Remembering a true ‘gentleman of the game’

Along my travels over the years as a sports writer and in my private life, few people made my day better seeing them than Phil Pergola did.

Whether I saw him in the locker room before or after a game he just coached, in some high school gym at any other game or even at a golf course as we both shared a love of that sport, when I saw him I knew my day was about to get better.

Phil was such a comforting, caring person to be around. Now I’m sitting in front of my laptop trying to fight back tears and keep that same sentiment from all those meetings.

But it’s tough. For me, like many others, this is truly a sad time.

Pergola, who was a head coach for 51 years at Mon Valley Catholic, Charleroi, Ringgold and California, died Saturday at the age of 78.

When I heard on Friday he took ill and it was grave, it was a punch in the gut by another dear friend, boxing hall of famer Michael Moorer.

I can pull out all of the old clichés when describing Phil such as he was like family, he was a father figure, he was generous, he was the calming in any storm and so on.

Right now, none of that says enough about how I felt about a man who took a liking to me at a very young age.

I was introduced to Phil by my cousin, the late Ed Gray, way back in the 1970s. Ed and Phil were like brothers and all the great things my cousin had told me about him were no line of BS.

Ed always made Phil out to be bigger than life, better than it was possible to imagine.

He was all of that and more. Phil was a student of the game of basketball. A teacher, a family man and trusted friend. Never did I feel talking to Phil he wasn’t listening and listening intently.

He always respected my job and was very cordial to me at the start, whether his teams won in a blowout or suffered a painful loss.

Over the years, like it seems he did with everyone else close in his life, he just welcomed everything about me with open arms.

We shared so much and not just about basketball or golf. We both suffered from diabetes and talked often about how much – or how little – we took care of ourselves. We both liked food and talked about that, too.

Phil was never a braggart about his long career as a coach, his WPIAL and PIAA championships, taking two different schools to the WPIAL title game and amassing more than 600 wins as a coach.

I remember once he chuckled and said he was glad people talked about his 600 wins and not his more than 500 losses.

While I consider him to be a really good basketball coach, I would never honestly say he was the best one out there.

However, when it comes to being a gentleman of the game, Phil Pergola had no peers.

He commanded respect without demanding it. He wasn’t a screamer on the bench, often sitting there with his fist on his chin dissecting what he was seeing.

He was always willing to help out in any manner possible and was never afraid to take the reins of an event – like the Ringgold Undergraduate Basketball Tournament, the Mon Valley YMCA Summer Basketball League or the Budd Grebb Summer League – and put his stamp on it.

He was forever a giver and not a taker. Another thing about him was he could always poke fun at himself. He was never above that. But he did respect himself, for sure.

In his last year as the head coach at Ringgold he confided in me that when he retired, he wanted me to write the story of his career above anyone else.

He told me I had seen enough of it, experienced it and he trusted me handling the task.

After his last season, I asked him a couple times about doing that story and he always shrugged and said, “Not yet.” I think it was because he wasn’t really happy about the way things ended at Ringgold, but he didn’t want to speak negatively. So he kept putting it off.

That’s because he never wanted to rock the boat. He wasn’t a sour grapes kinda guy.

After Phil passed, I was talking to Bruno Pappasergi, a dear friend we both shared these many years, and Bruno told me that Phil once old him he wanted me to write his obituary when he died.

That’s how much he cared about me … and me him.

I didn’t get to write his obituary. But I did get to fulfill one request he posed to me.

I’ve written so many of these columns about dearly departed folks who had a profound and lasting effect on my life.

Phil is the only one who talked openly about me writing “his column” one day. He said he wondered what I would say and wished he could read it when the time came because he was sure I would do him justice.

I would joke and tell him it may never happen because he would probably outlive me.

Well, Phil, you got your wish. Here is your column, my friend. I’m sure in spirit you know how many tears I shed putting it together. I can only hope it pleases you as much as you pleased me over the years.

Heaven’s basketball squad might not have the best coach ever right now, but it definitely has the right angel for what the GM expects for His team.

I’m already missing my friend.

Anyone with any thoughts, opposing views or comments on this column can reach Jeff Oliver by emailing justjto@verizon.net.