By Amy Silverman
By Olivia LaVecchia
By Monica Alonzo and Stephen Lemons
By Chris Parker
By Michael Lacey
By Weston Phippen
On the day the NCAA wrestling championships started, Bobby's family and closest friends sang "Happy Birthday" to him as they lowered his casket into the cold, wet ground.
Things went poorly for the ASU wrestlers in Iowa. The team finished a disappointing thirteenth and returned to Tempe. "I remember very little about the NCAAs," says Bobby Douglas. "I wasn't sleeping or eating. A lot of my guys weren't, either. I was acting--we all were acting."
Douglas vows to try something different this fall. "I'm going to try to get a little closer to my guys without going against how I've been coaching forever," he says. "There has to be a way. I've got to come out of this experience with my eyes open wider."
Athletic director Charles Harris bumped into Douglas in an ASU parking lot after Bobby died.
"He was crying," Harris says. "`I missed this one, Charles,' he told me, `I lost this one.'"
"Bobby had national champ written all over him."
Everyone agrees that Bobby Janisse was a whiz in the classroom and had the courage of a Nubian warrior on the wrestling mat.
"I always thought I knew when one of my kids was in trouble, but I didn't." "He'd always smell like baby powder, always look so innocent, but he'd do the job on you." Sportswriters were touting the first-team all-American as perhaps Oregon's greatest high school wrestler ever.
"He wasn't scared of anything, and that included guns."
"I think maybe he just wanted to be a bad guy."
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Bobby's family and closest friends sang "Happy Birthday" to him as they lowered his casket into the cold, wet ground.