Last weekend, my eight-year-old son 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. Normally my husband would take him to wrestling matches, but he had to work 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 day more miserable, 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. We 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 conditioning. I moved my seat four times, but I couldn’t escape the air vents that were blowing extreme heat. I was tempted to get a chair and sit by the doors, but they were reserved for the coaches. When my son won his second match, I was cursing my husband. He told me our son wasn’t a very good wrestler, and I would be there for two hours at the most. We were in the fourth hour when I felt nothing come from the air vents. They didn’t switch to air conditioning, but the heat wasn’t on either. I felt like I could breathe again. My son came running over to me in tears and said he was ready to go home. He had lost his fourth match and missed getting a trophy and a prize by just one match.