Now the flashbulbs were snapping like crazy. He had to embrace that. Last year, photographers shot flashes as he lay on the mat in defeat, finishing second.

He played that scene in his mind ever since. Three hundred sixty-five days.

Until Saturday, March 14, at The Palace of Auburn Hills.

You wait for greatness. You wait for heroes. And you wait for the perfect moment. So here was Paul Hancock, an 18-year-old wrestler with a flashing smile and brown, wavy hair. Here he was, just waiting for his moment. He waited. He slept. He went to a shopping mall with some friends. He had qualified for the state finals in high school wrestling, and wouldn’t you know it, he was hanging out with a few buddies at the mall.

“Then on the way to (The Palace), I felt those butterflies in my stomach came all the way up to my throat,” Hancock said.

You would have never known. When he got to the arena at 2 p.m., he was bouncing up and down like a pogo stick, smiling and pumping his fist in the air when “We Are The Champions” blared over the loudspeakers. This was a couple hours until his match, the state tournament’s first match of 56 that evening.

And now it was 4:30 p.m. Fans were filling the seats and applauding the state’s best wrestlers as they circled the floor below. The lower bowl of the arena was almost full. Hancock ran through his opponent in his mind as he awaited his turn. Finally, the last Dearborn wrestler standing in his last match of the season heard his name called over the loudspeakers.

“PAUL HANCOCK, DEARBORN FORDSON.”

And somewhere, the sky began to open.

“I can’t believe it,” he kept saying over and over when it was done, when he pulled off an overtime comeback and won the gold medal for Fordson. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it.”

He shook his coach’s hand, and then leaped into the arms of his father, Trey Hancock, who knew the joy his son was feeling. He had been with his son all these years, teaching him to chase his dreams, even if it was never easy. He had been with him through the good times, when Paul wrestled his way to All-America status as an eighth-grader, when he continued to rack up A’s and B’s in the classroom, and through the bad times, last year’s second place finish in the state tournament, a controversial coaching change last year, an assistant coach who died from an apparent heart attack while waiting for Paul to take the mat in the opening round of the state tournament two years ago.

“Those emotions were with me,” he said. “But it all came together.”

And so it did.

Trey hugged his son, who threw up his arms as high as skyscrapers. He squeezed his son again. “Yeah!” Paul screamed “Yeah!”

What had he done, this kid from Fordson? Just wrapped up one of the biggest comebacks of the day, rebounding form being down 4-0 early in his 135-pound match against Jared Stephens of Westland John Glenn.

“The same thing happened last year, and I never came back,” Hancock said. “But I wasn’t going to let this guy take it away.”

He regrouped and forced the match to overtime. His opponent was gasping for air. Then there was Hancock, a picture of determination, springing to his feet, fueled by past failure and personal loss. There would be no denying him this year.

Instead, on this magic night, against a taller opponent, it was Hancock who would finally climb the mountain. His body was wooden when he needed it straight, and a rubber pretzel when he needed it bent. He moved with such jump, it seemed he would lift off into space. He slid through his opponent’s arms and legs, escaping possible defeat with each move.

And when he squared off with his opponent one final time in overtime, Hancock went after his legs, tackled him to the ground, and landed smack in the middle of history: State Champion!

He fell to his knees and smiled. He got back up and the referee held one of his hands in the air.

The place erupted.

State Champion!

“It’s an awesome feeling,” Hancock gushed.

They saw. Dozens of friends, family, teammates, former coaches. They were impressed.

Some say, these days, we’re lacking feel-good stories. People sigh because there are few feel-good moments to take from one day to the next as there were in the past.

Here is a feel-good face, Dearborn. Take a look at the kid who didn’t know a thing about wrestling when he started, the kid who suffered five cracked ribs a couple summers ago, but still managed to beat three of his five opponents. Take a look at the kid who likes to hide in the woods of normality. After the match he was asked, “What are you doing tonight?” He said, with his soft and unassuming voice, “Going out to eat with my family.”

Whoa. This is not Joe Schmoo talking here. This is a guy who was just crowned the best of the best. He had 55 wins and one loss this season. He is arguably the most popular athlete at his school, and is certainly the most widely liked. Yet, he doesn’t let his fame go to his head.

He didn’t boast or brag after he won. Others did it for him. He didn’t go out drinking with friends. He surrounded himself with family and friends instead.

“He’s a throwback,” a family friend said as he watched others congratulate Paul. “He listens and doesn’t talk back.”

Manners, maturity, humility and talent in one package.

Take another look at his smile, that wavy hair and look a little deeper. Look at the eyes light up on the victory stand. Imagine the lungful of air he exhaled.

That’s a hero you’re seeing there, folks. Yes, even at 18. No, not because he’s an athlete or won something, but because he never stopped dreaming. He never stopped working. He attacked all year, the way a fireman attacks a fire, the way you attack adversity, no counting on hope or luck, fate or chance. Just sheer will and his own pounding desire to win it.

“You have to work hard, and you can’t give up,” he said. “If you work hard and have the right attitude, you’ll have things go your way.”

The first wrestler in the first event on the last night of his high school career. They were flashing the bulbs now, taking his picture and capturing the moment. But this time, under all that hot light, he didn’t melt, he didn’t give up. He was standing there, like destiny, on top of the medal platform, that first place medal dangling from his neck, and he didn’t even blink.

He looked down to the medal pressed against his chest, a shiny symbol of hard work colliding with reality:

State Champion!*