Kovacevic: Franco Harris, a catalyst without peer in football history

"Hey, kid ... catch."

For a half-century, those three words have come to define Joe Greene. 

Remember?

And even in that setting, they've forever seemed ... well, wordy. He isn't exactly the verbose type.

So, when Mean Joe sat with reporters one Sunday morning a couple months ago at Acrisure Stadium, he'd been asked about the coming 50th anniversary of the Immaculate Reception and the architect of the NFL's forever-iconic play, as well as that architect's part in those Super Steelers' forever-unmatched string of success, just imagine that this was the man's response:

"Before Franco, we hadn't done very much. And after Franco, we didn't do much, either," Mean Joe would say that day. "But during Franco, we did a lot."

Yeah, they sure did. Four Super Bowls in six years, an achievement that remains so staggering it still doesn't require a single supplementary statistic, collective or individual.

And I'll be honest: Despite having been a child in those times, one who was so absorbed by those teams that I'd contort my body on my NFL-licensed bedsheets to avoid sleeping on the logos of their various opponents, I'd never really thought of it the way Mean Joe put it.

Mr. Harris passed away late Tuesday night. He was 72. He was mere days away from being celebrated in a way he'd never been celebrated, at least not since Dec. 23, 1972, when that crowd at Three Rivers Stadium celebrated that play and that 13-7 playoff victory over the Raiders and that surreal emergence for a franchise that'd been beleaguered since birth until that very ricochet-and-run.

It's sad beyond words.

Not just for Mr. Harris, his family and friends. Not just for his extended family with the Steelers and Penn State. But for a city -- no, a Nation -- that'd been anticipating for months this literally golden opportunity to relive, to retell it all. To retire the No. 32 right alongside Mean Joe's. To share how much that play and that player meant to all of us, young and old, myself included, not just in the moment but for years to come as that team would become our beloved bedrock in the toughest of times.

Sad. Beyond. Words.

Every bit as sad as the day we woke up giddily to enjoy the opening of PNC Park, set to celebrate an ailing Willie Stargell, set to unveil his statue on Federal Street, only to learn he'd passed that very morning. Only to use the statue the same way so many used Mr. Harris' statue at Pittsburgh International Airport or the Immaculate Reception's historical marker on this day for flowers, written notes and, of course, a ton of Terrible Towels.

In another way, though, the tribute can become amplified through tragedy, as it was for Mr. Stargell. The appreciation's intensified. The sense that these special talents, these special achievements aren't to be taken for granted. And the same applies for every precious day we're here, all of us.

Not that how I feel should matter to anyone, but since I'm sharing: I'm very much in that amplified-through-tragedy category.

Like many in my generation, I'd been disappointed and outright disillusioned by Mr. Harris' actions on two distinctly separate fronts about 20 years ago related to his siding against the Penguins and Mario Lemieux in the push to save the NHL in Pittsburgh, as well as his siding with Joe Paterno in the epic Penn State scandal. I'm not going to alter that sentiment, nor apologize for it. 

But Mr. Harris wasn't perfect. Neither am I. Neither's anyone else.

He was, however, more perfect than most.

On the field, to Mean Joe's point, Chuck Noll began building the Steelers with Mean Joe himself. Big, snarly defensive tackle who'd get it all going. But it wasn't, in fact, until Mr. Harris' arrival that the offense found its own identity. Terry Bradshaw was years away from stabilizing himself, much less the offense. Lynn Swann and John Stallworth would arrive a little later. It was Mr. Harris who'd bring ... not the flash of an O.J. Simpson or, for that matter, the brute force of a Jim Brown but, rather, the steadiness, the straight-line-ness that'd come to be the offense's face. The passes were fun but few and far between. The running of Mr. Harris, aided by Rocky Bleier and Mike Webster's bullish line, were what made it go.

Mr. Harris was the engine, the catalyst. And because of all that was to follow, it's easily argued that he was the greatest catalyst the NFL's ever seen, with or without the folklore of the Immaculate Reception.

Off the field, as so, so, so many have only begun to express over the past few hours, Mr. Harris was a gentle giant. Easy to smile. Easier still to get to know, with only a modicum of effort. And that applied to those he knew and those he didn't. I'd had my own very pleasant experiences with the man and with his son, Dok, and his wife Dana Dokmanovich, she also being of Serbian heritage. When Dok was running for mayor in 2009, he was knocking door to door on my street while Mr. Harris stood out on the sidewalk in case anyone wanted to meet him, as well. They did that from house to house for hours, with almost everyone seizing the chance to get out to the sidewalk.

Seeing that family this Saturday, on this Christmas Eve, partaking in a ceremony that would've been, as Terry Bradshaw put it Wednesday of Mr. Harris, "the greatest day of his post-football life" ... yeah, it's sad.

And at the same time, try to keep in mind how many could've done so much, could've had such an impact on so many, to have earned what we're about to witness this weekend. 

RIP to Mr. Harris, and deepest condolences to Dok, Dana, family, friends, and the Steelers as a whole.

• The global reaction to Mr. Harris' passing included written testimonials from two U.S. presidents, Joe Biden and Barack Obama, as well as countless other dignitaries far and wide. Not exactly common for an athlete of any level.

And even there, it's the personal touch that leaps out:

• And yet, it was Rashard Mendenhall, an often misunderstood figure in his mercurial time here, who moved me the most:

• If you've never read this, read this. It's my column for the Tribune-Review the day Mr. Noll passed. I've never been more proud of any piece.

Anyone anywhere who comments on the Immaculate Reception or those Super Steelers without adding all appropriate context about our city ... they don't get it. They just don't.

• The photo atop this column was snapped by our baseball writer, Alex Stumpf, who's way too young to have seen Mr. Harris play, arguably way too young to get why this is such a big deal. But he does. And it speaks to Mr. Harris' legacy that Alex was moved to go visit this scene on his own.

• This photo below was snapped by our football writer, Chris Halicke ...

CHRIS HALICKE / DKPS

Mike Tomlin addresses the media after Wednesday's practice at the UPMC Rooney Sports Complex.

... and my goodness, it says so much unto itself.

• On that note, I wasn't feeling well at all for about 18 straight hours beginning Tuesday night at the rink and am grateful for our staff amassing all their coverage on their own for the day. We'll continue to follow this every step of the way.

• There'll still be a football game, too. And Mike Tomlin was very much right to attach Mr. Harris to that, as well, stressing that the Steelers look forward to "honoring him and his legacy this weekend" with their performance.

• Imagine that we've been so blessed in this city that we hold the rights to the greatest plays in the history of football and baseball:

It's something Mr. Harris would broach himself on occasion.

• Nothing but class, as expected:

• Thanks so much for reading this.