When I learned of Joe Paterno's death -- first on Saturday night, then Sunday :) -- two things immediately came to mind.
First, I felt very sad thinking how Paterno's Penn State career had ended. Hopefully, people will look at the entire body of work before handing down their version of Paterno's legacy.
Forget the win-loss record -- decades of hard work and trying to be a positive role model should not be erased completely by any inaction amid the Jerry Sandusky alleged sickness.
Second, I thought back to my one-on-one interaction with Paterno during my previous life at the New York Post.
I had been sent to New York's famed 21 Club -- a former prohibition-era speakeasy :) -- to cover a college football luncheon. (I forget what the event was for, perhaps that year's College Football Hall of Fame members ...)
For some reason, I was the only reporter there. I spoke with Paterno for a while, and then we both departed 21 the at the same time. We chatted while heading west on 52nd Street.
"My wife and I are going to Flatbush (Brooklyn) tomorow for the first time in 20 years," Paterno told me.
"Oh, really? Well, Coach, it has changed a bit," I said with a laugh.
He proceeded to tell me how as an altar boy in his parish, he and others sometimes were sent over to Ebbets Field to work during Brooklyn Dodgers games.
I'll always remember seeing one 30-something guy walking toward us on Avenue of the Americas, looking right at Paterno. As we passed him, the guy stopped. I glanced back to see the guy shaking his head as if to say, "Nah, can't be," and continued on.
When we reached my car, I asked Paterno if he needed a ride. "Thanks but I'm gonna walk for a little bit," he said.
I said goodbye, and watched as JoePa, hands in his pockets, hustled up A of A toward Central Park.
I remember thinking to myself, "The only things missing are the black cleats."
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People today love to define others.
Whether one is an average Joe (or Charlie) like me, or a celebrity/pro athlete, people love to put labels on others
Can't do this. Will never do that. Greatest ever. A loser.
And in a world in which perception becomes reality, such tags can be painful and difficult to erase or alter.
There's also the patience issue -- few people have it, especially in sports.
All that is why Tom Coughlin and Eli Manning should be feeling extra super today.
Less than two months ago, Coughlin's future as Giants coach was in doubt.
Playoff teams don't lose to Seattle and Washington at home. Another late-season collapse, and he's history.
But the Giants coach had a different mindset. He understood the NFL season has many ups and downs. He knew his team had endured key injuries, but didn't use that as an excuse -- it comes with the gridiron territory. Coughlin knew it would be to easy to panic and point fingers, but instead he showed strength in displaying patience.
Coughlin was rewarded, thanks in large part to the play of Manning.
The guy who had the gaul to say before the season he thought he was an "elite" QB, played this season as just that. He lifted his teammates with his arm, and showed the mettle of a champion with his heart and guts.
Entering this season, Eli's biggest sin -- other than forcing a draft-day trade from San Diego to New York -- was that he wasn't his brother.
He's no Peyton. He got lucky in Super Bowl XLII. He's always good for a dumb play.
He might not be as spectacular at Drew Brees, or throw the ball quite like Aaron Rodgers. He also is not a pretty-boy quarterback like the guy in New England.
He's Eli Manning, the New York's "Eli-te" QB who will be trying to help the Giants win a second Super Bowl.
I'll tag him with this: He's got class. He's got balls. He doesn't have to take a backseat to anyone.
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Remember two things: 1. Treat others as you would like to be treated. 2. You get out of life what you put into it.
