A Mortal Penning to the State of Joe Paterno’s Legacy

Joe Paterno once visited my high school, in 1997. There was a star recruit on the football team — whom I graduated with — a Pennsylvania boy, an absolute athletic phenom, and Paterno wanted to make sure he wasn’t weighing an option that involved not going to Penn St. Paterno was an impressive man, kind of in the way the persona of some people, their presence, outweighs their physical stature. And man, did that aura spill through the hallways. It was only a matter of seconds before every student was rubbernecking over the next, hoping to get a glimpse at this football legend. And this was a private school, mind you. Most of the kids there didn’t know a football from an over-dried meatloaf. They were going to run the country someday…not run the option. Yet, Paterno had everyone fixated on him like he was royalty. And he was.

Now, almost 20 years later, the late Paterno’s persona is a punctured tire on a new car, slowly losing air with each passing second, devaluing the entirety. With each wisp, each flux, his legacy slowly sinks into obscurity, another coach who went for love of program over everything else.

And that’s…well, that’s the reality of sports dynasties.

Through time, sort of constructed from a word-of-mouth mashup, there’s been an adage that people should root for a team. Join something you have no control over; allow your soul to become involved. As an outsider, no question, but still — you are a part of a greater thing that’s bigger than, seemingly, most other things.

College football is a perfect example.

Growing up in Ohio I understood a trend rather quickly: If you’re from Cincinnati, you like the Bengals. If you’re from Cleveland, you like the Browns. Western Ohio might have random allegiances to the Indianapolis Colts, just as Eastern Ohio pulls for the Steel Curtain only an hour away in Pittsburgh. Sure, there are a few who will contradict this understanding, but mostly, it rings true.

However, if you go to each of these regions and ask about college football — maybe even just football — the first thing you will hear is: Buckeyes. The. Ohio. State. Buckeyes.

It never fails. Why? It’s a dynasty, something the entire state can identify with, to cry with, to celebrate with…it’s universal.

The college football program is more like a realm: Gods and mortals, war and greed, mixed in with some games featuring fun costumes. And because of that type of reach, you definitely have some people directly involved (the Gods, not the Mortals) who become so watered-down with untouchable authority their ego could flood the Mojave Desert.

Only a few hours away from OSU, across the Pennsylvania boarder — and past more than a few trees — Joe Paterno was apparently living this example.

New court revelations from the Jerry Sandusky case place — even more — blame toward Paterno and his ignorance in favor of his beloved realm.

(If you have no idea about the Sandusky case, I would give this a quick read.)

According to the testimony, Paterno knew of Sandusky’s actions back in 1976, when one of the accusers said he told Paterno, directly, that he was inappropriately touched by Sandusky.

From the deposition:

The victim, who was identified in court records as John Doe 150, said that while he was attending a football camp at Penn State, Sandusky touched him as he showered. Sandusky’s finger penetrated the boy’s rectum, Doe said in 2014, and the victim asked to speak with Paterno about it. Doe testified that he specifically told Paterno that Sandusky had sexually assaulted him, and Paterno ignored it.

Paterno’s ruling that day?

I don’t want to hear about any of that kind of stuff, I have a football season to worry about.

Two years after JoePa’s sentiments toward that 14-year-old boy — who had a man’s finger in his rectum — the grand Lord of Penn State football was given multiple Coach of the Year awards. From that point until his death, Paterno would go on to win two national championships, three Big Ten titles, five Fiesta Bowls, coach two undefeated seasons, and much, much more.

With that, the mortals followed, relinquishing their comfort of control, giving their soul to a program — a realm. People fought for JoePa and what he had created. To them, he was the reason their insignificance was significant. They cried when the statue of the God was removed. They cheered when the vacated wins were reinstated.

And I don’t blame them.

Back in 2011, when the story first broke, I didn’t really blame Paterno either. Like everyone else, I didn’t have all the information. But I was also blinded by the man’s legacy. His presence. Yes, his realm.

Now, I just think of that day back in 1997, when Paterno had hundreds of kids vying for a glance at a living legend. I wonder, at any point in the back of his conscience, if he thought about the dishonesty of his legacy. Not dishonesty like pulling local favors to get discounts at everything in and around Happy Valley or working the system to get an athlete an “easy” summer gig.

No. I’m talking about the irony of the exact point he found himself in that day, with admiring youth looking up at him. I wonder if he thought about what John Doe 150 told him in 1976.

Honestly, that seems like too much of a mortal thing.