Last weekend, my eight-year-old child had a marathon wrestling match.
They had ten teams and they had to wrestle until they were down to just one winner.
I never realized how long and boring a wrestling match could be, however normally my hubby would take him to wrestling matches, but he had to labor that weekend. I sat in the bleachers for almost eight hours. The only break I got was when Michael needed a drink or something to eat. As if they could have made the afternoon more angry, they had the furnace running, and it felt like it was 100 degrees in the gym. I was hoping my son’s team would be the first team up and Michael would lose his match. My friend and I could have been out of the gym in half an hour. Instead, they were the third team to match up, and Michael won his match. I was praying for air conditioner. I moved my seat four times, but I could not escape the air vents that were blowing drastic heat. I was tempted to get a chair and sit by the doors, but they were reserved for the coaches. When my child won his second match, I was cursing my hubby. He told me our child wasn’t a unquestionably nice wrestler, and I would be there for two hours at the most. My friend and I were in the second hour when I felt nothing come from the air vents. They didn’t switch to air conditioner, but the heat wasn’t on either. I felt like I could breathe again. My child came running over to me in tears and said he was ready to go home. He had lost his second match and missed getting a trophy and a prize by just one match.