In the sprawling landscape of American college athletics, where dreams of glory are forged in the fires of competition, stories of underdogs and heroes are commonplace. But sometimes, from the pressure-cooker environment of a football program, a darker narrative emerges—one not of triumph, but of a corrupted ambition so profound it crosses the line into criminality. The story of Mitch Cozad and Rafael Mendoza is one such tale. It is a story that transcends sports, becoming a chilling modern parable about envy, entitlement, and the lengths to which one man was willing to go to claim a prize no more significant than the job of a college punter.
This is not just an account of a stabbing; it is an examination of the psyche that fueled it, the community it shattered, and the questions it forces us to ask about the nature of competition itself.
Act I: The Stage is Set in Greeley
The University of Northern Colorado Football Program
To understand the context of the crime, one must first understand the world in which it occurred. The University of Northern Colorado (UNC), located in Greeley, was not a football powerhouse. It competed in the NCAA’s Division I-AA (now known as the Football Championship Subdivision or FCS). Unlike the behemoths of the Big Ten or SEC, where games are televised nationally and players are treated like celebrities, life for a UNC Bear was more anonymous. It was a world of long bus rides, modest crowds, and the pure, unvarnished pursuit of the game for its own sake.
In 2006, the program was in a state of transition. Under head coach Scott Downing, who was in his first year, the team was struggling. Wins were hard to come by. In such an environment, every position battle, no matter how seemingly minor, takes on outsized importance. The players were not fighting for national championships or NFL contracts; they were fighting for playing time, for respect, for the simple validation of being on the field.
The Protagonists: Rafael Mendoza and Mitch Cozad
At the center of this story are two young men, both punters, whose paths were destined for a violent collision.
Rafael “Rafa” Mendoza was a redshirt freshman from Wheat Ridge, Colorado. Described by teammates as quiet, likable, and dedicated, Mendoza was a walk-on who had quietly and diligently worked his way up the depth chart. He was not a scholarship athlete; he was there for the love of the game and the opportunity to compete. In the weeks leading up to the 2006 season, he had outperformed his competition and earned the coveted starting punter job. For Mendoza, this was the culmination of a dream—a chance to prove himself on the field.
Mitch Cozad, also a redshirt freshman, was his competition. Hailing from Wheatland, Wyoming, Cozad was a former high school star who had set a state record with an 82-yard punt. He, too, was a walk-on, but his demeanor, in retrospect, was painted differently by those who knew him. Teammates and coaches would later describe him as intensely competitive, aloof, and struggling to handle the disappointment of being a backup. The Cozad that emerged in court testimony was a young man consumed by his failure to secure the starting role, viewing Mendoza not just as a rival, but as an obstacle.
The punter position, often the butt of jokes in the football world, is a solitary one. It is a role defined by pressure-filled, isolated moments. For Cozad and Mendoza, this isolation was both professional and, as it turned out, personal. The competition between them was the entirety of their football lives at UNC. For Cozad, it appears it became something more.
Act II: The Night of September 11, 2006
The University of Northern Colorado had played its second game of the season just days earlier, a loss to Texas State. Rafael Mendoza had punted in the game. Mitch Cozad had not. The reality of the depth chart was setting in.
On the evening of September 11, Mendoza was at the University Apartments, a complex near campus where his girlfriend lived. It was a routine Monday night. Around 10:30 PM, he said his goodbyes and walked out to the parking lot to head home. The night was dark, the area poorly lit.
As he approached his car, a figure emerged from the shadows. The assailant was dressed entirely in black—black pants, a black hooded sweatshirt pulled tight around his face. He said nothing. Without warning, he lunged at Mendoza, tackling him to the ground.
What followed was a frantic, silent struggle. The man on top of Mendoza was methodical, focused. He was not throwing wild punches; he was stabbing. The target was unmistakable: Mendoza’s upper right leg, his punting leg. Again and again, a knife blade pierced his thigh.
Mendoza, fueled by adrenaline and survival instinct, fought back. He managed to grab the blade of the knife with his bare hands, suffering deep cuts to his fingers in the process. His resistance caused the attacker to falter. The assailant stood up, ran to a nearby car, and sped away.
Bleeding profusely, Mendoza stumbled back to his girlfriend’s apartment. Help was called. He was rushed to North Colorado Medical Center. The wounds were serious—one stab was so deep it was mere millimeters from his femoral artery, a injury that could have been fatal. His football season was unquestionably over. The more immediate question was whether he would ever punt again.
But Rafael Mendoza was a fighter in more ways than one. Even in his shocked and wounded state, he had managed to be a crucial witness. He had seen the attacker’s car—a light-colored, two-door coupe. And he had gotten a part of the license plate number.
Act III: The Investigation Unfolds
The Greeley Police Department was initially baffled. Why would anyone want to stab a college punter? Was it a random act of violence? A robbery attempt that went wrong? The motive was elusive.
That changed almost immediately. When UNC police officer Jay Tiffin heard the victim’s name, a connection sparked in his mind. He recalled a conversation from weeks earlier with the football team’s long snapper, John Dyer. Dyer had expressed concern about the intensity of the competition between the two punters. He mentioned that Cozad was not handling the loss of the starting job well and had made vague, unsettling comments.
This tip provided the crucial context. The motive was not robbery or random violence; it was, almost unbelievably, about a position on the football team.
The investigation zeroed in on Mitch Cozad with startling speed:
The Car: Mendoza had described a light-colored coupe. Cozad drove a beige, two-door 1995 Chevrolet Beretta. When police located the car, they found a recently replaced front driver’s side tire. Mendoza had told police he kicked at the attacker’s car during the escape, and a witness reported seeing the car hit a curb hard as it fled. The tire had a large, fresh gouge, consistent with hitting a curb.
The License Plate: Mendoza’s partial plate number matched the sequence on Cozad’s license plate.
The Evidence at the Scene: Police searching the area found a black hooded sweatshirt, a black skull cap, and a empty knife sheath discarded in a field near the apartment complex. While no direct physical evidence (like DNA or fingerprints) conclusively tied these items to Cozad, their placement aligned perfectly with the escape route from the crime scene.
The “To-Do” List: Perhaps the most damning piece of non-forensic evidence was found during a search of Cozad’s dorm room. Investigators discovered a handwritten list. Among mundane tasks like “do laundry” and “call home” was a stark, ominous entry: “Make a decision.” Prosecutors would later argue this was a chilling reference to his plan to attack Mendoza.
The Text Message Alibi: This was the piece of evidence that sealed the case in the eyes of many. Phone records showed that at 10:24 p.m., around the time of the attack, a text message was sent from Cozad’s phone. It read: “Hey, are you there?” The recipient of that message was not a friend or teammate. It was sent to a number that traced back to a payphone outside a nearby K-Mart, less than a mile from the crime scene. The prosecution’s theory was brilliant in its simplicity: Cozad had sent the text to himself to create a digital alibi. If questioned, he could claim he was at the K-Mart, miles away, trying to contact someone. It was a premeditated attempt to construct an alibi, but one that ultimately pointed directly to his guilt.
On September 14, 2006, just three days after the attack, Mitch Cozad was arrested and charged with second-degree attempted murder. The UNC football program, already reeling from a poor start to the season, was now at the center of a national scandal.
Act IV: The Legal Battle – Justice for Rafa
The case of The People of the State of Colorado v. Mitchell Cozad proceeded to trial in the summer of 2007. The Weld County Courthouse became the stage for a drama that captivated the nation.
The Prosecution’s Case
District Attorney Ken Buck (who would later become a U.S. Congressman) led the prosecution. His narrative was clear and compelling: Mitch Cozad was a young man consumed by envy and entitlement. Unable to beat Rafael Mendoza on the field, he decided to eliminate him from the competition through brutal, premeditated violence.
The prosecution presented a mountain of circumstantial evidence:
The car, the tire, and the license plate.
The “make a decision” note, which Buck argued was a “to-do list for a crime.”
The text message to the payphone, which Buck labeled a “smoking gun,” proving premeditation and a conscious effort to deceive.
Testimony from teammates about Cozad’s poor attitude and his fixation on the starting job.
The most powerful moment of the trial came when Rafael Mendoza himself took the stand. He described the terror of the attack in vivid detail, holding up his scarred hands for the jury to see. He was a sympathetic and credible witness, the living embodiment of the crime’s victim.
The Defense’s Strategy
Cozad’s defense attorney, Joseph Gavaldon, did not have an easy task. He could not deny the evidence, so he sought to dismantle the prosecution’s narrative. His argument hinged on two main points:
Mistaken Identity: Gavaldon argued that the identification was flawed. The attack happened quickly and in the dark. He suggested Mendoza, in his traumatized state, had misidentified the car and the attacker.
Insufficient Evidence: He hammered home the point that the case was built entirely on circumstantial evidence. There was no murder weapon ever found. The black clothing, while suspicious, could not be definitively linked to Cozad. No DNA from Cozad was found on Mendoza, and no DNA from Mendoza was found in Cozad’s car. He portrayed the “make a decision” note as innocuous and the text message as a bizarre but explainable coincidence.
Gavaldon attempted to paint Cozad as another victim—a young man caught in a whirlwind of circumstantial evidence and public outrage.
The Verdict and Sentencing
The jury deliberated for more than 20 hours over four days. The case was not as clear-cut as the public might have believed. The lack of direct forensic evidence gave them pause. Ultimately, they found the prosecution’s narrative of premeditated attempted murder too heavy a burden to prove beyond a reasonable doubt.
On August 31, 2007, the verdict was read: Mitch Cozad was found not guilty of second-degree attempted murder.
For Rafael Mendoza and his family, this was a devastating moment. However, the jury had not exonerated Cozad. They found him guilty of the lesser included charge of second-degree assault, a felony that still carried a significant prison sentence.
At the sentencing hearing in October 2007, the human cost of the crime was laid bare. Rafael Mendoza gave a powerful victim impact statement. “You tried to take my life away for a game,” he said, directly addressing Cozad, who showed no emotion. “You tried to end my career and my life for a starting job… I will never understand how someone could do this.”
Judge Roger Klein sentenced Mitch Cozad to seven years in the Colorado Department of Corrections, the maximum under the plea agreement. He noted the “evil motive” behind the crime, stating, “This was all about a game… It’s beyond comprehension.”
Act V: The Aftermath and Enduring Legacy
The ripples from that night in September 2006 continued long after the courtroom emptied.
For Rafael Mendoza: His physical wounds healed, but the psychological scars remained. He never punted for UNC again, though he stayed with the program as a student coach, finishing his degree. His dream of playing college football was stolen from him not by a better athlete, but by a criminal. He has largely stayed out of the public eye, a private reminder of a very public trauma.
For Mitch Cozad: He was released on parole in February 2012 after serving nearly five years of his seven-year sentence. As a condition of his parole, he was required to register as a violent offender. He returned to Wyoming, his life and reputation irrevocably shattered. His name is forever synonymous with one of the most shocking crimes in sports history.
For the University of Northern Colorado: The scandal cast a long shadow over the football program and the university. It was a public relations nightmare that took years to overcome. The story became a cautionary tale cited in discussions about sportsmanship and the mental health of athletes.
The Cultural Legacy: A Modern Parable
The Mitch Cozad case endures because it is more than a true-crime story; it is a parable for our times.
The Dark Side of Ambition: The case exposes the toxic potential of ambition when it becomes divorced from ethics. Cozad’s desire to start was not inherently wrong, but his inability to handle failure twisted that desire into something monstrous. It is an extreme example of a “win-at-all-costs” mentality gone horribly wrong.
The Pressure of College Athletics: While not an excuse for criminal behavior, the case forces a conversation about the immense pressure placed on college athletes, even at smaller schools. For walk-ons like Cozad, whose entire identity may be wrapped up in their athletic performance, the fear of failure can be paralyzing.
The Banality of the Prize: Perhaps the most haunting aspect is the sheer ordinariness of the prize. This was not a multi-million dollar NFL contract. It was not a Heisman Trophy. It was the starting punter job for a struggling FCS team. The case is a stark reminder that crime is not always proportional; sometimes, the motives are as petty as they are violent.
The story of Mitch Cozad and Rafael Mendoza continues to be featured on true-crime documentaries and sports news specials, often under sensational titles like “The Punter’s Crime” or “Murder for a Starting Job.” Each retelling serves as a grim reminder that the line between fierce competition and criminal obsession can be terrifyingly thin. In the end, the legacy of that September night is a permanent stain on the world of sports—a story not of a game won or lost, but of a life attacked, a life ruined, and a community forced to confront the darkness that can fester just beneath the surface of competition.
