Wooden: Coach, icon, legend, a Beatles album

The first thing I saw on my first trip to Pauley Pavilion was the sign.

DO NOT PARK! THIS SPACE RESERVED FOR COACH JOHN WOODEN.

I don't remember much about the game other than that it featured two teams ranked in the top 10, and that UCLA won. But I remember seeing that sign, and I remember thinking it was super cool. And I remember walking into the building and watching fans admire Coach Wooden -- and that's what everybody called him, simply Coach Wooden -- while grown men pointed and encouraged their sons and daughters to go and shake his hand just so that they could one day say they did it.

I don't know any of those sons or daughters.

Don't know their names or stories.

But I imagine today is among the days they're happy they did what they did.

John Wooden died Friday night at the UCLA Medical Center.

He was 99.

He was a legend.

He was revered for his achievements as a basketball coach (a record 10 national titles at UCLA, including seven in a row) and human in general. He was wise and kind, thoughtful and considerate. And, most of all, sharp-minded, almost to the very end.

I won't bore you with "my Wooden stories" because my stories aren't much different than the stories of thousands, if not millions, of others. I didn't know him well. I met him four times, briefly each time. He was delightful without exception. He asked about me, my profession, my family, and he couldn't have been nicer. But what I remember most from those experiences isn't how Wooden acted or what he said. What I remember most is how the people making the introductions looked, how they seemed honored to be the bridge that connected me to an iconic figure who was universally respected.

That was the neatest thing.

That's what stuck with me -- how people always seemed genuinely excited to introduce other people to Wooden, and how I never felt people wanted me to meet him merely because I write about basketball and he used to coach it. It was something different. The best comparison I can come up with is the feeling you get from turning somebody on to a great book or album, the satisfaction you get from taking something you believe to be awesome and handing it to somebody because you think it's crazy that they haven't yet had the opportunity to realize just how awesome that something is.

To me, that's Coach Wooden.

He was basketball's version of a Hemingway book or a Beatles album, exactly like something you ask somebody if they've read or heard, then encourage them to read or listen to it when they say they haven't already done it. He was a gift, a treasure, a source of knowledge for those who knew him well or barely at all.

I fell into the latter category.

But on a day like today, that seems good enough.