BODY: SOUTH BEND -- It's gibberish, every single word. Pete Duranko will take the microphone, at a Notre Dame function or maybe at a South Bend restaurant on Karaoke Night as he did while in town last weekend, and belt out the school fight song in Polish.

Except Duranko doesn't speak Polish.

"It sounds different every time,'' said Bob Gladieux, a teammate of Duranko's on the 1966 Notre Dame national title team who has heard many a version. "It just has the same rhyme and rhythm.'' Korzen, korzen dla stary Notre Dame ...

"I could do it in Hawaiian, too,'' Duranko kidded last Saturday while attending the Notre Dame-Michigan game. "Anything for a laugh. I'm a sense of humor guy.''

He needs it now more than ever.

The former Irish defensive tackle, once strong enough to walk around the Notre Dame football practice fields on his hands, now cannot lift a gallon of milk to put it back in the refrigerator.

Some days he can't comb his hair. Or knot his tie. Or tie his shoes.

It takes him an hour-and-a-half to get dressed to go anywhere. It has steadily gotten worse since the day three years ago when doctors diagnosed Duranko with ALS -- amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, the silent killer better known as Lou Gehrig's Disease.

Nowadays the life of the party can feel his own life slipping away, slowly.

"It gets frustrating and I'll swear a lot but you learn to deal with it,'' said Duranko, who played with the Denver Broncos from 1967-70. "I don't want any sympathy.''

On this Duranko is serious.

He lives in Johnstown, Pa., 30 miles north of the town of Quecreek, Pa., where they pulled nine coal miners to safety after they were trapped 240 feet underground for three days. Duranko rarely goes anywhere he doesn't know somebody who knows somebody whose life was changed by that ordeal.

Closer yet to Johnstown is Shanksville, the township where United Flight 93 carrying 45 passengers crashed after the American heroes on board overtook hijackers Sept. 11, 2001.

In the region he lives, tragedy is never more than a sentence away for Duranko, whose cousin is also a New York police officer affected personally by 9-11.

"I think what we have gone through at home shows the steadfastness of Pennsylvanians,'' Duranko said. "That mine disaster showed how good and how tough people are ... I wake up and I'm miserable and it's tough getting going. It takes longer, but once I get going, get around people, then I get excited.''

It was that love of people that ultimately led to Duranko's original diagnosis. The semi-retired former steel company executive was signing autographs at a Johnstown-area health fair a few years back when he began talking to doctors about soreness in his neck and shoulders.

He agreed to become part of a study in exchange for a free physical, which detected some irregularities. More tests revealed a neuromuscular problem that caused doctors to summon Duranko to Pittsburgh for a consultation.

"The doctor said I've got good news and bad news,'' Duranko recalled. "He said the bad news is you've got ALS. I said, 'What is ALS?' He said, 'It's Lou Gehrig's Disease.' I said, 'What's the good news?' He said, 'You can still enjoy your life.' ''

The unknown scared Duranko more than the newfound adversity. He had overcome that before.

Duranko grew up in a family in which his brother and sister were schizophrenic in an era nobody talked about mental health. Then at Notre Dame, Duranko broke his wrist in 1964 and had to redshirt, which meant he would have to stay an extra season at Notre Dame.

That season turned out to be 1966.

"At Notre Dame, I learned how to get knocked down and get back up again,'' Duranko said. "I was at Notre Dame when they only had two wins, in '63, and we came back. So you learn to deal with adversity. Same things in business, when I was selling insurance.

"So I figured, I have this thing (ALS), I'm going to go out and talk about this to kids, to whoever.''

He has appeared on the Jerry Lewis Telethon. Shaken as many hands as his sapped strength will allow. Been on more boards than a surfer. Spoken at Rotary Clubs. Hugged Special Olympians.

"When they see me, they smile because they know I have something, too,'' Duranko said. "I feel good making them feel good.''

Being around people provides the only medicine that helps.

It is the quiet of his home, in the most restive of times, when the disease makes him most restless.

"I thank God for my family (wife Janet and sons Greg and Nick) because if anything's going to happen, if this gets worse, it's a lonely disease, it really is,'' Duranko said. "People love you and want to do something but your spouse ends up taking care of you ...''

"But I believe in the Blessed Mother and She helped me through high school, college and pros. She helped me when I thought about leaving Notre Dame.

She'll get me through this. I am religious but I'm not a religious freak, you know? I think you have to pray and that helps get you over the hump sometimes.''
He gladly will accept your prayers, and jokes, too.

In any language.