MILWAUKEE -- Al McGuire packed the house one last time Monday night.

	Relatives and friends file past the casket of Al McGuire on Monday.

A standing room-only crowd of more than 1,500 mourners attended a funeral Mass for the former coach and commentator whose powerful personality and wit transcended the basketball court and the broadcast booth.

McGuire died Friday at 72 after a long illness.

"Al McGuire was a basketball coach, and for 20 years he coached basketball like Beethoven wrote music, like Shakespeare wrote poetry and like Rembrandt painted pictures," said U.S. Sen. Herb Kohl, his close friend.

McGuire's son, Al Jr., recalled a time when his father was starting to build Marquette into a powerhouse, the crowds at the old Milwaukee Arena were getting bigger and bigger, "and he turned to me and said, `We're doing good.' "

His son then scanned the overflow crowd at Gesu Church, including 30 of his father's former players standing on the altar behind him.

"How proud he would be that the house was another SRO (standing room only)," he said. "We've done good together, gang. We've done really good."

The 90-minute Mass followed a six-hour visitation in which thousands of mourners paid their last respects to McGuire, the charismatic New Yorker who coached Marquette to a national championship and later brought his street-wise lingo to TV.

"In Al McGuire's passing we have lost a truly remarkable man, colorful, unique, one of a kind," the Rev. Robert Wild, president of Marquette University, said in his homily.

"His style, even his vocabulary, his verbal imagery, were uniquely his own and we listened to what was sometimes a stream of consciousness, yet we understood what he meant and quite frankly across the country we have borrowed shamelessly a variety of 'McGuireisms': the 'Hail Mary play,' a 'cupcake' opponent, going 'uptown,' or 'Park Ave.,' the list goes on and on," Wild said.

"Al lived life with zest, he did things his way and we admire him for it."

The Rev. George Winzenburg, who presided over the Mass, said McGuire lived with gusto and died with dignity.

"We remember a man who taught us how to live and how to die," he said.

McGuire died of a blood disorder, said his brother, Dick, a fellow Hall of Famer.

Pallbearers included Utah coach Rick Majerus and former players Ed Janka, Jack Burke, Ulice Payne, George Thompson, Earl Tatum and Ric Cobb.

McGuire was one of college basketball's most successful coaches for 20 years, leading Marquette to 11 postseason appearances, capped with an NCAA title in 1977, shortly after announcing that season would be his last.

When the Warriors beat North Carolina to win the championship in Atlanta, McGuire, who sent 26 players to the NBA, did not join the celebration. He sat on the bench by himself, his face buried in his hands, crying.

Later that year, he began a broadcast career that lasted for 23 years. He started at NBC and in 1992 moved to CBS, where he worked until he retired last March, saying he had a form of anemia.

McGuire played at St. John's before a brief NBA career that ended in the 1954-55 season. He then made his mark on the sport as a coach and broadcaster, earning him election to the Hall of Fame in 1992.

His head coaching career started at Belmont Abbey, a small school in North Carolina, in 1957, and he moved to Marquette in 1964. He turned the Warriors into a national power by recruiting the neighborhoods where his colleagues didn't dare venture.

He joined NBC in 1977, and his constant banter with analyst Billy Packer became a staple for college basketball fans. "McGuireisms" such as "tap city," "white-knuckler" and "aircraft carrier" became part of the sport's vocabulary.

One of his favorite phrases was "seashells and balloons," and all who knew him had their own interpretations.

"It just meant good times," Majerus said. "It is looking at life with a positive approach through the worst of situations."

They were words that McGuire lived by until his death.

Majerus, who is on sabbatical to care for his ill mother in Milwaukee, said he sensed a special spirit when he visited his mentor for the final time last week.

McGuire had removed the intravenous lines supplying drugs and blood transfusions, Majerus said.

"He was just so happy to be free and he was not hindered by those things," Majerus said. "It was as if he was unfettered -- spiritually as well as physically."

Amid the dozens of bouquets that adorned the cathedral Monday night was a single blue and yellow helium balloon anchored by a plastic bag filled with seashells.

"Thanks, Al," read the attached card. "It's been a hell of a ride."