Paul Stories: Goodbye Left Knee Cartilage

(Length Warning) In December 1968, a pre-season wrestling meet was held in the Tigard High School Gym. I was wrestling varsity, 191 pounds. The man I was up against looked like a gorilla who lifted weights. I broke into a sweat just looking at him. We went out for the first round, which begins with both wrestlers standing up facing each other. He instantly went in for the takedown. I braced myself and planted my feet. Alas, I apparently created some kind of suction between the bottom of my shoe and the mat, because when my body twisted my foot stayed still. Something had to give. It was my left knee. I screamed. I was in immediate, intense pain. I don't remember whether my opponent pinned me or I forfeited. Our family doctor put me on crutches for six weeks. My knee felt better. I went back to wrestling. My first day back, I was climbing a rope. There was a loud snap (it sounded loud to me, maybe it was just a sound inside me), and suddenly my legs would no longer hold me. Since my arms were too weak to climb a rope, I slid rapidly down, burning my hands. I limped to the office, and called home. The next day, we went to see a specialist. He suggested surgery. Mom asked him how soon, and he said, “Tomorrow.” I was out of school for four weeks. The operation itself wasn't so bad, but the recovery was hell. Every time I coughed or hiccupped, the pain was intense. I remember cheating on an English exam (it was supposed to be closed book, and I opened the book. I think it was Moby Dick). Afterwards, I had a scar and a pretty good knee, but the injury ended my athletic career. I got a second varsity wrestling letter anyway, which I thought was swell of the coach, although I have never been sure how the other wrestlers felt about it.