Nick Romero is my new hero.
It is at this point many readers might be saying, “I don’t know Nick Romero from a tree stump.” And the truth is, neither do I.
Romero is a wrestler for LaPlata High School in Maryland’s Charles County. Don’t tune out just yet.
This isn’t a story about high school wrestling; it’s a story about character, which is in shorter and shorter abundance these days.
Last Saturday, at Cole Field House on the campus of the University of Maryland, College Park, Romero taught me a lesson about character that will stick with me for the rest of my days. It’s a lesson all of us would do well to learn.
After Romero’s lesson, the crowd gathered at Cole Field House to watch the Maryland Public Secondary Schools Athletic Association wrestling championships was on its feet cheering, and I’m willing to bet there was nary a dry eye in the place.
Romero, according to a bracket sheet I bought at the tournament, is a senior at LaPlata. He faced Ron Vaughters, a junior from Old Mill High School in Anne Arundel County, for the 140-pound championship.
Vaughters is a fierce, take-no-prisoners wrestler who breaks his opponents both physically and mentally. I can’t speak for Romero’s state of mind, but Vaughters hammered him physically throughout the match.
With 12 seconds of their six-minute bout remaining, Vaughters had an 8-2 lead. He was clearly on his way to winning his second state title in as many years. But when he grabbed Romero’s leg, hoisted him in the air and brought him down hard on the mat, the referee penalized Vaughters for slamming Romero to the mat.
A potentially dangerous move, the official called it. In amateur wrestling, potentially dangerous moves are penalized.
Vaughters’ move left Romero writhing in pain, injured from the slam. I overheard a man behind me explaining the consequences of what Vaughters did to a friend.
If Romero couldn’t continue, if he was unable to walk back to the center of the mat so the referee could blow the whistle for the match to continue, then Vaughters would be disqualified. Romero would be the state champion at 140 pounds.
And Romero couldn’t continue. In his four years at LaPlata, he was never a state champion. All he had to do to win a state title was to have his coaches lead him from the mat. But Romero decided to take a different route.
He had his coaches lead him to the center of the mat. Vaughters stood opposite him, and the referee blew the whistle for the match to continue. Then Vaughters and Romero just stood there, neither making a wrestling move, facing each other as the final 12 seconds ticked off the clock.
The crowd rose to its feet, applauding, cheering, celebrating Romero’s show of sportsmanship. When the referee raised Vaughters’ hand in victory, the Old Mill wrestler hugged Romero as if he’d found a long-lost brother.
Romero could have gotten his state championship, but it would have been on the cheap. Vaughters was clearly the superior wrestler, and Romero knew it. So he passed on his one and only chance to be a state wrestling champ for one reason, and it’s a darned good one.
Because he hadn’t earned it.
In this age where just about everybody wants to be a victim, Romero took the high road. In an age of trash-talking, egotistical and, in some cases, felony-prone pro athletes, Romero gave us an example of sportsmanship, character and courage second to none.
Yeah, this kid is definitely my new hero.
