The region has taken on new economic drivers — education, medicine, energy.
But the mythology of the Immaculate Reception endures.
At the Pittsburgh International Airport, a statue immortalizing Franco Harris at the moment of his catch stands next to another historical figure, someone named George Washington.
And where Three Rivers Stadium once stood — now a sea of parking spaces near the Steelers’ current stadium — there’s a monument to the Immaculate Reception. You might call it a shrine.
It includes a marker where fans who are so inclined can put their foot in the exact spot where Harris’ foot landed.
And as with the Immaculate Reception, people have been putting themselves in Harris’ cleats since they first poured onto the field in 1972, joining him in an end zone celebration.
“It’s not just him crossing the goal line, it’s the team and the city,” Madarasz said.
It’s hardly the only Catholic connection to the Steelers. “There was nobody more Catholic than the Chief,” Vallone said of the team’s legendary founder, Art Rooney. And for decades, the team has practiced at St. Vincent College, a nearby Catholic school and home to a Benedictine abbey.
While the Immaculate Reception has a Catholic name, it also has an element of interfaith cooperation.
Sportscaster Cope was Jewish. Years later, he addressed the perennial controversy of whether the catch was even legitimate under NFL rules (depending on whether the ball touched the defender or receiver before bouncing to Harris). In a New York Times essay, he posed an only-in-America question:
“Was Franco Harris’ Immaculate Reception kosher?”
It was indeed, he insisted, after studying the film.
Religious and football iconography have merged long before praying coaches had their day in the Supreme Court this year. Quarterback Doug Flutie’s 1984 “Hail Mary” touchdown pass to Gerard Phelan gave a legendary victory to a Catholic school, Boston College, over the University of Miami.
“Touchdown Jesus,” a large mural of Christ with his arms raised, is a landmark near the stadium of Notre Dame University, the Catholic school that long ago fielded the apocalyptic backfield, the Four Horsemen.
The Oakland Raiders, while on the losing end of the Immaculate Reception, may have benefited from divine help another time, if nicknames are to be believed. They won a 1978 game on a “Holy Roller” fumble that took a long, winding route through running back Pete Banaszak’s hands toward a teammate in the end zone. “I believe in the Big Guy,” Banaszak later said. “He was there.”
Vallone hears that kind of talk a lot, from fans as well as players. He’s even got a homily to go with it.
