Kern: Catching up with legendary coach Mike Pettine

I HADN'T seen Mike Pettine in, well, way too long. I'd covered portions of his historic career at Central Bucks West, where he went 326-42-4 in 33 seasons before walking away following a third straight state title in 1999. He won his last 45 games. The Bucks also won 55 in a row in the 1980s, and I was there for about half of them. Since his retirement we'd spoken occasionally, always mentioning the possibility of getting together for a round of golf someday. That turned into one of these years.

Earlier this week that time finally arrived, which left us both wondering why the wait.

Pettine, who's 76, had invited me to be part of the CB West foursome in the Suburban One Conference outing, run by the athletic directors to raise scholarship money for student-athletes. It was an opportunity to reminisce and catch up. I told him I'd probably be like the "C" player in a scramble format, where you use the best shot of everyone in the group. You have to know your limitations.

We were paired with two ADs, West's Henry Hunt and his friend John Creighton of Cheltenham, at Glenside's North Hills Country Club. I quickly learned that each were Northeast Philly guys like me. So we had lots to talk about too.

I brought Pettine a Masters hat as a thank you. Figured it was the least I could do. He looked the same, just a little older. Who isn't? I noticed he was walking with a slight limp. Turns out he has foot issues. Yet he still gave you the impression he could command a sideline with his presence if he had to.

"I miss the relationships with the players," Pettine conceded, when prodded. "I don't miss the grind."

This is the first summer he's been "off" in awhile. Son Michael, or Junior, was the head coach of the Cleveland Browns the last two seasons. After getting fired he's taking a year hiatus while he spends the bulk of his time expanding his home on Lake Erie near Sandusky, Ohio. Pettine and his wife Joyce, who now winter in Florida near their daughter, will be visiting him soon. But it's left Pettine with a football void, which if nothing else gives him more time to work on his swing.

Over lunch I find myself reliving some of the many glory moments from his past, bringing up names and games that suddenly seem like they just happened. And he's only too willing to oblige my recollections with more stories and observations. Even while he's having conversations with just about anyone who's shown up. He remains who he is, which in many ways was refreshing. Yet hardly surprising. But he does appear to be much more relaxed than I remember when he was trying to beat the Norristowns and Abingtons of the food chain.

"We have a house in Land O' Lakes, which is about 45 minutes north of Tampa," he said, with a smile. "When I told someone where we lived, he started laughing. I didn't know why. Then he told me that's one of the big nudist areas down there. And he was right . . .

"Who knew?"

Soon it's off to the 14th, which is where we started. It's a 200-yard par 3, not the kind of hole you want to start on. Pettine is excited that they're letting seniors use the forward tees for a change, though as we'll soon find out that only means he's getting maybe a 10-yard advantage much of the time. I tell him I'll gladly join him, since distance has become a problem for someone my size. After the first three balls all go left into the trees, I step up and hit a driver that doesn't get too far off the ground but goes straight and rolls past the pin and ends up just off the back of the green. From there I chip it to near-gimme range. Pettine is impressed. I caution him that it's early.

Riding in the same cart, we end up covering any number of topics between shots. I wasn't taking notes so much as soaking up the nostalgia and knowledge. I found out some stuff I didn't know and rehashed other things that were familiar. The golf part is almost secondary, although at one point about halfway through we got to 4-under and deluded ourselves into thinking we could be factors. But we sort of held our own. And it's doubtful that even the eventual winners got any more out of their four-plus hours together.

"I remember many years where the kids almost couldn't enjoy (the success)," Pettine noted, as if that reality continued to bother him. "It was more like relief that they hadn't screwed the season up. One year we lost once, and people were like consoling me because we hadn't won them all. But that goes with the territory.

"We lost to North Hills, which was supposed to be maybe the best team in the country, in (the) 1993 (state finals) by a point. We were up 14 with five minutes to go. Later on we're in our office and (top assistant Mike) Carey says to me, 'You want one of these (second-place medallions)?' Then he goes, 'Oh, you've got one.' "

He shrugs knowingly.

"You know, people thought (CB) East-West was a big deal," Pettine went on. "When I was a kid we'd sneak in through the fence at Garthwaite Stadium to see Conshohocken-St. Matt's. Now that was something. They wouldn't let the Italian boys into St. Matt's."

Pettine has hand tremors. To compensate he uses a putter with a really large head for extra weight. So on the first green he annnounced, "If you're going to make jokes, do it now." Nobody does. And he rolls in a few, including a 50-footer in the putting contest that at least gets him into the finals.

On the 18th, he hits a drive too good, and it goes into the adjacent pool. We didn't see it go in, because it seemed too far, but a girl tosses it back over the fence after telling us it went into the shallow end. "Better get Coach another beer," Hunt yells out.

And on the 12th, a par 5, Pettine holes out a wedge from just short of the green for an eagle. High-fives all around. To which he added, "Almost makes you forget I messed up the drive and hooked my second into the water." Hey, it's a scramble. We all took turns being the hero.

Over dinner I find out that Carey, who was legendary in his own right, isn't coaching this year at Archbishop Wood because he's having more serious issues with the leg injury that he suffered in the auto accident that ended his playing career in 1977.

Pettine tells a story about the father of Mike and Pat Carey, who both starred at CB West.

"Mr. Carey was tougher on his kids than we ever were," recalled Pettine, who then added that Mike adopted a similar style of parenting. "Mike's daughters were all tremendous athletes. One time Ashley (the oldest) was going to her prom. She's all dressed and ready to go. Mike comes home and asks if she took her 100 free throws. She says she's going to the prom. No way. Off comes the dress, she takes the shots, puts the dress back on and goes to the prom."

He talks about changing times, and the hazing incident at CB West in 2014, which led to the school canceling games and people getting fired. Good people, Pettine maintains.

"I probably got out at the right time," he concluded. "Things happened back then, too. Junior got his hair washed with mustard and ketchup. Then they did it to one kid with motor oil, and it got in his eye and we were at the hospital. Now, with cellphones and social media, who knows what might have happened? . . . You know, my wife probably has better stories than I do."

It's amazing how many guys came up to him during the round, just to say hi. Many were former players who are now administrators and/or coaches themselves. They're all part of the legacy, even if it's an era that many in this generation aren't even aware of.

"People took their shots at us," Pettine said. "Once somebody told me that (another) AD said we were giving our kids steroids. What? Or that we did this or that. Maybe we worked harder."

After dinner we lingered in the parking lot until everyone else had left and darkness was setting in. The last half-hour or so was spent talking about our dogs: his Yorkie-Bichon mix, 7-month-old Bella, whom he got mostly to keep his wife company after his children talked him into it, and Chanel, my adopted 7-year-old Italian Greyhound. We sheepishly agreed we're both hooked.

Who knew?

"You know, you're not a 'C,' " Pettine nodded, as he headed for his car. "You're easily a 'B.' "

We promised not to wait so long for the next time.

@mikekerndn