NO CHALLENGERS A blacklight tournament tragedy in three acts
Two dads and a mom drove 90 minutes to a blacklight wrestling tournament. Their kids are too good. Nobody will wrestle them. This is their story.
The Pacer
Has checked the bracket board 14 times. It hasn't changed. He knows it hasn't changed. He's going to check again.
The Scroll Queen
Ran out of Facebook 40 minutes ago. Now reading articles about whether mercury is in retrograde. It might explain this bracket.
The Philosopher
Staring at the UV lights contemplating whether this is what peak parenting looks like. He's been silent for 20 minutes. Nobody's worried.
THE TIMELINE
Pull into the parking lot. Howard Jr-Sr High School. Kids are fired up. Face paint station. UV lights already hitting different. This is going to be awesome.
"This was such a good idea."Kids weigh in. You peek at the brackets. There are... not a lot of names in your kids' weight classes. You tell yourself it's early. More people are coming. Definitely.
"I'm sure it'll fill out."Your kid has a first-round bye. Cool, they'll be fresh. Wait — they also have a second-round bye? The bracket has three names in it and one already scratched. Your kid is about to win a blacklight tournament by existing.
"...so we drove 90 minutes for this."
Your kid finally wrestles. It lasts 47 seconds. Pin. Back to the bleachers. The three of you look at each other. Nobody says it, but everyone's thinking it.
"That's... it?"The other brackets are still going. A dad leans over. "When's your kid up next?" You check the bracket. "Uh... maybe 7:30? If someone doesn't forfeit." The dad nods solemnly. He's been here before.
All three of you are on your phones. The UV light makes the screens look weird. You've scrolled past the same Facebook post three times. The kids are running around with glowsticks. At least someone's having fun.
You've now had the same three conversations: (1) "These brackets are rough," (2) "Remember the tournament in Mitchell? Way better brackets," and (3) "Should we just do exhibition matches?" Nobody wants to ask the table. You'd rather suffer in silence.
You've entered the fifth and final stage of wrestling parent grief: acceptance. Your kid is too good for this bracket. You should feel proud. Instead you feel like you're trapped in a very purple waiting room with a really good sound system.
"At least the face paint was cool."Your kid's championship match. The opponent shows up. Hope! Actual, real hope. The whistle blows. Thirty-eight seconds later, it's over. Pin. Your kid runs over excited. You high-five them. You mean it. You're also calculating the drive home.
THE BRACKET OF SADNESS
THE FIVE STAGES
Denial
"More kids are probably coming. Registration's probably still open."
Anger
"We drove NINETY MINUTES. There are THREE kids in the bracket."
Bargaining
"Can we bump up a weight class? Exhibition? I'll pay extra. Anything."
Depression
*stares at empty bracket board under purple light for 40 minutes*
Acceptance
"Well... at least the face paint was fun. And the hot dogs were okay."
"The blacklight made everything glow except our enthusiasm after the second bye." — Anonymous Wrestling Parent, Howard SD
THE RIDE HOME
Kids are exhausted from four hours of running around in UV face paint. They wrestled for a combined 4 minutes and 31 seconds. They're asleep before you hit the highway. The trophy is glowing faintly in the backseat from the residual face paint.
"The problem with having good kids is nobody wants to wrestle them. The problem with being their parent is you still have to watch them not wrestle for four hours." — Every Wrestling Parent, Everywhere