The last time I saw Mike Pettine

I have character flaws, as I'm assuming everyone else does. The one that often bothers me most is not keeping up with people who for whatever reason aren't as much a part of my life as they once were. So from time to time I have to scold myself when I'm reminded that I haven't talked to, say, a John Chaney in a while, and that maybe it's about time I gave him a call. And after we catch up, I always feel better. Just because.

Sometimes you never know how many opportunities you have left. None of us are getting any younger.

Central Bucks West football coach Mike Pettine retired after winning a third consecutive PIAA state title in 1999. I had stopped covering the suburban high schools about a decade earlier. In the 1980s, I was there for roughly half the games in the Bucks' 55-game unbeaten streak. I counted them up. Even in the 1990s, I would write stories whenever they got deep into the playoffs.

As with Temple basketball, there were some memorable times.

I remember the 1986 season in particular. The Bucks were in the midst of that streak. But they didn't have a whole lot back. At least few thought so. Yet it was still West. And the Bucks opened with a 3-0 win at Downingtown, which supposedly was pretty good. And the wins once again kept coming. In their sixth game, they lost quarterback/linebacker Matt Baggett for the season with an injury. The next week, they went to Abington with a sophomore QB and a sophomore running back named Randy Cuthbert, who would become one of the program's best and later play for Steve Spurrier at Duke. They won, 14-0. That would be Abington's only loss. A few weeks later they went to Norristown, where they trailed late. But they came up with a stop on fourth and short and proceeded to go nearly the length of the field to score the winning touchdown in the closing seconds. I think Cuthbert got the ball something like 10 straight times. I was watching it, and I still found it hard to believe. But it happened.

After they won what was then the traditional Turkey Day finale against C.B. East to finish another 11-0 season, Pettine had Baggett stand in the middle of the locker room. He told the rest of the team to give a standing ovation to the guy who'd gotten them halfway through. Some gesture, by some kind of coach.

Pettine once told me, very matter-of-factly, to rank his team No. 1 every year. That way, he explained, if we win them all, we'll have to be No. 1 at the end. I appreciated his logic. He understood the pressure. You could tell by the way his hands were still shaking a good hour or so after the game was over. He wanted only that his teams be perfect. Much of the time, they were.

Anyway, he and I would always talk about getting together in the offseason to play some golf. And we both agreed it was an idea worth doing. Yet for whatever reasons, it never happened. You lose touch, you get busy, maybe you just forget. Then we'd run into each other after some time had passed and we'd talk about hitting the links once again. At some point, you begin to think it's never going to be.

But last year, I got an email from him quite unexpectedly, asking me to play in his foursome at a charity event. Was I available? You bet. And so we finally did what we'd been putting off for so long. It was a blast. I gave him a spare Masters hat I had lying around. Never a bad thing, right? We swapped stories, reminisced, caught up on some new stuff, talked about his son's two seasons with the Browns, and on and on. It was one of those afternoons you wished would never end.

He hit a drive (from the forward tees, since that's where midgets like me play from when they get old) into the pool on the dogleg-right par 4 at North Hills. He didn't believe it, until a girl in the pool threw the ball back over the fence. You can't make that up. Later, he chipped in for an eagle from about 100 yards, after hitting his first two shots in the scramble format out of play. A genuine keeper, even though by that point our group was battling for Ms. Congeniality. Hardly mattered. This day wasn't about winning. We were there to reconnect.

We were the last two to leave the parking lot. After we discovered that we were both dog lovers, there was no stopping us. Who needs football? We promised not to wait so long to do it again. And in the next few weeks, we emailed back and forth. A lot of it not shockingly centered around the pampered pooches who now ruled our worlds. Who knew? I even wrote a story about it. The feedback took me by surprise. Maybe it shouldn't have. He was that kind of guy. I was just a part of the ride.

Last Friday afternoon, I was told that Pettine had passed away while playing golf with some friends at his winter home in Florida just north of Tampa. And the first thought that ran through my mind was I was so thankful I'd gotten the chance to tee it up with him before it was too late. I hope that doesn't sound selfish. It was almost as if we'd formed some kind of a bond. I'll always have that sunny day at North Hills. And if I didn't, I'd always feel that something was missing.

This time I was fortunate.