I Almost Missed the Greatest Play in NFL History

Each Christmas reminds me of the near miss I had with the most dramatic moment in NFL history.

In 1969, my wife Anita and I and our kids had moved to Carbondale, Illinois where I took a teaching position in the English Department at Southern Illinois University.  With our families still living in the Pittsburgh area, we made several trips a year to our home town, especially during Christmas. 

The holiday season in 1972 was one of the most frenzied and memorable in Pittsburgh history because on Saturday, December 23, the Steelers were to play the Oakland Raiders at Three Rivers Stadium, the Steelers first playoff game since 1947.

We were staying with relatives in Coraopolis and because that was only 20 miles from Pittsburgh and Three Rivers Stadium, I would not be able to watch the Steelers game on television.  The NFL had a rule that blacked out all home games within a 100-mile radius, even playoff games – designed to encourage fans to buy tickets. 

That Saturday morning, over 50,000 rabid Steeler fans headed to Three Rivers, but I wasn’t one of them.  I was, however, one of thousands of fans who decided to drive to cities outside the blacked-out area, such as Erie and Akron, to watch the game on television.  I went to graduate school at Kent State University, so with Joe, my father-in-law, riding shot gun, we headed to Kent, Ohio, 120 miles from Pittsburgh and to a seedy bar that had been my student hangout.

The bar was still seedy and already crowded with Steeler fans when we got there, but Joe and I found bar stools close to the television set and prepared to watch the game.  Joe, a devout Catholic, wasn’t a drinker, so we ordered Cokes and, as Joe fondled his rosary beads, we watched the opening kickoff.

The scoreless first half turned out to be more stressful than exciting, but the Steelers broke through in the third quarter on a field goal, and with only a few minutes left in the game, took a 6-0 lead on another field goal.  But with only 1:12 left, quarterback Kenny Stabler drove the Raiders down the field, then scrambled into the end zone from 26 yards out to give the Raiders a 7-6 lead.

With 22 seconds left, Terry Bradshaw, on his own 40-yard line, threw a desperation pass that was deflected after a violent collision between the Steelers Frenchy Fuqua and  the Raiders Jack Tatum.  Before the football hit the ground, Franco Harris made a miraculous catch at shoe-top level and raced 40 yards into the end zone for the game-winning touchdown – known ever after as the Immaculate Reception.  

Our bar, filled with gloom and doom, erupted in celebration.  Beer cans flew, as did every obscenity ever uttered by a Steelers fan.  Poor Joe couldn’t believe what he was seeing and hearing and clutched his rosary beads, now praying he’d survive the mayhem.

Joe did survive and, after the NFL ended its 100-mile blackout before the 1973 season, he spent the rest of his life watching the Steelers home and away games, while sitting safely and comfortably in his easy chair.  Anita and I headed back to southern Illinois, where I’ve watched Steeler playoff games on television for the past 50 years.

Numerous statues celebrate sports heroes around the country, but in Pittsburgh, two statues celebrate a single play – the Immaculate Reception. One statue of Franco’s miraculous catch greets visitors arriving at the Pittsburgh International Airport, and the other greets visitors at the Heinz History Center.