Lots of rewards from wrestling ~ January 21, 2004

David Heiller

It was fun to write the articles in this week’s paper about the 1970 wrestling team. I think about that team and season a lot.

I was a junior that year, and wrestled quite a bit of varsity at 154. Bob Lange wrestled at 145, and Ron Meiners wrestled at 165 during much of the season. When the district tournament came, Ron cut weight to wrestle 154, and I was out of a job.

That was not a problem, because Ron was in another league, and that’s the nature of sports. You’ve got to learn to lose.

That might not sound like a good attitude, but it ultimately leads to learning how to win.

Bob Lange’s mother, Vi, reminded me of that. I found a folder full of old newspaper clippings about the 1970 team in a dresser drawer a couple weeks ago. One reporter interviewed Mrs. Lange after the state tournament, and she said, “These boys have won and lost and you must win and lose to be a winner.” I couldn’t agree more.

The Langes personified wrestling, a sport which has a strange mix of bullheaded independence and team spirit.

The independence is obvious: You get out in the middle of the mat and there is just you and him. No one to pass the ball to, no one to throw a block for you.

But those teammates are really a big part of it.

David was assistant wrestling 
coach in Stewartville in 1980. 
He loved that. (I never really 
understood the sport.)

That point was illustrated in another newspaper article from the Winona Daily News by Howard Lestrud in describing a scene from the Region One tournament in Winona. “Wrestling is oftentimes called an individual sport and not a team sport, but Lange demonstrated the opposite,” Lestrud wrote. “Teammate Ron Meiners wrestled powerful Greg Koelsch of Rochester JM in the match following Lange. During a break in the action, Lange sprinted from his seat in the bleachers. ‘I have to go talk to Ron,’ puffed Lange. He slipped by his coaches Leo Simon and Ed Ferkingstad and gave Meiners some advice. Meiners won 7-4.”

That was the thing that impressed me the most in those articles and in the present day recollections from the wrestlers. They vaguely remembered the individual matches, but they almost all recalled what a good thing they had going as a team.

And not just with their varsity teammates. They said everyone contributed, the people on JV, the guys in practice that never got the limelight—in other words, guys like me—and I could tell they meant it.

It was amazing to wrestle Mark Lange in practice, because I’ve never seen a person before or since with that kind of natural ability. He was like a cat, always perfectly balanced.

But it was more rewarding when I asked him last week what helped him get so good, and he said, “You did, Dave.”

Not just me, obviously, but me and Cary Wohlers and Mike Ellenz and Bruce Bulman and dozens of other wrestlers that slogged through the torture chamber of practice. Some of us became state champions. Others were decent, some barely so. But in the big picture, that doesn’t matter.

That’s what I like to keep in mind when I watch wrestling. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a joy to watch Collin Pitts gift wrap his opponents. But that 10-9 overtime loss by an average wrestler is just as compelling, because I know that guy has worked and tried just as hard. He’s learned how to win and lose.

And if he’s lucky, he has learned about being a part of a team, and he’ll remember that most of all.

Sports is just sports ~ October 12, 2000

David Heiller                                                                                                                                                                                     

“How did you sleep?” Cindy asked when I woke up on Tuesday morning.

“Great,” I replied. “I slept the sleep of a Vikings victory.”

And it was true. Monday nights I don’t often sleep well, as I ponder what the heck to put in the Askov American for that week.

But the Vikings had won, and I had drifted off to sleep with scenes of the, win playing through my smiling head.

Of course, there is another side of this coin.

I saw an old college friend, Scott, on Saturday. I hadn’t seen him for a couple years, so we tried to catch up on each other’s lives, which for guys means talking about sports. I was shocked to hear that he didn’t care to watch the Vikings, and hadn’t for several years. He said he was disgusted with their pampered egos and their silly antics. But he also said he couldn’t stand the roller coaster of emotions when they lose.

He didn’t use those words. Only newspaper editors use words like that. But translated from Martian, that’s what he meant.

My son and I watched the Vikings game on Monday night together. When they fell behind late in the game, I turned to him and said, “Now I know why Scott doesn’t watch the Vikings.”

Our smaller Vikings fan.

Yet they won, and I slept well, and that’s one reason why I do watch them.

Another reason I like sports is that it is something I can share with my son, who is 17. We don’t always have a lot to talk about, and the Vikings bridge that gap.

But dealing with losing is a big challenge, something that both children and adults have to deal with.

I remember last year, after the New York Mets lost in the playoffs. The final game ended at midnight. It was a tough loss. I knew my friend, Steve, who is a big Mets fan, would still be awake. So I called him at midnight, which is something that I would not do with anyone unless I was the bearer of bad news. In a sense, I was that grim messenger, although Steve already knew the score.

Steve was indeed awake. He was almost despondent. He said with some bitterness that his kids had gone to bed, had given up on his beloved Mets. He had told them the game wasn’t over, but they hadn’t believed. Maybe they were like Scott and didn’t want to have their hearts mauled.

Steve was about as sad as a person could be without involving a death in the family.

We talked about the game, about this player and that play. I let Steve do most of the talking. I think it helped him. At one point he even said something like, “I’m glad you understand.”

Sports is just sports, but in a way that’s like saying water is just water. They are both pretty important in our lives, as the fall season of sports reminds me every year.

They can keep you awake at night, and they can give you a good night’s sleep too.

An old hero returns ~ May 4, 1995

David Heiller

When our son interviewed Alan Page on April 27, it brought an old hero of mine back to life, only this time it was real life.

Alan Page football card.
 Noah has one that he graciously signed.

Like many 40-somethings, I followed the Vikings through their glory years of the late 1960s and 1970s. It was a team filled with many gritty players, but the real star was Alan Page.

He played defensive tackle. He wasn’t the biggest player or the strongest. He definitely wasn’t the flashiest. But he was the quickest, the cleanest, the most determined. When you needed the big defensive play, Alan Page came through.

In my young mind, Alan Page was quite simply the best football player ever, the heart and soul of a big, strong, honest football team.

Bob Hertz, Willow River, remembered one game on Thanksgiving against Detroit. Page was called for roughing the passer. It was a bad call, and you could tell Page was angry.

A player today would storm around and get called for unsportsmanlike conduct and a 15-yard penalty. Alan Page just got even. He sacked the quarterback on the next two plays, then intercepted a pass and ran it in for a touchdown.

Maybe that’s how it went. Maybe Bob’s fertile mind has improved the legend. But Alan Page was that good.

Noah came to like Alan Page vicariously, through me and through his Uncle Randy. Randy’s middle name is Allen, and he was such a big Alan Page fan as a kid that he preferred to be called Alan.

Noah loves football. He’s a straight A student when it comes to football. When he read about Alan Page, his young football instincts told him that here was perhaps the best defensive tackle that ever played. Better than his modern day Viking hero at the same position, John Randle.

Alan Page, 
Minnesota Supreme Court Justice 

My respect for Alan Page went beyond the football field. I voted for him when he was elected in 1992 for Minnesota Supreme Court justice. I felt proud when he was elected, because he had somehow confirmed my faith in him. But my respect rose even more when Alan Page agreed to an interview with an 11-year old kid.

How many past or present sports superstars would do that? Most are too busy endorsing tennis shoes, or shunning publicity, or wallowing in it.

And it skyrocketed when I heard a tape of their conversation. Alan Page knew he had an adoring fan at his feet. He had many oppor­tunities to brag and swagger and laugh at Noah’s innocent questions.

But his answers were patient and precise, and they drilled home a central point the way he used to drill running backs: the importance of education.

He must know what comes from the mouth of babes, because some of Noah’s questions beat anything Sid Hartman could throw out, and so did Alan Page’s answers. Two of them stand out.

One was when Noah asked, “What advice would you give kids that play sports?”

Our boy reporter.

Page answered, “Well, the primary advice would be twofold. One, sports are fun. They are very good for health, both mental and physical. And they can be very enjoyable. But it’s far more important to prepare yourself in the classroom, because ultimately no matter how good an athlete you are, no matter how successful you are, at some point your athletic career ends, and you have to become a productive member of society. I would encourage them to enjoy their sports but also to prepare themselves for the future.”

Time and again, Alan Page turned his answer toward the importance of education. I had to smile in admiration. I wanted to shake his hand. Because this is something we struggle with almost every day, with our two kids.

And here was Alan Page, Noah’s hero, MY hero, talking about the very thing WE talk about and work on almost every night. It was so encouraging to hear Alan Page say it so sincerely and clearly.

The other question that stands out was, “Do you think pro athletes of today should be role models?”

Alan Page could have pontificated on that in Charles Barkley fashion. But his answer was as simple as it was wise. “Whether I think they should be or not, we probably treat them that way. I think that professional athletes make reasonably good heroes because of their athletic abilities, but they don’t necessarily make good role models.”

I still don’t really know Alan Page. But he is no longer just my hero. He’s my role model too, and my son’s, and that is good.