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PHILADELPHIA - Inside the noisy wrestling room at Central High School,
Overbrook High senior Stephanie Curry removed her hooded warmup suit behind
her bench and prepared to square off against Henry Johnson. Once a
cheerleader at Overbrook, Curry, at 119 pounds, summoned up her courage as a
junior and came out for the boys wrestling team over the understandable
concerns of her parents, who thought for sure Stephanie would come home at
the end of practice covered with bruises. Grinning, Curry pause d as she
loosened up and observed: "I look at myself as a feminine tomboy."

Cheers erupted from the Overbrook bench as Curry strolled to the center of
the mat. Even though she worked hard in the weight room to build herself up,
Curry found that the boys she has faced have been stronger. She had gone 0-9
in her two-year career at Overbrook. Less concerned with winning and losing
than with just participating in the sport, Curry has thought she would be
far better today had she gotten an earlier start, had she not been told,
"No, you're a girl" when she asked to come out for her middle school team.

Curry held out her hand for Johnson to shake.

Now, she crouched forward - poised - and told herself: "Keep your eyes on
his belly, not his eyes. He can fake you with his eyes."

The referee blew his whistle.

Quickly, Curry found herself on the floor, her face jammed into the mat as
Johnson lay on top of her. She spun her legs out and endeavored to wiggle
free, but Johnson worked her shoulders in an effort to tip her over on her
back. Curry tightened her arms in close to her body, but slowly - forcefully
- Johnson turned her on her side and then her back. She struggled to roll
over, but Johnson placed her head in the crook of his arm and drove her
shoulders into the mat.

The referee peered in.

Then slapped his hand on the floor.

Curry was pinned.

In 1 minute, 50 seconds.

"He was really tough," a breathless Curry said as she toweled off on the
sideline. "I thought I could hang in there, but, oh well. I'm proud of
myself. Going up against the boys takes guts."

Word that a female wrestler at Germantown (Pa.) Friends School was seriously
injured has left her Philadelphia-area peers concerned but undeterred. To
the 14 girls in the Philadelphia Public League and dozens of others on
varsity and junior-varsity squads scattered through the region, the thought
of going head-to-head with the opposite gender is less alarming than it is
challenging. While it is generally agreed the boys are stronger physically -
especially in the higher weight classe s - the girls take pride in
offsetting that strength advantage with skill. To Curry, Overbrook teammate
Shirlee Gilliam and others, the whole idea of beating a boy carries with it
not just personal satisfaction but social significance.

"Women can do whatever men can do in this world," said Gilliam, a junior who
has beaten three boys this year (one by decision, two by forfeit) and who is
a second-degree black belt in karate. "This is not the 1950s anymore. People
have to realize: Women are equals."

Others are driven by less grandiose factors.

They just have fun.

"Doing this challenges every part of me," said Alecia Zameska, a junior at
Central who came out for the team this year. "I feel it called to me. I told
myself, `Oh, God, I have to do this!' "

Central teammate Hannah Phillips echoed that.

"I just love it," she said. "It takes more of me than any other sport, and I
just enjoy being on the team. I have always gotten along better with the
guys."

Slinging them in a "butt drag" is something else altogether. While Phillips
and others say that their teammates have come to appreciate their skills as
athletes, it is not uncommon for adolescent boys, their coaches and even
referees to become uneasy whenever competitors of the opposite sex step out
on the mat. Girls have found that some teams or individual boys will not
even compete, in part because of the presence of what some deem to be
inappropriate contact between the sexes. Well aware of the controversy that
surrounds coed wrestling, Maren Hill, a Central sophomore, contended she has
found that "nothing I have run into so far has been even remotely sexual."

Agreed Curry: "Some of the guys are uneasy with it. Some of them were afraid
that they would get (sexually) excited or that they would hurt me, but once
we got there on the mat, I have always been treated like I was a boy. This
is a competition."

One that is not always lopsided in the boys' favor. Some girls across the
United States have done quite well against the boys - especially at weight
classes below 112 pounds. At Montesano (Wash.) High School, 101-pound junior
Arielle Bradbury has a career record of 75-25 against the boys, of whom she
observed: "Usually, they come up to me afterward and say: `Wow, you can
really wrestle.' "

Drawn to the sport because she found it "physically challenging" and because
she considers herself an "independent person," Bradbury works out five days
a week for 15 to 17 hours total, and offsets whatever advantage in strength
she surrenders to the boys with quickness, flexibility and technique. Said
Bradbury: "Strength is not the only factor."

But it can be a compelling one in the higher weight classes.
Physiologically, wrestling experts say females possess a far greater
percentage of body fat than males, who tend to add extra weight in the form
of muscle. Consequently, Kent Bailo, director of the United States Girls'
Wrestling Association, contended that the "likelihood of injury (to the girl
at higher weights) is far greater." While the girls themselves conceded they
are at a strength disadvantage, few are eager to adopt the
"girl-against-girl competition" Bailo advocates; nor are they convinced
wrestling against males places them in potential danger.

Gilliam grinned.

"I can take care of myself," she said. "I prefer wrestling the guys. Beating
them is a bigger thrill. I remember I DID wrestle a girl once. I had her
pinned and she bit me!"

When Diane Beres found out her daughter, Hannah Phillips, had joined
Central's wrestling squad, she did not know what to think. It thrilled her
that Hannah had the spirit to "go for it," but a part of her recoiled at the
idea.

"Part of me was scared that something is going to happen to her," Beres
said. "I wondered if it was a good idea."

Is it? Beres concluded the pros far outweighed the cons.

"I totally support Hannah on this," she said. "I had no clue that she would
be drawn to a sport as physical as this, but I feel this has done wonders
for her self-esteem. She is far more self-assured than she has ever been."

Her ex-husband, Dr. Alex Phillips, also has found that to be true.

"Hannah comes home now and shows me her muscles," he said. "Initially, I
suppose I was bothered by (the body contact), but I attended a match and saw
that it was well organized and observed. That eased some of the anxiety I
had."

Even in an age when it is not uncommon to see females take on the opposite
sex in football, hockey, baseball and even boxing, the thought of them
squaring off on a wrestling mat with boys who are perhaps far stronger than
them takes getting used to for some. Ever since Carl Flaxman at Central
coached the first girl who wrestled in the Public League in the 1980s, girls
have trickled into the sport with varying degrees of success. Flaxman has
remained somewhat uneasy with the whole issue but leaves it to be sorted out
by the parents, some of whom shudder at the thought of their daughters being
tossed to the ground and groped by boys. When daughter Alicia came home and
announced her plans to wrestle for Central, George Zemeska remembered how he
was when he was a teenage boy.

"Had someone told me in high school that I could wrestle girls, I would have
thought: `Ohhhhhhhh, that sounds like fun,' " he said. "Of course I had
reservations."

Alicia chuckled.

"That is just fatherly instinct," she said. "No dad wants to see his baby
daughter even go out on dates."

Beres is equally protective of Hannah, but has no problem with the close
contact.

"Whatever contact occurs is just part of the sport," she said. "From what I
can see - and I believe this - the boys are more interested in asserting
themselves than trying to cop a feel."

Whatever initial concerns some parents had, they soon disappeared once they
thought it through. Zemeska and his wife, Diane, decided that it was a
"positive thing to do," in part because, as George Zemeska observed, "it is
not inappropriate for girls to learn skills that could end up protecting
them at some point."

Phillips agreed. He even recommends it. He has encouraged Hannah and her
sister to learn to defend themselves.

Contrary to how their daughters tend to feel, Zemeska and other parents
agree with Bailo and would prefer the girls have a league of their own in
which to compete. It sent a chill through some of them when word that a girl
wrestling at Germantown Friends School had been seriously injured began
circulating through the wrestling community. Central wrestler Maren Hill
said that it was discussed at home, but that she and her parents decided
"accidents can happen to anyone." Other parents c oncluded the same: It just
as easily could have happened to a boy. Curry has discussed the potential
dangers of wrestling with her mother, Audrey, who said, "She can take care
of herself."

That is not to say the athletes do not come home with injuries. They do.
Curry has come home with assorted "aches and pains." Hill and Bradbury say
they each have separated a shoulder. Hannah Phillips bruised her nose. Her
father saw it, winced and asked: "Are sure you want to do this?" She told
him yes. He worried her braces would become loosened.

He laughed and said, "Just like with any idea, you have to get used to it."

Stephanie Curry would love to continue wrestling once she leaves Overbrook.
She loves the sport - and sports in general - but only a handful of colleges
have the sport for women. She said, "I would hate to stop now."

Odds are that in years to come, girls will not have to. Bailo said that he
expects women to compete in the 2004 Olympics, and that when that happens,
college and high schools will form leagues for female wrestlers. He added
that girls who spend years developing themselves no longer will be at an
unfair disadvantage once they get bigger.

Curry just came along too soon. She laughed and said, "I could always try
football".

----------------------------------------------------------

Philadelphia Daily News, The, KNIGHT-RIDDER/TRIBUNE NEWS SERVICE, March 8,
1999
Wrestling girls becomes a touchy situation for boys

Author: Mark Kram

PHILADELPHIA - Henry Johnson looked across the noisy wrestling room at
Central High Schoool at opponent Stephanie Curry behind the Overbrook High
bench and told himself: "Go right after her." He reminded himself not to
take her lightly, that girls can and have beaten boys and that the
consequences can be steep. Guys who lose to girls in wrestling matches are
teased endlessly. Stepping out of his warmup suit behind his bench, Johnson,
at 119 pounds, dried the perspiration from his face with a towel and, as he
carefully gathered himself, whispered under his breath: "Pretend she is just
another opponent."

Calls of "Go get her, Henry" rose from the sparse crowd as Johnson strolled
to the center of the mat. In his junior year at Central, Johnson, with a
12-7 record at that point, had faced two other girls during his career and
beat them both. So "scared" in his first match against a female he could not
bring himself to look her in the eye, Johnson has overcome that shy
awkwardness and engaged girls with the same focused forcefulness that he
exhibits against opponents of his own sex. While he is of the considered
opinion girls would be better off "if they had a league of their own," he
has come to appreciate how hard some of them work to compete and has come to
look at them as athletic equals.

Johnson held out his hand for Curry to shake.

He crouched forward - poised - and told himself: "Go 100 percent."

The referee blew his whistle. Quickly, Johnson clutched Curry at the waist
and drove her to the floor. Though by appearances he had expected her to
possess comparable strength, he soon found he had a decided advantage. He
tipped Curry on her side, then her back. Grabbing her in a headlock, Johnson
then leaned on top of her with his full weight and - inch by agonizing inch
- pressed her shoulders into the mat.

The referee peered in. Then slapped his hand on the floor. Johnson won by a
pin. In 1 minute, 50 seconds.

"Going up against a girl is a no-win proposition," Johnson said with a
polite smile. "If you lose, people say: `How could you lose to a GIRL?' But
if you win, people just say: `So what? You beat a girl. You are SUPPOSED to
do that.' "

Given the choice between squaring off against a girl and sitting through a
dental exam, it appears clear the latter would be far preferable to a large
percentage of male wrestlers in the Philadelphia area. Even to those who
look at the issue as a question of fairness - of affording equal opportunity
for both genders - the thought of going head-to-head with the opposite sex
leaves them uneasy. Well apart from the ridicule that their peers are
certain to heap on them if they lose - and that happens - boys tend to find
the experience less of a Playboy fantasy that some would think.

Guys are stronger, they say.

Girls could get hurt, they say.

"My mom taught me to respect girls," said Richard Barnum, a 189-pound
sophomore at Abraham Lincoln. "I just feel funny when it comes to some of
the holds we have to do. We have one called the `cradle,' where you have to
go between the legs of your opponent to get the upper hand. Or going chest
to chest with them. It bothers me."

He characterized it as "awkward."

Others did the same.

"It WOULD feel awkward to me," said Matthew Weldon, a 171-pound junior at
Central. "Because I would be scared that I would injure them, I feel I would
start holding back some. Whenever I had to reach across her chest, I would
feel strange. Girls are just more delicate."

Observed Brian Corbett, a 215-pound sophomore at Lincoln: "Slamming girls
down on the floor is just not right."

How strongly does Corbett feel?

So strongly he would rather forfeit than face a female in a match. With
teammates Barnum and Brian Kelly (189 pounds), Corbett approached coach
Barry Bintliff and told him they would wrestle against girls only in the
event their forfeit could cost their team a win. Otherwise, the three
believe girls should wrestle in their own league. Kelly remembered that he
once wrestled a girl and that it just "did not feel right to me."

"How can I explain?" he said. "It feels funny."

Corbett elaborated. "I just cannot get as physical with girls," he said. "I
always think, `What if someone were doing this to my sister?' I would not
like it. I would hold back."

Corbett spoke of a teammate who was beaten by a girl - and how it bothered
the boy:

"HE held back and he ended up losing because of it. He would have beaten her
if he had gotten physical with her."

He paused and added, "I would only wrestle one if I had to."

Others laugh when they hear that.

"Guys who say that are just afraid of losing to a girl," said Andrew Pullar,
a 152-pound senior from George Washington. "I have no problem with it. I
figure if a girl beats me, she has to be good. I know guys joke around with
it, then the girl comes out and beats them."

Has Pullar ever faced a girl?

He grinned. "Once," he replied. "I pinned her in 20 seconds."

Central wrestler Dave Christian has learned to take girls seriously as
opponents. Up against teammate Maren Hill in the finals of a junior varsity
tournament, the 103-pound sophomore led, 7-0, when he began to fatigue and
got sloppy. Quickly, Hill narrowed the lead to 7-5 and could well have won
but for the fact the clock expired. Christian no longer "underestimates"
her. He added, "I used to take her lightly, but no more. She is no joke."

Would he have found it especially upsetting to lose to a girl?

Christian pondered that, then said, "I would have had no shame in losing to
Maren."

Christian has come to fully accept Hill has a teammate. While he conceded
that he found it "awkward inititally," he, teammate James Evans and others
in Philadelphia's Public League profess to have no qualms with the presence
of the opposite sex. Generally, their feeling is: If they come to practice
and work just hard as we do, why not let them on the team?

Evans just shrugged. "Whatever they feel like doing is fine with me," he
said. "If they can deal with it, I can deal with it."

Central coach Carl Flaxman helped bring the sport to Philadelphia back in
the early 1970s. He has been at Central for 15 years, and before that,
coached at Frankford and Roxborough. He has had females on his teams dating
back to the 1980s, and this year has a fine one in Maren Hill, whom he
characterized as having "lots of good skills and heart." He understands
times have changed in the years he has coached, but not enough that he would
allow his own daughther to wrestle against boys if the issue ever came up.

"Personally, I would not want her to do it," said Flaxman, seated in a
classroom at Central one day after school. "I would be against it."

Because?

There was a long pause.

He chuckled.

His face reddened.

"Because," he finally said. "I do not particularly think this is a sport
where girls can excel, and I am not sure if I am prepared to see them
wrestling on the mat with boys. If other parents decide this is something
they would like their daughter to do, fine. Personally, I would not be in
favor of it."

Opposition to coed wrestling is strident. While few would argue girls should
not be allowed to wrestle among themselves, head coaches and others in
Philadelphia and elsewhere tend to agree with Flaxman: Few would allow their
own daughters to wrestle against boys. Contrary to what John Barbis, former
Haverford College and longtime area coach, contends - that there is
"significant parity" between the sexes in the lower weight classifications -
there is concern on the part of others that it can be just too dangerous for
girls to go head-to-head with boys. Upset when he heard that a girl wrestler
at Germantown Friends School had been seriously injured, Flaxman observed it
was inevitable someone would ask: "Is it appropriate for girls to be
wrestling with boys?"

Flaxman paused and added, "I think that is a legitimate question."

How do others feel?

Roger Reina, president-elect of the National Wrestling Coaches Association
and head coach at the University of Pennsylvania, said in a carefully worded
statement that "it appears appropriate that - as in other sports - men and
women compete against like-genders." He would not elaborate.

Gary Hartranft, the scholastic director of that same organization, added
that while coed wrestling has become "more accepted in school environments,"
he is against it.

Why?

He said he is from the "old school."

"I just have a problem with the physical, hands-on contact part of it," he
said. "I find it hard to believe - and I have been a coach for a long time -
that hands are not going to go into places where they are not supposed to
go."

He chuckled and added, "Or however one chooses to phrase that."

Flaxman agreed that standard holds such as the "crotch ride" would appear to
be "somewhat inappropriate." He added, "I feel fairly certain that in
competitions, the boys are concerned strictly with winning. However, I am
not so sure that is always the case when it comes to practices."

Close physical contact is just a deal-breaker for some. Public League
wrestling commissioner Lou Moyerman said he would not allow his daughter to
do it because of "roving hands." Fritz McGinness, associate director of the
National Federation of State High School Associations and editor of the
Wrestling Rule Book, said wrestling is just "a boys sport" and asked: "Would
you like your daughter to be held in a figure-four head scissors? He added,
`Literally, boys have their hands all over them.' " inappropriate places?
Yes."

But appearances or even safety are not the only concerns opponents of coed
wrestling bring up. It goes deeper than that. Some are concerned that losing
to a girl could open up a boy to harsh ridicule and that it could leave him
psychologically scarred. When Maren Hill beat a boy from Lincoln earlier
this year, she remembered her guidance counselor told her: "Whatever ego
that poor boy had has probably been destroyed." Pointing out what a
"delicate age" the teen years are, Diane Beres - whose daughter, Hannah
Phillips, wrestles for Central - observed that a boy in the throes of
developing his own ego system is apt to find it unsettling "to be decked by
a girl."

Lincoln coach Bintliff wondered if the boy would stop showing up for
practice. "But he rolled with it," said Bintliff. "It was no big deal."

Bintliff did not know why the wrestler did not reply to an interview request
by the Philadelphia Daily News.

He shrugged and said, "Maybe he is just embarrassed."

Henry Johnson says he has been "lucky." No girl ever has beaten him. He
remembered a teammate two years ago who was beaten by one and he could see
how it had upset him. He did not hear the end of it from his teammates for
weeks. Johnson wondered how HE would feel if it happened to him.

Quietly, he sat in the locker room at Central after pinning Curry and ate a
soft pretzel. He said Curry was tough, and tried hard, but he was stronger.
He could feel that as he positioned her for the pin. He said, "I just
treated her like another opponent."

He chewed on his pretzel as teammates came in and out of the locker room and
congratulated him: "Nice going, Henry," "Good job, Henry," and so on.
Johnson grinned and nodded, well aware that he only did what he was supposed
to do, that beating Stephanie Curry was not cause for overly deep personal
satisfaction.

"It WOULD be good if they had their own league," Johnson said. "It would
even things up."