His face still a vicious mask, the tone of his voice told me the outwardly raging Tarzan wasn't as mad as he looked. Feeling more at ease, I moved off the ropes into another lock up and, without a clue as to how, acquired a headlock on my opponent. When I tried to improve on this puzzling advantage, I made a surprising discovery.
Despite what it looked like to the fans, Tarzan was in total control of the situation. Though I clutched him around the head, with his blond crew cut sticking up through my clasped arms, his left hand gripped my left wrist, blocking the exertion of any real pressure to his head or neck, but also holding my left arm snugly in place around them. At the same time, his right arm was clamped tightly around my waist, allowing him to hold me in place or move me around the ring at will. Basically, it was he, not me, who had him in my headlock.
Butterflies chased away the sinking feeling I had in my stomach when the match began, making me a bit more confident. Despite predictions of doom from the wrestlers in my dressing room, I was still disaster-free, standing in the center of the ring with a headlock of sorts on Tarzan. Baffled as to how or why I appeared to control this powerful man, I began to see merit in the theory that ignorance is bliss.
That I was even here seemed unreal. Five whirlwind days ago, I stood in my martial arts studio, fifteen hundred miles away. With no intention of leaving the area any time soon. I had been refusing employment from the very man I now worked for.
"Thank you for your offer, Mr. Luttrell," I replied. "Florida would be a nice place to live, but I'm just not interested in becoming a professional wrestler."
This was the fourth telephone call I'd received from a professional wrestling promoter wanting to know if l was interested in turning pro. I don't know much about his business, have nothing against the sport, but have too much on my plate and worked too hard and long toward my own goals to drop everything in order to do something else.
My amateur wrestling school, Mick Michaels Academy, is flourishing. It was doing only so-so before the Barcelona Olympics; my return from Spain with a gold medal in my pocket triggered heavy enrollment that remained steady even now, eighteen months after the Game.