Pinning down the essence of wrestling

It was close to 100 degrees in the padded building where the Sedro-Woolley wrestlers practice.

Coach Jay Breckenridge had purposely cranked up the temperature to make the 40 boys in the room sweat more and tire quicker.

"This is a brutal sport, and you have to be special to stay in it," explained Breckenridge, 47, who won the 148-pound state title for Burlington-Edison in 1978.

I was in the room on a pilgrimage to learn more about wrestling. Sometimes in this business, you just say to yourself, "I need to know more about this sport," and take off. What I was taking off at that moment was my sweater.

Since high school, I've always respected wrestlers because of the starkness of the sport — two opponents conducting what amounts to a public fight with rules. An opponent can humiliate you. This isn't like losing a tennis match.

As an adult, I realized that any sport that teaches kids to get up when they are down has a lot going for it.

Another obvious appeal of wrestling is its inherent democracy. The 103-pounder is every bit as valuable as the 285-pound goliath. A football team getting off a bus can prompt double-takes. A wrestling team getting off a bus looks like a history class adjourning.

These days, the sport is gaining favor with girls, and not as spectators. There were 376 girls who wrestled in Washington this season, and their first fully sanctioned state meet will take place in conjunction with the boys championships Friday and Saturday at the Tacoma Dome.

The Washington championships have a national reputation as one of the sport's spectacles because 24 mats are busy at once.

What launched me on my quest was a new book, "Four Days to Glory," by Mark Kreidler, who followed two Iowa high-school wrestlers in their quest for four straight state titles.

One of my favorite passages:

"It isn't a lonely existence so much as a select one, and the wrestling coaches and parents and fans use that fact as a sort of proof of virtue; wrestlers are better than other athletes because their drive is so pure, because their pursuit is so solitary. So few people outside their closed society of fellow wrestlers could ever begin to understand the sacrifices they make in order to simply get on the mat, much less compete and win."

Sedro-Woolley was an obvious stop on my journey for enlightenment, with the Cubs going for a record sixth consecutive Class 3A state championship this week.

One of the first things I saw when I entered the room was a boy in a long-sleeve T-shirt that proclaimed, "Hicks from the Sticks Goin' for Six."

Off in a corner, junior 189-pounder Colby Grobschmit was in the process of doing 500 pull-ups during practice because a bacterial infection was keeping him off the mats. He had run 10 miles the previous day.

"I've been divorced twice because of wrestling," Breckenridge said. "It's a huge sacrifice on your family life to run a program like this because you're going nine months a year."

In past years, a lot of that time was devoted to the feeder program, Steel Claw Wrestling Club, which pumps kids into the junior-high program that feeds the high school. These days, someone else is doing a lot of the work with the junior program.

"If you don't have a good youth program, you're in trouble," Breckenridge said.

Sedro-Woolley has a good one, and the results are shown on Breckenridge's left lower leg — each championship year is tattooed onto his skin, beginning with 2002.

Like most wrestling coaches, Beckenridge talks with missionary zeal about his sport.

"One mistake and the match is over," he said.

"Make a mistake in football or basketball and there usually is plenty of time left on the clock. If you make a bad mistake in this sport, you get pinned."

OK, so what are things I learned or re-learned about wrestling?

One is that high-school wrestling is a "show-me, teach-me, hands-on" sport. Coaches, including 71-year-old Bill Herber at Bishop Blanchet, demonstrate techniques. Young coaches, usually eager assistants, often provide wrestlers at some schools with some of their toughest practice competition.

Another thing is that weight loss is more regulated than I believed it was and will get even stricter next year. Regulations go into effect that will set the lower limit on body fat at 12 percent for girls, 7 percent for boys. Wrestlers won't be allowed to lose more than 1.5 percent of body weight a week.

"The sport of wrestling has cleaned up its act," said Brent Barnes, coach at 4A power Lake Stevens. "When I was in college, it was ridiculous what we did."

He was referring to the era when rubber suits, vomiting and laxatives were commonplace. The deaths of three college wrestlers in 1997 triggered reforms.

The new system will replace the current one in which a doctor visits each team and certifies the lowest weight at which an athlete can wrestle.

I watched the exchange when a Blanchet wrestler stepped on the scale and told a doctor the weight for which he wanted to be certified.

The doctor replied, "That isn't going to happen."

Although there might be fewer laxatives and less starving than in the past, few wrestlers get to eat like normal teenagers.

Said Michael Lomsdalen, a two-time state champion for Sedro-Woolley: "You have to watch your diet and drink lots of water." The 160-pounder said "the reward of winning" makes the training and diet worthwhile.

What makes a good wrestler?

Aggressiveness is the No. 1 attribute. Anything less than a warrior mentality on the mat is a ticket to defeat and often injury.

Top wrestlers also have strength, balance, quickness, endurance, flexibility, good work habits, the ability to manage pain and a strong grip. They also have experience and coaching, because this is a sport where some instincts have to be overcome.

"You have to train your body to do certain things," Barnes said on the night his Lake Stevens team won its 111th straight Western Conference dual match, against Everett. "When somebody pulls on your head, your natural instinct is to pull away. If you do that, you expose yourself and open up."

Good technique wins the close matches that raw athleticism can't. Experience helps a wrestler know or find the right combination of moves against particular opponents.

Other things I learned:

• Good wrestlers can remember everyone who ever beat them.

• There are wrestling dummies that can be used to practice moves.

• The sport has its share of jargon. A coach hollering, "Cut him! Cut him!" isn't recommending a knife, but is telling his wrestler to turn the opponent loose so he can take him down again for more points.

• There are rules against slamming opponents on the mat, but it's a judgment call by the referee. Also, some holds are banned because they are dangerous.

• One of the most common mistakes is letting up once a lead is built.

• Because wrestling can be ferocious, extra measures are taken to ensure some civility. As a result, this is a handshake-crazy sport. Wrestlers shake hands at the opening ceremony for the team match, before their individual match, after their match, and with the opposing coach after their match.

The biggest lament of wrestling coaches is that their sport has become a victim of Title IX at the college level. Every four-year school in the state has dropped wrestling to bring the number of male and female athletes on campus more into balance. And as schools dropped wrestling, expenses rose for other schools because opponents were farther away. Presently, the only post-high-school wrestling in the state is at Yakima Valley and Highline community colleges.

Jim Meyerhoff, a former wrestler and coach who is assistant director of the Washington Interscholastic Activities Association, said the lack of college opportunities is affecting the pool of high-school coaches.

"For a lot of coaches coming in now, the highest level of wrestling experience was high school," he said.

Breckenridge wrestled at Eastern Washington until concussions ended his mat career. He said it "haunts me every day" that he doesn't know how good he could have become.

He is determined to make his wrestlers the best they can be at the high-school level and isn't afraid to raise his voice to do it.

"Hey, how long does it take to fix a nosebleed?" he shouted from the mat to a wrestler being treated inside his office. "Stuff a ball of cotton in it and get out here!"

Craig Smith: 206-464-8279 or csmith@seattletimes.com