Coach, Dad, Corner Man: Gary Griffin Builds a Legacy at PHS

At the Griffin home in Puyallup, there’s a worn mat upstairs — evidence of a dozen unspoken rounds between two siblings who know each other’s moves a little too well. No scoreboard. No referee. No stakes other than pride. Just a big sister and her younger brother circling, laughing, pushing each other to sweat out a few ounces before a meet.

This is not your typical suburban household. For Gary and his wife, Erin, wrestling is as much a ritual in the Griffins’ home as family dinner. The sport lives in their bodies and speaks through their routines. It echoes in the soft thud of socked feet in a hallway match, or the quiet car rides home after a few matches when words are too tender or too tired to come.

Gary Griffin is entering his 14th year as coach of the Peninsula High School boys and girls wrestling team and his 18th year as a parent. He’s the steady pulse behind one of the most remarkable transformations in Washington girls athletics. Under his leadership, the girls team grew from a single athlete just a few years ago to a regional powerhouse — culminating in its first state title in 2024, followed by a runner-up finish and three individual state champions in 2025. And the story’s not done: Soon-to-be-senior Bailey Parker is poised to become the school’s first-ever three-time champion — boy or girl — in 2026.

Yet for all his professional success, it’s the wrestlers he coaches at home — Olivia, 18; Ben, 15; Avery, 10 — who shape him the most.

“It’s always a captive audience with them,” he said. “Wrestling doesn’t ever get turned off.”

His oldest daughter, Olivia — fierce, funny, unfiltered — started wrestling in sixth grade and never looked back. By her junior year, she took fifth place at state with a 41-15 record and celebrated a team title. Her senior season tested her resolve in ways no one expected.

She dislocated her kneecap during a match Jan. 11. An MRI later revealed floating cartilage and a torn ligament that kept her knee from staying in place. The damage was already done. Wrestling couldn’t make the injury worse, but it would mean dealing with sharp, constant pain throughout matches. After a few weeks off, with the postseason looming and her team counting on her, Olivia made the decision to push through.

With tape, a bulky brace, and sheer adrenaline, she made it to the state tournament and even pinned her first opponent in just over 90 seconds — not because her body allowed it, but because her resolve did.

Olivia’s two wins at the Mat Classic didn’t land her on the podium, but they earned six critical team points. More than that, it showed her teammates what it meant to compete. Not to win, not to be perfect — but to answer the whistle when it blows.

After a season where she went 18-12 individually, she had two surgeries: one to clean out cartilage that was floating around her joint, and a second to reconstruct the torn ligament. Now she’s in physical therapy twice a week, quietly working toward her return this fall when she joins Fort Hays State University in Kansas to wrestle and study nursing.

“She overcame a lot,” her brother Ben said. “She basically wrestled that last part of her season on just one leg. I’m really proud of her.”

Ben is Olivia’s opposite in demeanor. Stoic where she’s animated. Reserved where she’s explosive. He doesn’t say much, but he notices a lot. When he’s not on the mat, he’s snapping photos of his sister’s matches, and Olivia returns the favor when he wrestles. They swap critiques. They cheer each other on. They spar, both in practice and at home.

“She’s the only person I let talk to me if I lose because she actually watches my matches,” Ben said.

He made the varsity roster as a freshman this year, wrestling up in age, experience, and expectation. He didn’t qualify outright for state but made it as an alternate. His commitment hasn’t always matched Olivia’s, but her influence is starting to show. He’s learning what it takes.

Where Ben keeps his feelings close, Olivia wears hers like one of her medals — shiny, proud, and right up front. She’s been known to celebrate wildly after a win or, as her dad reminded her, throw a fit after a loss.

“I wouldn’t let anyone else on the team act this way; I can’t from you,” Gary remembers telling her. A classic case of dad versus coach — made more complicated when both roles live in the same house and share a ride home.

Olivia said the line between the two has always been blurry. And that’s OK.

“He doesn’t really separate the two,” she said. “But he’s basically been my coach since sixth grade. It’s just kind of who we are.”

Gary said he never pressures his kids to win, he just wants them to enjoy the sport, to find something in it for themselves.

“I don’t validate myself as a dad on my kids’ success,” he said.

That philosophy shaped more than Olivia’s response to her injury; it also guided her decision to transfer from Puyallup High School to Peninsula during her sophomore year. At Puyallup, the girls team trained separately — and mostly alone. Olivia didn’t see a future there.

Gary said he “selfishly” wanted her at Peninsula from day one. “But I let her make the decision,” he said.

When she did, it coincided with a broader shift already underway at Peninsula. More girls were joining the team. More were sticking with it. What had once been a lone competitor became a small team, then a competitive one, then a champion.

It wasn’t just a banner year for the school — it was the beginning of something bigger.

“Girls wrestling is exploding,” said Gary, who is also the school’s marketing teacher, after spending several years in the business development unit for Coca-Cola. “And it’s not just about the growth in numbers. It’s what it does for their confidence, their self-worth. These girls are comfortable with themselves. They rally around each other; it’s powerful. Working with them the last few years has been some of the best moments of my coaching career.”

And there’s another girl who may soon be in the mix. While Olivia heads to Kansas in the fall, possibly redshirting her freshman season as she finishes rehab, and Ben is eyeing next season with a quiet determination that’s starting to look familiar, 10-year-old Avery is already picking up the family trade.

She’s still figuring out her stance, but the instincts are there. She watches her siblings closely. She’s been on the mat, too, learning how to move, how to fall, how to get back up.

Which means the upstairs of the Griffin house isn’t getting a break anytime soon.

No scoreboard. No referee. Just one more Griffin stepping onto the worn-out mat.