The scene was surreal. I was lifted bodily from the rear, tossed like a rag-doll while a stupefied grin played about my mouth. Flags were flying, the stunned silence deafening. Even now, twelve years later, I can barely take it in. Our 1989 Alabama team had taken a game we did not deserve.

That 17-16 victory over Penn State at Beaver Stadium, in State College, Pa. was a once-in-a-career thing that is the stuff of youngsters' dreams and B movies. Our team had played well enough to win for fifty-six minutes. At that point, Penn State had managed an interception (a Jerry Sandusky special no less -- a one-handed thing by a noseguard.)

Joe Paterno then proceeded to hand the ball to his tailback, Blair Thomas, eleven times in a row, as the relentless offense manhandled us while the Nittany Lion roared over the PA system.

On his last carry, Thomas had been tripped, landed on the one-inch line, and bounced into the endzone. The courageous official marked the ball, and with a few seconds left, Joe sent his field goal team on to polish us off.

The snap was high -- we blocked the kick.

While the scene after the game blurs in the remembering, Joe and Sue Paterno's response does not. With disappointment palpable in the stadium, the coach was gracious to me, something I had never been able to be in similar circumstances. In the family booths upstairs, Sue was the first person to reach my wife Carolyn. Her hug was sincere, her congratulations heartfelt. We reflected later that we were stunned and humbled.

Carolyn felt compelled to watch Coach Paterno's press conference on the closed circuit television, whereupon she experienced another epiphany. The first question referred to the obvious. "Coach, did you make a mistake? Shouldn't you have run the ball one more time? They couldn't stop you. Didn't the high snap cost you the game?"

Joe paused, then spoke, "The story today is not about a high snap. Here is the story: 140 young men played their hearts out today. There was glory all over that field. Of course we are disappointed about losing, but the story today is about the great effort by both teams. That is what we all need to remember about today."

Great human beings make bold imprints in all circumstances. What Joe and Sue did that day was more than courtesy, more than winning. Joe and Sue Paterno took a tough situation, and with their grace and wisdom changed the way we thought -- about defeat, and maybe about victory. They made a difference.

In a few weeks they will enter that rarefied atmosphere that we lesser mortals struggle to understand. Joe will break Bear Bryant's record for football victories in Division l-A Football. When he notches number 324, he will have accomplished something never done before in big-time college football.

Knowing what his response would be, I didn't bother to call Paterno for this article. Something like, "Curry, you never buy me a drink, and all you can do is ask me a bunch of dumb questions about something that doesn't even matter!"

So I moved up a notch. I called Sue.

Being a clever reporter, I know one should ask the best question first. So I said, "Sue, what are you doing?" Remarkable, and such an effect it had. "I am wrestling this two year old grandson, who wants the phone. Do you still love chocolate?" She and I share a passion for chocolate, and she went into some detail about the latest products on the chocoholic market.

"Sue, we both know Joe will not discuss the 'record' with me, so will you?" I begged. "Sure, I'll discuss it, and I'll be so happy when it is over. It is just like having a baby. We just want it to be over! We have no idea what it will be like, and we are sick of talking about it. Even after it happens, it won't make any difference in the players' lives." "How's Carolyn?" The record talk was over.

The Paternos' value system shines through every detail of their lives. Sue's metaphor, "Like a baby..." speaks to records in terms of new life rather than money or monuments. Her reference to its meaning, "It will not make a difference for players..." says that the important currency is growth in student-athletes' lives.

Penn State is the pacesetter in NCAA integrity issues, and virtually all the players graduate. The Paterno legacy of generosity in supporting the campus library and an All Faith Spiritual Center is well documented.

The family lives in the same house after all these years. Joe still walks to work. Around their household "The Record" is literally an afterthought.

Are these people perfect? Of course not. Joe will enumerate his mistakes ad infinitum. But they are genuine. If not, I would know.

I played with Joe's former players (Dave Robinson, Lenny Moore, Glenn Ressler, Lydell Mitchell), I scouted his teams as a pro scout (1975), I competed against him as a coach, I broadcast his games, and I have been a guest in the Paterno home. Their son Jay even took our son Billy home to spend the night while Jay was a graduate assistant at Virginia and Billy a fledgling player.

With the Paternos, what you see is what you get, and what you get is what college football should be all about.

Look well, American public. Love and appreciate the best while we have them. You will not see their like again.

ESPN college football analyst Bill Curry coached for 17 years in the college ranks, at Georgia Tech, Alabama and Kentucky.