Goal: The Upset (Part Two)

Frank Andersson and I came together in the center of the mat and shook hands. Then the referee blew the whistle, and the first period began. I came out sprinting, just as I had planned. And just as I had planned, I scored on Andersson almost immediately with my favorite throw, my slam headlock. Fifteen seconds into the match, I swung my right arm through the air and slammed my shoulder across Frank Andersson's neck, and hurled him down onto the mat. The blow came so fast and with such power that Andersson had no chance of stopping it. Having thrown him down, I was unable to hold him on the matŠ he was so strong. Instantly, he was back on his feet. But I was leading, amazingly, 3 points to 0. My quick score was certainly unexpected, and the crowd, which was 95% American, screamed furiously.

Moments later, I tried the headlock again. But this time, he stopped me and I slipped and fell to my belly. My botched throw not only earned Andersson a point from the referee, it gave him a chance to try the suplex as I fought for position down on the mat.

What followed then, I believe, was the turning point of the match. It all happened so fast. Frank Andersson got his hands underneath me and began to lift. The crowd was screaming. I remember thinking, "I've just got to fight!" For a second, my feet were off the ground, and then I adjusted and got my toes barely on the floor. At this point, all my knowledge of technique went flying out the window. I just gritted my teeth and got as tough as I could get. I was like a frenzied animal caught in the jaws of a trap. Survival was my only concern. And I was going to claw and writhe and do everything I could to survive.

I twisted and thrashed so violently that Frank Andersson had to set me down. Then, deliberately, he lifted me again. And again he raised me slightly off my feet. This time I turned into him. I faced him. I didn¹t think to myself, "Oh he's lifting me so I have to turn into him." I just did it. It wasn't necessarily a classic defense, but it was the only thing I could do at the time. I think it shocked him. And it worked. We both fell down on the mat.

Frank Andersson, his arms still locked around me, lifted me a third time and tried to turn me in a different direction. I fought like a tiger and for a third time I rebuffed him. It was furious and frenzied. The whole episode lasted 45 seconds. The match itself was only one minute old.

The referee then blew his whistle to stop the action, and Andersson and I separated. I had survived. Perhaps I had done more than just survive. As I backed away from him, my head up, he remained on his knees for a moment, holding his back. Then he stole a few seconds so he could catch his breath. I don't know whether he had really hurt his back or whether he just needed a little rest. But I do know that lifting someone like that three times without success can take a lot out of you. I knew it must have taken something out of him. And it said a lot to me, too. I thought, "Yeah, I stopped him."

Frank Andersson didn't get much time to recoup. The referee immediately called him back into a wrestling position. Moments later I scored again. Gripping his left arm with both of my arms in the 2-on-1 position, I stepped in between his legs, turned my hips and threw him over my shoulder, a reverse arm throw. Frank Andersson landed on his hands and the side of his face, with both feet in the air. I received only one point this time, for a correct throw, because Andersson, with his cat-like sense of balance, went through the air without exposing his back and was on his feet almost instantly.

I was leading now, 4-1. But that didn't mean I was cocky. He was still strong. And explosive. I was well aware that all he needed was one dramatic suplex and he would surge ahead of me, 5-4. I knew that if I let up one inch he could beat me. And I was really afraid that could very easily happen. So I never let up, not for one second.

About two minutes into our match, the referee cautioned Frank Andersson and put him in the down position but I couldn¹t turn him. With about 15 seconds left in the first period it was my turn to be cautioned. Frank Andersson now had the option of putting me down on the mat with 15 seconds left, or of waiting until the start of the second three-minute period, when he would not have to worry about the clock running out on him. Naturally, Andersson elected to wait. This also gave him the advantage of being rested, and it gave him the chance to try to throw me when I was nice and dry after I had toweled off during the break.

I was not hysterical when I went to my corner after the period ended, leading 4-1, but some people in the stands might have thought I was. I was wired with adrenaline, consumed by my stunning early success. Ron Finley, the Olympic coach, and Brad Rheingans, one of the assistant coaches, met me in my corner, but I hardly saw them. Everything was a blur. I was supposed to sit down so they could fan me with a towel, but I couldn¹t sit. Andersson was sitting but I couldn¹t. I was too fired up. I just kept standing and talking excitedly. Ron and Brad were supposed to be giving me advice, but they didn¹t need to. I knew what I had to do and I told them.

"I've gotta stay on him," I rasped. "I¹ve gotta keep moving! I can't let up! I can't let up!"

Ron Finley asked me if I wanted to sit down, and I said no, I didn't want to sit down. I didn't want to relax. In my own mind, I remember, I didn't want my concentration to drop. Because I was afraid that if it did drop, Frank Andersson was going to zero in and throw me. I knew that I was going "down" on the mat first thing during the second period, and if I relaxed – boom! – I'd be gone. Four points, and he'd be winning, 5-4.

We went out on the mat and they put me down. The whistle blew. He started to lift and locked his arms around my waist right away. He wanted to throw me fast because he had had so much trouble before, when he had taken his time. He got me in the air and as he was prepared to throw me, I twisted my body around and faced him. His back arched and he fell onto the out-of-bounds line, hitting his shoulders and head. I fell, too, my chest on top of him. I was certain I had earned two points.

But I was wrong, I was given no points. The score was still 4-1, not 6-1, although I did not know it until about 10 seconds after we had started wrestling again. I was surprised when I saw the score out of my peripheral vision, but I didn¹t let it affect my intensity. It would have been easy to say, "I should have gotten that!" But in fact it helped me, because it made me keep thinking, "Don't let up! Keep going!" Perhaps I would have gotten a little lazy if I had rolled ahead, 6-1. I might have let up for a heartbeat of a second, and that¹s all it would have taken for him to pitch me.

Even though I had won no points, this was the second turning point of our match. Frank Andersson, in his mind, knew he was lucky to escape without being scored upon. And he knew that in two attempts, he had failed to throw me.

The match continued fiercely. Both of us pummeling, pushing and fighting for position. As we fought I started to sense that Andersson's movements were slowing down. A few seconds later, I got underneath him with double underhooks, my arms locked, elbows bent, underneath his arms. It was an excellent position for me and a poor position for him, and it suggested he was getting tired. Deep down, however, I thought he might be setting a trap. Perhaps he was faking fatigue so he could catch me by surprise. I refused to believe he was actually getting tired. He was a cagey competitor. Maybe, I thought, he's going to do something I've never seen him do before.

With about one minute and 45 seconds left in our match, the referee cautioned me for a second time. And for the third time in our match, I was down on the floor. This could be his last opportunity to throw me, I thought to myself. If only I could hold on one more time! And hold on I did. I blocked Andersson's moves by keeping my elbows in. The referee repeatedly slapped my hands, first one then the other, in an effort to make me open up. But I didn¹t open up any more than I had to. I was like a clam opening his shell just a crack. I didn¹t dare open up completely, because I didn¹t want the Swede to grab me and take away the victory that seemed more and more within my grasp.

Andersson never got me off the ground this time. By the time he got his hands locked around me, 30 seconds had elapsed, and I met his challenge by twisting my body and forcing him so far out of position that he had to let go. The referee then blew the whistle, bringing us back to our feet.

The frenzied battle continued and soon Andersson was cautioned for a second time, and once again I couldn't budge him. But the seconds were ticking away. When Andersson came back to his feet, only thirty-five seconds remained. For the first time, I thought in my heart that I could see the end and that I could beat him. I looked up at the clock and thought to myself, "I can burn for 35 seconds." Frank Andersson made some last, desperate attempts, trying to swoop in on me from underneath and then from above. But I was sprinting now, pummeling him from the right and from the left, and I never gave him a chance to set up a throw.

I know I was tired by this time, because it was a terribly physical and emotional match. But the funny thing is I don't remember being the least bit tired. Year in and year out, I had nearly always passed the threshold of fatigue when wrestling against my toughest opponents. As with other wrestlers, my ability to operate in that zone of pain was strictly related to how many times I had actually operated in that zone. And I had been there a thousand times before. So when I crossed the inevitable threshold against Andersson and reached that plateau where air comes hard and in stinging gulps and your gut tightens like a vice, I was neither worried nor intimidated. I knew I wasn't completely spent. I knew I could go on.

By contrast, Frank Andersson was exhausted. During the last 25 seconds, he couldn't even attempt a move. He was finished and he and I and the crowd knew it. With 10 seconds remaining, the crowd began to chant. Ten, nine, eightŠ It was deafening. I will never forget that crowd. It was a sea of fury.

When the referee blew the whistle, I raised my arms and Andersson bent over in a gesture of utter exhaustion. He was disappointed, obviously, and totally exhausted. My strategy had worked perfectly. I had worn him down just as I had wanted to. I had stopped him from throwing me. I had broken him, physically and mentally.

My victory over Frank Andersson, by a score of 4-1, was not the closest match I had at the Los Angeles Olympic Games. In the final round against Ilie Matei of Romania, I won via the tie-breaker with the score tied at 1 point apiece. Andersson, the bronze medalist, was nevertheless the toughest of the five men I wrestled in the Olympics. The Los Angeles Times called my victory over him "one of the major upsets of the games."

Against Andersson, I wrestled the single greatest match of my life. I have never been so intense in a match from start to finish. All of those years of dreaming, planning, striving and coping had yielded the perfect performance. My 13 years of effort had brought me to a point where I was so unyielding in my mission and so well prepared that every move I made was right. This, in the end, was my proudest moment of the Olympics.

My happiest moment of the Olympics came the next evening, at the awards ceremony. Just before Frank Andersson, Ilie Matei and I walked up to the awards stand, Andersson came up to me, smiling. "Congratulation," he said. "You wrestled well. You deserved to win. I¹m happy you won in the finals."

"Thank you," I said, smiling back.

Then we stepped up on the victory stand. I stood in the center. Andersson was to my left. Matei was to my right. As we stood together, Andersson grasped my hand in his and raised my arm.

When the National Anthem was played, I had to blink several times to keep the tears from falling. I swallowed hard a few times and then began to sing. I had achieved my ultimate goal. I had realized all my dreams. I was stunned, completely stunned and happier than I can ever say.