The daily grind

A typical workout shows why Brandon's wrestling team doesn't lose.

By SCOTT PURKS

Published February 13, 2007

BRANDON - It's 3 p.m., three days before the region tournament. Coach Russ Cozart clicks a stopwatch, and a pack of 34 feet hit the ground, spitting dirt in the air. Down the school's side streets they go, three hours of agonizing work ahead of them - the 17 boys entrusted with protecting Brandon wrestling tradition in the deepest sense: the 34-year-old streak of 448 dual-match victories, 16 state titles (including the past six), 27 district titles, 25 region titles and 60 individual state champions.

"As you go, thoughts play in your head," said 112-pound sophomore Eric Grajales, who began working out with Brandon's youth program at age 4. "No matter how much it hurts, you tell yourself, 'Go! Go!'

"You do it because you know this is what it takes to win. And now (because the state tournament begins Thursday), you push even harder."

Waiting for them at the gym - always there, it seems - Cozart holds his stopwatch and a crinkled notebook. And as he has for 27 years, he checks off the first item on his "invaluable" daily list:

Running

Inside the cave of the wrestling area behind the gymnasium bleachers, Cozart's voice, like a sharp point, directs a litany of exercises: "On your hands" (wrestlers walk on their hands the length of a basketball court); "under the bar" (a limbo dance under a broomstick). Six exercises later, Cozart leans over the notebook and makes a mark:

Gymnastics

Cozart bellows the jargon, "Switches, outside cradle ... " and the boys pair off and flip and roll and ...

"And I'm thinking, 'Focus, focus.' And then sometimes, it's like, 'Shoot! I made a mistake. I can't do that,' " said 119-pounder Kyle Keller. "Then I tell myself, 'All right, let's do it again. Get it right. Get it right. I can't make mental mistakes like that.' "

Forty-five minutes later, Cozart checks it off:

Technique

The boys grip, twist, cram heads in the ground. Thirty violent minutes gone, and Cozart revisits the notebook:

Wrestling

A 45-pound weight hangs from a belt around their waists. Their hands grab 40-foot ropes. Up, up to the rafters. Down. Up again. ... Cozart makes a check:

Climbing

A 400-yard jog to the dungeon of Brandon's weight room. On the way, Keller marvels, "After four years, you'd think (Cozart) would give you a break, but he doesn't. He's a machine. A relentless machine."

The boys jump onto a 17-exercise circuit, including arm curls and bench presses and ...

The stopwatch is clicked by Cozart every 30 seconds as the boys rotate stations.

Wet T-shirts stretch like cellophane on steaks. Bare chests stretch like drum skins over ribs and muscle. Biceps bulge like softballs. Calves ball like fists. How old are these boys? ... 15, 16, 17, 18 ... Lips contort like screws drilled in thumbs. Enough to make you wonder: Has any kid been severely hurt or become terribly sick? The answer, even after 34 years, is, simply, no.

Only after every station is completed is the check made:

Lifting

Back in the locker room, they line up in front of a scale. The idea is if you've worked hard enough, you will be as fit and smart as possible and, ultimately, lean enough to make your weight without having to dehydrate before the tournament weigh-in.

Turns out, Sean Joyce is a couple of pounds over his limit of 145, which, he said, means he'll eat a light meal then run 2 or 3 miles in the evening. If he hasn't made his target weight, he'll keep running.

"I've learned over the years that it's better to work hard than to starve the last few days," he said.

"You can tell the difference between those guys who have starved themselves and those who have worked to get that weight off. The ones who have worked to be lean are stronger, more confident. You can see it in their eyes."

One who understands that look from both sides is Dennis Kitko, a three-time state champion for Brandon during the early 1990s and Durant's coach the past four years.

"When I was (at Brandon), we intimidated people by just looking at them," Kitko said. "Whether we were in better shape than everybody else I don't know. But the fact is we believed it and so did our opponents."

And that, Kitko said, is the difference: the believing.

He doesn't run three-hour grueling practices every day because, "if I did, I wouldn't have anybody on my team." So they go two to two-a-half hours. He believes his kids are in just as good shape as Brandon's.

Still, "I can't seem to get my kids to believe like I do," he said.

Kitko believes the extra time Brandon puts in doesn't give it so much a physical advantage as a mental one: something that makes the Eagles feel tougher.

"I know this," Kitko said. "I can see my guys go out there thinking, 'Oh God, here we go wrestling a Brandon guy again. And he's going to beat me, and we're going to lose.' "

Are there teams out there that work as hard as Brandon? Kitko doubts it, but maybe there are. And if there are, do they believe they can win as much as Brandon does? He doubts that, too.

"The proof," he said, "is in the 34 years of domination."

On Saturday, as they have in 24 previous region tournaments, Brandon won.

And like those two dozen times before, Cozart didn't bring his crinkled book. He said he lets others take care of counting up what Brandon wrestling is most famous for:

Winning

For the hundreds of boys who have wrestled through the years.

For the six wrestlers who have legitimate shots at winning state titles this year.

For the dozens of elementary school kids who work almost daily with Cozart in the hours after the varsity finishes their workout.

For the name written in white against maroon singlets.

For Brandon.