If there's one thing I learned from covering wrestling in the past couple years, it's this -- wrestlers say the darndest things.

I was reminded of this consistently as I spoke to several Triangle-area wrestlers Saturday at the N.C. High School Athletic Association state championships.

They're unlike any other athlete I cover - and that goes beyond their weekly struggles to cut weight.

Basketball and football players share a common mindset - and a lot of clichéd answers they've heard on ESPN through the years. It's not their fault they're unoriginal. They're in a team sport that relies on momentum and fruitful possessions as much as anything, so their answers always revolve around the two topics.

Wrestling, although there are team points awarded, is the essential individual sport. Unlike other individual sports like gymnastics, golf and cross country, your success is directly correlated to what you do to your opponent.

And so the answers, mindset and reaction are as completely original as the wrestler himself.

Take Panther Creek's Joe Morrison, who told me weeks ago that anything but a state championship would be a failure (he finished second).

Max Redfoot of Chapel Hill High channeled his inner Ricky Bobby with, "If you're not first, you're last." Luckily for him, he was the former.

Then there was Eric White of Wakefield. White was clearly upset.

He had just become the first state champion in school history - yes, you read that correctly. Yet his displeasure was that of a guy who let one get away.

"I gave up the first takedown all tournament in that match," White said somberly. "I'm happy I won, but I really wanted to dominate him in that match."

His stoic demeanor was a sharp contrast to everything else that day.

Having had the chance to cover quite a few state championships in the past few seasons, there's really no comparison to the raw emotion that wrestling titles elicit.

The elite wrestlers set themselves up for it. Like Morrison, Redfoot and Green Hope's John Sparks, they tell you that their goal is to win the state title.

Anything less is failure - and they trick themselves into believing it as the year goes along.

The winners jump into the stands to celebrate with loved ones. Others jump into the arms of their coaches.

The losers run into a dark corner to cry and think about what might have been.

And the closer you get to the championship itself, the more extreme those emotions become.

For underclassmen fortunate enough to win a state title, sometimes that's not even enough.

When Parkland's Drew Turner, a freshman, won the 4-A 103-pound championship, his coach Maurice Atwood told him: "Take one day to celebrate, you've got three more to go."

Maybe that's why Parkland has won 10 state championships in the last five years.

Maybe that's what makes these wrestlers operate so much different from everyone else.