I never met John Wooden. And I never will.

It was one of those dreams I always had as a kid growing up in Los Angeles and watching UCLA basketball games at Pauley Pavilion year after year with my family.

My mom would often reminisce about her undergraduate days at UCLA — the days when Wooden took over the college basketball landscape by setting records other coaches can only dream of attaining nowadays.

I remember her stories of Sidney Wicks, Jamaal Wilkes and Lew Alcindor.

I remember her passion for those championship teams and her pride for her alma matter.

But even more, I remember her love for Wooden.

Coincidentally enough, that's what Wooden wanted all of us to do: love.

He showed it with each letter he wrote to his late wife, Nell, on the 21st of every month for 25 straight years.

He showed it with countless appearances at charity fundraisers, UCLA games and other basketball events even into his late 90s.

And he showed it with respect to each and every person he encountered.

It was Wooden's love to love that made me realize just how unique and special he really was.

In a city known for its glitz and glamour, its egos and exteriors, he stayed clear of those booby traps.

So did his players, thanks to Wooden's no-nonsense attitude and a deep-rooted belief in discipline dating back to his childhood days in rural Indiana.

Instead, it was his character, integrity and class imparted upon them that extended beyond the hardwood to all facets of life.

Sayings like "If you're not making mistakes, then you're not doing anything" and "Do not let what you cannot do interfere with what you can do" were just a couple of philosophies we were lucky enough to hear him share.

He reminded us to "be true to yourself" and told us that "it isn't what you do, but how you do it."

We'd all be better off if we took those words to heart and applied them to our own lives.

In a day and age where lying, cheating and greed have plagued more than just sports, it was Wooden who stood as a bright light still shining in a dark and gloomy world.

He was more than just a coach — and the greatest one at that.

He was the consummate teacher, one that represented everything that was right in sports and humanity.

It's why I ultimately grew to love college basketball and why I still love it today.

"John Wooden represents the conquest of substance over hype, the triumph of achievement over erratic flailing, the conquest of discipline over gambling, and the triumph of executing an organized plan over hoping that you'll be lucky, hot or in the zone," said former UCLA star Bill Walton, who saw Wooden more as his second father than as his coach after spending much of his life after college with him.

"Coach Wooden never talked about winning and losing, but rather about the effort to win. He rarely talked about basketball, but generally about life. He never talked about strategy, statistics or plays, but rather about people and character. Coach Wooden never tired of telling us that once you become a good person, then you have a chance of becoming a good basketball player."

So on Friday night at UCLA's Ronald Reagan Medical Center, Wooden, after 99 years of service, didn't have any more love left to give.

He had taught us how to succeed. He had taught us how to live. And most of all, he had taught us how to love.

Sadly, there will never be another one like him.

Certainly not on a basketball court and probably not anywhere else in this world.

"He touched so many lives throughout his career," UCLA coach Ben Howland said of Wooden, reflecting on the life of a man who captured 10 national titles in 12 years, compiled four 30-0 seasons and won over 80 percent of his games — including an 88-game winning streak.

"His legend will never be equaled."

It's only been two days since he's left us, and things already don't feel totally right.

It's a harsh reality to accept, one that will have us searching for our next best source of inspiration.

For now though, all we can do is what he taught us to do.

Love.

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