160 pounds - Matyn vs Calder

The gym roared beneath the buzz of halogen lights and the stomp of student-section boots on bleachers. It was dual meet night at State University, and the home team was down by three. 

At 160 pounds, Maya Matyn stepped onto the mat, her warmup jacket slipping off her shoulders to reveal a singlet tight across dense, hard-earned muscle. 

The crowd murmured—some curious, others skeptical. 

Across from her stood Anthony Calder, the visiting team’s junior captain, known for punishing underhooks and a vicious front headlock. He sneered slightly as they met at center. 

The ref blew the whistle. First contact came fast. Anthony snapped her head down with a collar tie and went heavy, trying to assert control early. 

Maya adjusted her stance, low and tight, posting her right hand against his shoulder while circling left. His underhook came next. She blocked it with her elbow, cleared it, and shot for a low single. 

Her shoulder dug behind his knee. He sprawled. Hard. Her forehead scraped the mat. She gritted her teeth, holding the leg tight and circling to finish. He crossfaced her violently. The crowd groaned. 

Still, she clung to the leg, ran the pipe, and brought him to his butt. 

Two points. 

The ref's fingers went up. "Two!" 

She transitioned to a tight waist and ankle ride, trying to break him down. Calder exploded upward. Maya floated with him, keeping hips tight, her right foot slipping in for a spiral ride. 

He tried to roll through. She followed, slipping her left arm under for a bar, and drove him forward onto his chest. He grunted, feet kicking. 

She ran the bar arm tight, perpendicular across his back, adjusted her base, and began to tilt him. The crowd surged. His shoulder blades hovered. He bridged, neck straining. Her chest pressed low into his ribs, controlling his breathing. 

"Short time!" 

Ten seconds left in the first. Maya leaned harder. The ref slapped the mat—no pin. Time. 

Back to neutral for period two. 

Anthony came out fast again, shooting a double. She sprawled, snapped, and spun behind. Another two. The score was 4-0. He escaped quickly: 4-1. Then came a scramble. He faked high, then ducked under for a single. 

Maya whizzered hard, hopping on one leg. He drove, but she sprawled again, twisting into him, hips heavy, chest tight to his back. 

The gym erupted as she hooked both legs in. Legs in meant control. 

Then she went for it. Power half. Her right arm slid under his armpit, hand pushing his head forward. 

Her hips shifted up. She cranked. Calder screamed, twisting, resisting. She kept going. 

Slowly, he rolled to his back. 

Shoulder blades flat. 

The ref dropped. Slap. "Fall!" 

The crowd exploded. 

Maya took a moment to savor her victory, sitting astride Calder and flexing her muscles as he lay on the mat, staring up at her, stunned. 

Maya turned to Calder's teammates and flexed again—biceps sharp and solid. They looked on in horror as their wrestler lay humiliated on the mat. "I hate it when the beat us," one of the wrestlers whispered to his buddy, who nodded in agreement.

Maya's teammates roared, banging the mat. Coach Dempsey pumped a fist. Final score? State up by three. Maya's pin sealed it.