I think it's very important that wrestling steps back and gets

Cael Sanderson, one of the great champions of the mat, once spoke with clarity of purpose: “I think it’s very important that wrestling steps back and gets back to the core values of, you know, it’s a controlled fight. It’s strength and all your physical and mental abilities against an opponent.” These words are not simply about sport; they are a reminder of the ancient roots of combat, where contests were not spectacles for vanity, but crucibles of discipline, courage, and honor. Wrestling, in Sanderson’s vision, is not chaos but mastery, not destruction but contest—an eternal dialogue between body, mind, and spirit.

The origin of this teaching lies in the very birth of civilization. Wrestling is as old as humanity’s first gatherings, carved into the walls of Egyptian tombs, sung in the verses of Homer, and celebrated in the Olympic games of Greece. For the ancients, wrestling was not mere entertainment but a sacred test of one’s whole being. It was indeed a controlled fight, where raw violence was restrained by rules, and victory depended not only on strength but also on intelligence, patience, and willpower. Sanderson’s call is a return to this purity, where the contest reveals character as much as it displays ability.

When he speaks of strength, he does not mean brute force alone. He means the harmony of the body and the mastery of the mind, joined together in balance. The wrestler who enters the arena without mental discipline is already defeated, just as the one who relies only on cunning without conditioning soon falters. In wrestling, every muscle, every thought, every ounce of spirit must be summoned. It is a duel where victory comes not by chance, but by the full unleashing of one’s trained and tempered self.

History itself provides the witness. Think of Milo of Croton, the legendary wrestler of Greece, who trained daily by lifting a calf until it grew into a bull, his body growing in strength as his discipline grew in will. Or of the Roman gladiators who, though forced to fight, often spoke of the respect between skilled opponents who tested each other to the edge of life. These figures remind us that the true essence of combat is not rage but mastery—the steady honing of self until one can face an opponent without fear, knowing one’s worth.

Sanderson’s plea that wrestling must step back to its core values also warns against corruption. In any discipline, when spectacle and vanity overshadow truth, the art is weakened. Wrestling is not meant to be mere showmanship, but a sacred contest where discipline reigns. The ancients believed that such contests shaped not only athletes but nations, for a people trained in discipline and honor would be unshaken in times of war and trial. In the same way, Sanderson urges us to remember that wrestling’s greatness lies not in glamour, but in the honest measure of strength and spirit.

For those who hear these words, the lesson extends far beyond the mat. Life itself is a controlled fight. Each of us faces opponents—fear, hardship, doubt, adversity. To prevail, we must cultivate both the power of the body and the discipline of the mind. We must not lash out wildly in rage, nor collapse in despair, but meet every challenge as a wrestler meets his foe: balanced, prepared, resolute, and focused. Victory in life, like victory in wrestling, comes not from raw violence but from steady preparation and unshakable resolve.

So let Sanderson’s words endure as teaching: return always to the core values of discipline, courage, and balance. Whether on the mat or in the struggles of life, fight with control, wield your strength with wisdom, and face every opponent—seen or unseen—with the fullness of your being. For in that contest lies not only triumph, but the discovery of who you truly are, and the legacy of honor you leave behind.