this poem is written by former Hawkeye Trent Goodale's younger brother, Theran Goodale. He wrestles at Osage and was a third place finisher this past year as a Junior.

"Blood, Sweat, and Tears"

Each drop of blood that hits the ground,
strengthens his reserve.
Every time a drop falls,
he pushes harder.
No time or point in stopping.
His partner won't stop,
so neither will he.
His blood goes into this sport he loves,
his pain along with it.

The sweat is enveloping him.
All of his clothes stained and weighed down with it.
His whole body's wet, and warm,
his breaths are shallow and rushed.
Each new drip that goes down his face,
brings him closer to his goal.
Each drip is added together to make his weight.
No time or point in stopping.
His partner won't stop,
so neither will he.
Sweat is a part of this sport,
and a part of him.

His tears slowly roll,
down his face onto the mat.
As he looks his opponent in the face,
both bleeding, sweating, and ready to drop.
Neither had given up,
it was a fight until the end.
He looks up to his parents in the crowd,
sitting where he knew they would be.
He looks to the fans,
the coaches,
and his team mates.
A tear falls for each of them.
He thinks of all the countless hours he has put in,
all the missed parties,
all the uneaten food,
all the time he has lost;
all the blood he has shed,
all the sweat he has given,
and all the tears he has cried.
A tear falls for each of these.

He thinks of all the blood, sweat, and tears he has dripped.
The crimson rivers he could have made with that blood.
The pounds he lost with all that sweat.
The showers he could have taken under all those tears.

Was all of that time wasted?
All of that passion misplaced?
Was it all worth it?

The referee shakes both their hands.
He wipes a little blood from his mouth,
shakes the sweat from his eyes,
and lets his last tear fall.
His fans shout,
his team jumps and hollers,
his parents cry,
as his hand slowly ascends,
to the level of champions..
Worth it?
Every Second.