Tapping Out

Technically, practice ended five minutes earlier, but every Thursday Coach Ian offered to take on any student, setting aside the Emirates Athletic Conference wrestling rules (and its code of conduct). There was no score keeping in these post-practice skirmishes; victory was achieved only by submission. Within a few weeks, most members of the Greenfield International School team had challenged their coach, a dizzying encounter with his crushing holds and lizard-like counter moves. Ian lifted them off of the mat hanging upside down; he flipped them from their stomachs to their backs, as if turning the pages of an action thriller. When the boys inevitably tapped out, walking wobbly off of the mat, they looked like they were stepping away from a fabled, somewhat rickety, roller coaster. After practice, Ian watched them dashing one by one through the gym doors to their parents’ dark SUVs flashing knives of sunlight in the heavy Gulf air. He was sure they would say nothing about these bouts until they were all together again at the next practice.

Ali weighed at least five kilos more than him, even though, as Ian couldn’t avoid noticing, his stomach was taut, unlike his own middle-aged paunch. Still, Ian easily pinned the sixteen-year-old’s wrist to the mat and slipped his ruddy right arm under his student’s elbow, closing the loop by clamping his right hand onto his own left wrist. The Americana armlock is an almost indefensible hold, especially from side control, and Ian now had full leverage on Ali’s arm. If Ian pushed up on Ali’s elbow by even a few centimeters, he couldn’t help but tap out. The pain would be blinding. Some of the boys circling the mat lay flat on their stomachs so they could see Ali at eyel evel as they cheered for him to keep fighting.

Ali’s feet skittered around, trying to find some leverage to push his coach off of his chest. Ian felt the blunt bulk of Ali’s pectoral muscles pushing upward. Ali relied on his considerable natural strength to win matches, and he never really listened to Ian’s directions on how to improve his technique. He was one of “the Beatles,” easily made helpless and flailing. So many of these kids lived in gilded cages, thought Ian, safely protected from discomfort, resistance, pain.

Ian much more admired the dedicated workers on the team, especially “the praying mantises,” a trio of spindly ninth graders from three different continents who grunted uninhibitedly in the weight room but had little to show for it. The mantises were diplomats’ kids, always somewhat less entitled, in Ian’s mind, than the children of business executives like Ali. The mantises were tough and ragged, outliers in the gleaming school that decorated its bottom-line mentality with cushy platitidues about internatinalism. Like their coach, the mantises took pride in their “DOMS” (delayed onset muscle soreness) as they walked into school the next day after an intense session in the weight room.

But now Ali wasn’t giving up. He thrust his knees upward striking repeatedly just below Ian’s ribcage. As Ali thrashed, his rapid breathing became an almost feral panting. This time Ian was impressed; Ali had finally found his fight instinct.

Ian pressed on Ali’s elbow, but rather than tapping out, Ali lifted his head up from the mat, his face bright red with anger and fear. When Ali tried to jab his coach and math teacher’s arm with his chin, Ian pushed just a little harder. Ali’s head dropped back to the mat and he began tapping his right hand frantically against Ian’s foamy shoulder. Ian released his grip and Ali’s body relaxed, deflating toward the mat. The cheering boys fell silent.

“Great match,” said Ian in the echoey silence, as he got back on his feet, standing over his still gasping student. Ian was also breathing hard. He extended a shaky hand and pulled Ali up. “You kept fighting, Ali. That’s awesome.” Ali blinked tears from his eyes as they shook hands. When Ali walked off of the mat, Ian saw that he was holding his shoulder at an odd angle. Would his parents notice this and start asking questions at dinner tonight? It always began with questions and whispers in school hallways. After that his reputation as a friendly teacher who fist-bumped students for their improved math scores, who was always happy to chaperone a school trip, who dressed as a superhero at costume parties and helped new teachers find affordable gyms would begin to change into something else.

“You’re a beast, mate,” called Ian from behind. “Remember that,” he added.

When the headmaster showed up at the next practice, he said he just wanted to “check in” with Ian, to confirm that he in fact planned to be back for the next school year. The head’s half heartedness was familar to Ian. These globally-mobile administrators always had one foot out the door themselves. The head offered to write Ian a good recommendation if he chose to seek employment elsewhere.

Ian walked over to the weight room. The mantises were doing deadlift reps, hinging their skinny shoulders, straining with determination. Ian still had one more year on his contract after this year; maybe he would stick it out. On the wall above the sets of dumbbells hung a banner with the school’s motto: “Kindness, Empathy, International-mindedness.” Everyone now championed such twenty-first century soft skills, but what, Ian wondered, was wrong with toughness, even aggression sometimes? With fighting against something that didn’t want you to win, that made you wait too long before tapping out?

About the author:

Dan Shiffman is an English teacher at the International School of Hamburg. He previously taught in Uzbekistan, Japan and the US. He has published work in such places as Hobart, X-ray Literary, Litbreak and Shark Reef. You can read more of his work at danshiffman.com.

In the artist’s words:

Paul Luikart is a fiction writer who has published two collections of short stories. He is an adjunct professor of fiction writing at Covenant College in Lookout Mountain, Georgia. He’s also a painter and the ways in which color can be applied to the canvas in thick drips and swoops is completely fascinating to him.