Thanksgiving plans), so I guess it was only a matter of time. One of my friends, panickedly searching her purse, said that her phone and ID were no longer in it. We ran back to the arena, which was a difficult task for me because the boots I was wearing were made for walking–determined to recover her belongings as soon as possible. Our next obstacle was that the doors were already locked, and since we’re all fairly brand loyal to the law, we needed someone to let us in, or we’d be out of luck. Fortunately, our knocking on the glass caught a nearby employee’s attention, and he opened the door for us to look.
The stadium was completely empty at that point, which was an almost surreal sight considering how full it had been only about ten minutes before. But our rescue mission was a success, and we could return to the minivan with my friend’s identity restored.
So, we got the school spirit satisfaction of a wrestling victory, a new inside joke, and a slight brush with tragedy. Truly a way to win in (folk) style.
Until next time!
