Free The Imaginary Girlfriend by John Irving

from a time when it had been legal to coax your opponent to his back by applying pain or the threat of asphyxiation instead of leverage. Ted explained to me that he always allowed Cliff to demonstrate these holds to the boys; at some point, following Cliffs demonstration, Ted would quietly take the time to tell the boys: “Not that one.” The boys, of course, were eager to learn anything new, and Cliff had much to teach that
I’d
never seen before; some of Cliffs holds were new to Ted, too.
    We had to be on our toes in the Exeter wrestling room that year. There would be some kid twisting another kid’s head off, and Ted or I would jump in and break it up. We’d always ask, “Did Cliff show you that?”
    â€œYes, sir,” the boy would say. “I think it’s called a Bulgarian head-and-elbow.” Whatever it was called, Ted or I would put a stop to it, but we would never have criticized Cliff for his efforts—Cliff was having a great time, and we adored him. So did the kids—I’m sure they were putting the Bulgarian head-and-elbow to good use, probably in their dormitories.
    As a referee, Cliff was completely reliable. He had all the right instincts for when to stop a potentially dangerous situation, for how to anticipate an injury before it happened; he always knew where the edge of the mat was—and which wrestler was using it, to what advantage—and he never called stalling on the wrong wrestler (he always knew who was stalling). It was a mystery to me how Cliff had memorized the rule book; as a referee, he permitted not a single illegal hold. (As a coach, Cliff Gallagher taught every move and hold he knew—legal or not.) Cliff taught me to be much better as a referee than I’d ever been as a wrestler. Refereeing is
all
technique; unlike wrestling, refereeing doesn’t call upon superior athletic ability—or expose the lack thereof.
    I will always remember a maniacally mismanaged high-school tournament in Maine—Cliff and I were the only actual wrestlers among our fellow referees. In the preliminary rounds, Cliff and I were also the only referees who penalized a headlock without the arm contained—if you lock up a man’s head, you’re supposed to include one of his arms in the headlock. To encircle your opponent’s head—
just
his head—is illegal. For the benefit of the assembled coaches
and
our fellow referees, Cliff put on a clinic between rounds; he made special emphasis of the headlock
with
an arm. This information was dismaying to the other referees, and to most of the coaches. One of them said, “It’s too late in the season to be showin’ ‘em somethin’ new.”
    â€œIt’s not new, it’s
legal
,” Cliff said.
    â€œIt’s new, too,” the guy said—I don’t remember if he was a coach or a referee. In any case, he expressed the sentiment of the majority: they’d been using and accepting an illegal headlock all season—probably for years—and it was nothing but a nuisance to them to enforce the rule now.
    â€œJohnny and I are calling the illegal headlock—is that clear enough?” Cliff told them. And so we did.
    The points for a repeated illegal hold can mount against a wrestler quickly. Repeated violations lead to disqualification. In no time, Cliff and I were penalizing
and
disqualifying half the state of Maine. (We “disqualified” a few coaches who protested, too.) In the semifinals, I also disqualified a heavyweight for deliberately throwing his opponent on top of the scorer’s table; I had twice warned and penalized this wrestler for continuing to wrestle off the mat—after the whistle blew. I’d even asked his coach if the heavyweight in question was
deaf.
    â€œNo, he’s just a little stupid,” his coach replied.
    When I disqualified the heavyweight, his parents came out of the stands and confronted me in the