Something about the singlet. Quite the odd get-up. Quite easy to get it up when looking at the right specimen modeling the one piece suit. For those of you not familiar with the term...a singlet is the tight spandex uniform of wrestlers. A body glove of sorts that covers the athlete, however does so ever so tightly that it still allows a silhouette type view of certain areas. The bulge. The shape. The curves. None of that is lost with the singlet. One's imagination only has to work a fraction as hard to conjure up the hypothetical mental images when we see a guy in a singlet vs. a guy in blue jeans.
I wrestled in middle school. Honestly, it wasn't my first choice of sports to play. Too white to play basketball. Too caucasian to play soccer. Too cool to play tennis. And no football program offered...my options were limited. So, when a rather cut, defined, and muscular 8th grader got my attention (as if he didn't already have it) and asked me if I was game for giving wrestling a go, my mouth had already spoken up a resounding yes before my brain had much time to process the agreement I was committing to.
Wrestling = Homoerotic. It is a serious sport of strength, endurance, mentality, and survival. The guys who become elite are truly amazing athletes. I have tons of respect of the hard work and dedication they put into their passion. I also have tons of appreciation for the chance to see them in action. Or not in action. Standing around on the side of the mats or simply stretching before a match...I appreciate the chance to watch them do that, too.
Middle school wrestling was probably just the tip of the iceberg on wrestling's possible hottness scale. I mean. One of the best parts of the wrestling match doesn't take place on the mats. Or even in the gym. It is the ceremonious coming together of the young lads in the locker room upon arrival. The weigh in. Then the shedding of clothing. Leaving a strangely quiet gathering of guys looking around the room of flesh and tighty whitey's...sizing up the competition's physique as they step onto the scale. Hott.
Truth is, I wasn't extremely good at wrestling. I won a few. Lost a few. Didn't get pinned very often though. If I lost, it was usually by points after three periods. Looking back on it...I had a good time.
My seventh grade year I placed 6th in the city for my 98 pound weight class. My team was city runner-up to the perennial powerhouse. Not too shabby. My eighth grade year was mired by injury. I told my coach and my mom, and everyone for that matter, that the strained muscles in my upper back and neck area were suffered when the new kid on the team pulled an illegal double nelson during practice. They bought the scenario and I was treated and given muscle relaxers for the pain. Truth be told. My newfound boyhood obsession with being able to suck my own dick had caused the muscle strains. And my unwillingness to give up on the enjoyable hobby contributed to the severity of injury. I missed quite a bit of the eighth grade season. Sadly, auto-fellatio was my downfall.
I never got back into the sport. I regret not moving on and continuing to wrestle in high school. It sucks to get older and realize the opportunities we skip out on for one reason or another. Then it really sucks watching these videos and seeing what could have possibly been had I given it my all.
Enjoy.
