Like the pine trees lining the winding road, I got a name, I got a name

Like the singing bird and the croaking toad, I got a name, I've got a name

And I carry it with me like my Daddy did

But I'm living the dream that he kept hid

I’ve Got a Name, Jim Croce

I am eighteen years removed from the last time I sat at the edge of a mat at the Nebraska State Wrestling Tournament.

That means nearly every competitor at this year’s tournament wasn’t born when I hung up my whistle and put away my kneepads.

That career change brought relief to more than one wrestling official who grew tired of my occasional—or more occasional—tirade about their style of determining whether an opponent was stalling.

When you’ve been mat-side in the State finals, no other location can take that place.

Consequently, I have been an infrequent visitor to the tournament in those years.

But I still follow the sport, although not as closely as when it was something that consumed hours, days and months of my life.

I read the newspaper accounts of the seasons’ competitions, amazed that many of the coaches I coached with and against are still in the business.

One led his team to their fourth straight championship this season.

At age 50, I marvel that he can still get down on the mat and roll around with his wrestlers, but he obviously is the master technician of moves and counters that he always was.

I also read the results and ratings.

The names don’t change. This year’s tournament had a familiar ring to it.

Trampe from Ord. Coufal from Howells. Glause from Palmer. Weibelhaus from Creighton.

The year is 2008. It could be 1990.

Wrestling has always been about families. At Lyons-Decatur it included the Tranmers. The Prestons. The Gatewoods. The Gatzemeyers.

In wrestling the champion’s dream—passed on from father to son—is not hidden.

The current group of Nebraska high school wrestlers could well be the sons of those who also had the dream of their fathers: to compete in the State Tournament, and walk into the finals to the strains of Queen’s “We Are The Champions”.

Gentlemen, the music salutes you and your dream.