Better Off Red: Gods among Leaders
By Editorial Staff
The point of this series was always a bit up in the air, intended to discuss and consider the impact of sports on fans, a University, and the greater community. It ran the risk of being superficial in that regard, defined by the varied (and unpredictable) reactions of people to occurrences on the field of play. We’re never speaking in absolute terms when talking about sports, where teams are fluid and dedication to a common cause manifests as fandom. We don’t celebrate losing seasons because we don’t celebrate failure. We celebrate movement in “the right direction” in the hopes that someday soon we can raise our own flags higher than all the others and sit on the annual throne of victory.
Then again, I sell the world of sports–and myself, if I may say so–short by claiming this transience matters to the people it inspires to paint their faces and argue over perceived greatness. The emotions drummed up by football and soccer are as real as those linked to first dates, buying a new car, or the passing of a family pet. It would be foolish and dishonest to discard them. This doesn’t mean they can’t be misplaced. We’re witnessing some of the strongest emotions humanity is capable of, framed by sports as much as a football practice facility frames artificial turf. Make no mistake, the scandal in Penn State is a story inseparable from the world of sports, by virtue of proximity and titles, but the issues at hand explode from their confines in Happy Valley with undeniable force.
Let me be clear: I am a firm believer in the doctrine of “innocent until proven guilty”. My stance on the metaphorical “court of public opinion” is one of tolerance, not support. I believe the allegations against Jerry Sandusky are of grave seriousness, and I accept that the evidence against him is substantial. But sentencing comes at the end of the legal process, not the beginning or middle, and it certainly isn’t placed in the hands of victims or an angry populace. When the time comes, the truth will out.
The status of the case against Sandusky isn’t my concern here, however, nor is it the popular topic anywhere this mess is being discussed. Much as everyone may want to kick-start the process, there is still obvious faith that the system will ensure that Sandusky, and any other relevant parties, pay for the crimes they may have committed. Anger, in this case, is borne of frustration, the frustration that accompanies being chained to a wall when one sees what clearly must be done. Frustration that those who could have prevented the situation presumably stood by, unmoved from their routine. And regardless of criminal activity, I must question the actions of any person of power who fails to question a scenario in which children are left in a college football locker room with an adult who, for all intents and purposes, might be a complete stranger.
My concern is rather this: if these children were indeed harmed by an individual with vested trust from Penn State University and its football program, and there were individuals who knew of it and did nothing to stop it, then what of the moral and hierarchical system we have created? A system where men act to protect not just a storied football program–this is about more than the Nittany Lions and their legacy–but a system where men of power seek to protect other men of power. Imagine that Sandusky was still an employee of the Penn State football program, be it as defensive coordinator, head coach, or anything. A blow to him is a blow to the program, a blow that would have far-reaching implications that, in some misguided administrator’s mind, might be too great to bear and warranting a “cover-up”. Unacceptable, but at least we can put a name to it. Whatever happened in this case wasn’t meant to simply protect the legacy of a football team. This was about men masquerading as gods, placed atop Mount Olympus by a campus and wider sporting community that revered their accomplishments and cherished them as some tangible treasure to be defended from attack. And that, more than anything, makes me ashamed to take part in such a community, makes me wonder where my admiration and trust can lie, makes me flat-out sick.
Legends and Leaders. That’s what Penn State pledged to be, and to send forth into the world. Instead it seems that we’ve inspired a culture of arrogance where laws and codes bow to National Championships. Today we are all Nittany Lions, and today we must ask ourselves if pride confers power. We must ask ourselves if a man who handled the reported abuse of children as he might handle smoking in a public building can be celebrated as a Leader of Leaders. But if the men in power say so, who are we to argue?
“All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.” That’s the popular quote being tossed around. Today I’m left asking: where are the good men?
Update: I wrote this piece Wednesday morning, before the Penn State Board of Trustees voted unanimously to remove Joe Paterno from his position as head football coach. The reactions have been severe. While a supposedly vocal minority have been adamant in their support of Paterno, the immediate future of the winningest coach in Division 1 football history had been on tenuous footing, at best, since the first days of this scandal. A great number of media members called for his immediate removal, and any public support outside State College seemed minimal.
There is no easy way to describe this development. One might call it damage control, but such a label suggests that some level of decency might be salvaged, a notion that seems ludicrous in this late hour, when icons and news vans lie toppled on the same streets. Yet I think it was absolutely the right move, because it divorces the issue from football, at least as much as is possible. It has been suggested that Paterno’s failure to act following the initial accusations against Jerry Sandusky render him as culpable as Sundusky himself, but such a conclusion likely falls near the extremes. Regardless of the degree to which Paterno is guilty of moral or legal failings, I think his removal by the Board of Trustees sends the appropriate message: no one is above reproach. No title, nor library of accomplishments, grants immunity. At a time when all of Penn State is struggling under the weight of this tragedy, Joe Paterno departs with no ceremony, no thanks, and no hesitation. What little energy and time might be devoted toward a graceful exit would be too much.
The Board of Trustees didn’t fire a football coach, they dismissed a man. Call him a martyr. Call him a scapegoat. The Penn State administration made it clear that his conduct was unacceptable. There should be no arguing with that.