By Kyle Klingman, W.I.N. Columnist

For most of my young life, I had been called upon to volunteer at a variety of wrestling tournaments. I had done it all: scorekeeper, table runner, announcer, food distributor. From seventh grade through my sophomore year in college, I had worked every behind-the-scenes job imaginable in wrestling.

So when the 1997 NCAA wrestling tournament came to my hometown of Cedar Falls, Iowa, I applied to work a table. I had been in the trenches for eight straight years and I was attending Northern Iowa at the time; there was no way I could get overlooked.

Then, a few weeks later, I received a letter in the mail that read something like this: Thank you for applying to work at the 1997 NCAA wrestling tournament in Cedar Falls, Iowa. We have reviewed your application and we will not need your services at this time. We will keep your name on file in the event that an extra table worker is needed.

Translation: Listen you punk kid. Did you really think we were going to let you work what could be Dan Gable’s last NCAA tournament? I passed your application around to our committee and we all had a good laugh at your expense. Nice try. The chances of us giving you a call back are slim to none and slim just walked out the door.

Since my letter of rejection, I have never been back to work a table at any level of competition. But the time for hurt feelings had to end; I needed to get back in the game.

Coaches will often motivate their wrestlers by telling them that it’s just you, the other guy, and the official out there on the mat. Don’t worry about anything else. And, for the most part, this is true.

However, in select tournaments where a buzzer knows no sound, there is a fourth person who steps onto the mat and makes sure the officials know how much time is left as the clock counts down to zero. His name is the towel boy … and his job is an important one.

I made up my mind. I wanted to be a towel boy.

My tournament of choice was the Folkstyle Nationals hosted by USA Wrestling, April 4-6. And, appropriately, it was being held at the UNI Dome, the same place where I had been rejected to work 11 years prior.

I entered the UNI Dome focused. As I approached the scorer’s table I sought one of my key allies, USA Wrestling’s communication director Craig Sesker. He immediately put me in touch with Kevin Black, Manager of Grassroots Development.

“I would like to be a towel boy,” I said.

“Are you serious?” asked Black.

“Oh yeah, I’m serious,” I responded. “I need to do this.”

Black went to work for me right away. He made sure that I was placed in an ideal situation for my first time back. I learned immediately that table workers take their jobs seriously and bumping someone out of his or her position could lead to hurt feelings.

In my 11-year absence, I also found out that “towel boy” had been replaced with the politically correct “towel tapper,” as in tapping the official when time is up. But I didn’t care. In my heart I knew that I was there to be a towel boy.

I was placed at table 20 with Jan Filkin, the best corner person in the business. She coached me on the art of being an effective towel boy, breaking down every nuance of the towel tapping game.

“Every official is different,” she said. “Some like the towel and some do not. Go out on the mat with 15 seconds left in the period and start counting down at five, never at ten. But be careful, ‘five’ can sound like ‘time’ so some officials don’t want you counting down until four.”

I gripped the towel firmly in my hand, but Jan grabbed it from me and placed it on the table. “You won’t need the towel for this official,” she told me.

Other than some obvious differences from the other towel boys — I stuck out like Shaquille O’Neal playing in a kids’ basketball tournament — my first three matches went fairly smooth. Jan stayed by my side in the corner to ensure that I was using proper technique.

When a new referee came on the scene I turned to Jan for some advice. I had no idea how particular officials are about this stuff.

“Do not hit him with the towel,” Jan told me. “Just count backward from five and make sure that you say it loud.”

She had a make on every official in the building. I was fortunate to have her as my coach.

After a few more matches, I was left to continue on my own, but I had been trained well. However, I found out soon enough that there is an art to being a good towel boy.

To the official you are just a voice. He doesn’t care who you are or what you look like. As far as he is concerned, you aren’t even there. So the goal is to be heard and not seen.

If he starts moving backwards or makes a mad dash to the mat to call for a pin, you better be ready. A few times, the referee started backpedaling when the action was fierce and I had to keep right in step with him. Our legs almost got tangled up one time. That’s why between periods, I forced myself to takes swigs of water to ensure I was properly hydrated.

Keeping the clock in sight is also key. If the action is in front of you, then it can be difficult to look at the clock and count down for the official. It gets tricky sometimes.

Timing is important too. If the action is across the mat, you might have to break into a light jog to ensure that you get to the official in time. Endurance plays a factor.

Then there was the time I panicked. It was late in the third period and these two wrestlers had been fighting like an old married couple the entire match. Thinking I could make a difference I arose from my chair at 20 seconds instead of the traditional 15. It was the only time I let a match dictate my routine.

After an hour and a half everything was going well. But one problem remained: I had not used a towel yet. How could I legitimately call myself a towel boy if I had not used a towel?

So when the third official approached the scorer’s table, I knew I had to make a move.

“How do you like it?” I asked. “Towel or no towel?”

“I can go either way,” he replied, “but if you do use a towel, make sure it’s gentle.”

At last, I was going to get to use that sweet looking towel that had been staring back at me from the scorer’s table all afternoon.

For whatever reason, I had butterflies in my stomach when I went out went out for the first time. It is irrational, I know, but I wanted to do a good job.

I had become familiar with the tendencies of the other two officials. I could predict within a foot of where they were going to be on the mat. But this referee was a mover. I knew I was going to have to be at my best if I was going to get the job done right.

Just as I had predicted, using a towel is tougher than the simple countdown drill. You have to keep your eye on the clock and keep the official within striking distance.

On two occasions, I had to lunge just to make contact. I think I only missed the official’s back once the entire time, but overall I think I served the towel well. It was good to be back in the swing of things.

But after two hours my time had run out and it was time to pass the towel on to another boy who would carry on this sacred wrestling tradition.

As I walked to the hospitality room for my complimentary taco salad, I reflected on the lessons learned from towel tapping.

First, keep swinging. You can’t miss if you are focused on the right things.

Second, at some point you decide if it is worth the risk to get back in the game … and then you put enough into it to never give up.

Finally, you can’t have a wrestling tournament without volunteers. They mean everything to this sport … and they should be thanked constantly for their amazing efforts to help other people achieve their goals.

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(Kyle Klingman is the associate director of the Dan Gable International Wrestling Institute and Museum, located in Waterloo, Iowa. He can be reached via email, kyle.klingman@yahoo.com.)