The Wrestling Team’s Fart

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“Breathe it in!” Ryan commanded, his singlet-clad butt pressed against my face.

The sound of boys’ laughter filled the gym as the deafening fart blasted up my nose.

Stench—of gas, sweat, and old gym gear—dominated my senses. I fought back tears, asking myself how I’d gotten here. Memories came back to me in flashes.

___

It all started at freshman orientation.

I’d finally made it to college, away from the overbearing reach of family and ready for a fresh start.

I was also nervous as hell. The school I’d gotten into was a massive state university—you know, one of the ones obsessed with sports. Well, I didn’t have an athletic bone in my body.

Still, I found myself uncharacteristically social as I wandered through the freshman activities fair: a massive collection of student clubs, vying for the attention of all the eager-eyed new students.

The usual suspects caught my eye—Mathletes, Theater Club, Debate—all filled with nerdy kids like me. I was ready to approach one of them, when I heard a voice from behind me.

“Hey, freshman!” it said, startling me.

I turned to see a boy with floppy hair in casual athletic wear.

“Me…?” I asked.

“Yeah, you,” he said. “Ever thought of joining the wrestling team?”

Wrestling? I had to take a moment to make sure I’d heard him right. Sure enough, there he was, standing in front of the wrestling team’s bright sign and booth. I searched for the words to turn him down respectfully.

“I’ve…never really thought about it,” I hesitated.

“That’s ok!” he said encouragingly. “I never did wrestling seriously before I joined the team.”

I decided a more forceful approach was in order.

“Ok, but I’m not really the type, you know?”

I held up my scrawny arm for emphasis.

He seemed unphased, if a little amused by my attempts to wriggle out of this social interaction.

“Listen” he said, inching closer. “No one else is gonna tell you this, but I will: if you wanna succeed at this school, if you wanna get girls, joining a team is the only way. Trust me”

Fair enough, I thought. Too bad I wasn’t even sure if I wanted girls.

He outstretched his arm: “My name’s Cody.”

“Max,” I said, weakly shaking his hand.

“Don’t worry,” he looked me up and down. “We take all types of guys. I can tell you’re a chill dude. Come to practice on Wednesday, you’ll get to meet the rest of the team.”

He handed me a flyer with a date and location, and the words Wrestling Tryouts highlighted in bold.