TRUE HARSHNESS: The last wrestling match for justice

By Martin Philipp

Dieser autobiographische Tatsachenbericht beschreibt auf spannende und emotionale Weise, den Kampf eines Gewaltopfers ums Überleben und für die Verurteilung der Täter.

• Language: English
• Publisher: tredition
• Release date: Jan 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9783347819344

Book preview

My carefree life

It’s Saturday morning and I get up with a huge hangover from the night before. I have once again turned the night into day. It must have been more than just three wheat beers. And there was that little blonde beer too… Unfortunately, I can’t remember any more. It’s the kind of Saturday I love. Today we have a home fight coming up. It’s against the local rival. And you can be sure that the wrestling hall will be filled to capacity. I first take a shower before heading to the competition hall’s weighing room. I open all the windows, because even I can’t tolerate the reek coming off me. Breakfast is cancelled. It’s already too late, and anyway I probably can’t keep anything down. Yesterday’s beer consumption will however throw a wrench in my fighting weight limit. With wise foresight I pack my running shoes. I still need to lose a kilogram in order to not be prematurely entered as a loser on the competition list this evening, which is what will happen if I’m too heavy for the weight class I’m entered for. But I had expected much more extra weight than what the scales actually show. Arriving at the competition hall, I get ready for a relaxed endurance run of a few kilometers. My current state doesn’t allow for much more. I’m starting to get nervous. Before I start running, one of our supervisors lectures me. It’s not acceptable for young people to go out drinking the night before a fight. Well, someone must have squealed. But I don’t give a damn what is acceptable and what is not. My head is buzzing…

I am nervous before every fight and more so than usual today. I have never yet been able to beat the opponent I am set to fight this evening. Even though our fights have always been close and very hard fought, he has so far kept the upper hand. This is to change today, I tell myself. I increase the pace while running, but it’s like walking a tightrope as I still don’t have my balance completely under control. A side stitch forces me to reduce my speed again very quickly. And my nervousness doesn’t let up a bit. I lie down again around lunchtime to make sure my head is clear. Of course, it’s also good for the breakdown of alcohol. We usually meet an hour before the weigh-in, and I make my way to the martial arts hall. As expected, the hall is packed with spectators.

My fight takes place according to my weight class, after the halftime break. When the hall announcer announces both my opponent and me in the middleweight class and names the style as Greco-Roman, the adrenaline almost literally runs out of my ears. I step onto the mat. After the shrill sound of the referee’s whistle, the din of drums, fan chants and whistles reverberate. The noise drives us at each other. It is a very hard fight. At the very beginning of the fight, I fall into a head-high swing. I am able to transfer this technique and make up points. Nevertheless, I have to chase a points deficit right from the start. After just a short time I already have the first bruises on my face where my opponent’s head has hit me several times. But I am the more active fighter. The opportunity arises to put an end to this spook: an attack on my opponent’s hip. If he retreats, I get one activity point. If he stands his ground, I get an all-desired technique point. But in the heat of the moment, I do something completely rash. Instead attacking his hip, I push my opponent off the wrestling mat, and to make matters worse, he falls onto a spectator bench. The referee’s whistle sounds. The fight is interrupted. The spectators on the bench hurry away. My opponent’s fans, the attendants and even the father of my opponent storm onto the wrestling mat and want to get their hands on me. My sports comrades shield me, and try to apologize to the angry people and to my opponent. When the situation calms down a bit, our fight continues. The fans take their seats again and cheer us both on. The next minute, my opponent headbutts me in the face. That was his answer to my unsportsmanlike action. Despite my best efforts, I can’t close the points deficit. My opponent is still the superior fighter and I wasn’t able to change that today. Nevertheless, the fans don’t let me feel any disappointment. Even though our fights are always quite brutal, we wrestlers get along well after the final whistle. It’s great that we are able to separate the sport from everything else. The team match is over. The 300 spectators have calmed down to some extent. The overall result shows that my team has been defeated today. Despite all the excitement, the second phase of the evening is ushered in. Freshly showered, I settle down at the bar with my sports comrades. A wheat beer helps me with the pain of the lost competition. Now I have to listen to the chatter of know-it-all fans and sponsors. Equipped only with lay-person’s knowledge about the sport of wrestling, they give me advice on how I can walk off the mat as a winner next time. The slap in the face that stings the most is the finger pointing – at least, at the time that’s what I thought was the worst. I let it all wash over me and sink into my own analysis of the fight. After a few drinks I then consider how to spend the rest of the evening – the night is still young. I ask the young woman next to me if she wants to suck my tongue. When I stretch it out, she complies with my request. Following this initial acquaintance, I laugh out loud. And I would like to hope that tomorrow I will still know her name. – Oh man, I was at the top of my game back then. It never occurred to me at the time that a fall from the top would be possible.

Ground fighting

I’m not bad at my sport. After all, I fight with my team in the third highest competitive league in the country. I’m not good enough for more than that. I simply lack a good deal of discipline. I indulge too much in physical and carnal pleasures. And I don’t want to give that up.

I am young and spoiled by my life. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but in my understanding of it I would describe myself as attractive. I enjoy my youth to the fullest. I am well-known in my hometown because of my outgoing nature and my sporting activities. I have a large circle of friends. And I am sure that many would walk through fire with me if it came down to it. It doesn’t occur to me that I would ever have to filter friends out of this circle. Of course, we also go overboard sometimes. We also have to admonish a troublemaker from time to time. But on the whole, our sporting spirit prevails outside the sports hall as well. We often have a glass or two too much. But I think that’s just part of being young. My Sturm-and-Drang time began at the age of 14.

At this tender age I gained my first experience with a young woman whose appearance made her a real object of desire. Even my father raved to my mother about her appearance after he surprised us in the house hobby room having a good time with each other. I am not averse to the world of women. And the number of beds I landed in added