They Were Penn State.

I want every football coach to be Eric Taylor. A winner on the field, yes, but more importantly, a leader; a molder of men.

I want to believe that, even at schools like my own alma mater where football is king, and the coach is — at least in the eyes of most of the public, the student body, and the alumni base — a leader far more visible and important than the university’s president, people will do the right thing when confronted with atrocities. That the bystander effect will not apply. That when something horrific happens, it will be stopped and the machine of college athletics won’t keep on churning, based on someone’s win/loss percentage, their team’s current ranking, or their tenure at an institution. That those involved will do the right thing, and not just close ranks and protect their own.

Obviously (and horrifically so), that’s just a fairy tale. As a friend’s husband said yesterday, until now, Joe Paterno WAS Eric Taylor. Clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose; We Are Penn State.

There is a difference between a school like Penn State, (or Oklahoma, Nebraska, Alabama, Notre Dame, Ohio State, or USC) and most universities. Yes, 120 schools have Division 1A (sorry, “FBS”) football teams. Yes, football matters at most schools that play. But there is a handful of elite programs where the football program is a monster unto itself, where in reality, the coach doesn’t answer to the administration as long as they’re winning. Where matters are handled internally, because that’s just how it is. Where when the coach says something’s to be done, it’s done and when it’s taken care of, it’s taken care of; end of story. We’d like to think this extends only to the criminal activities of players, often excused and minimized as “boys will be boys”; where the concern is focused not necessarily on the crime that’s been committed, but on the eventual effects the NCAA sanctions might have on the almighty program, which is to be protected at all costs.

Clearly, that is not the case.

None of this is to take away from the victims of Jerry Sandusky, or the heinous, horrific, unspeakable, unimaginable crimes the man committed. Yes, those are the central issue here. Yes (YES), he is the cause of all this. Yes, he will (AND SHOULD) be judged — both on this earth and beyond it, where he is sure to get exactly what he deserves. Those children (CHILDREN. MY GOD.) are who we should be thinking about; they and their families and friends are the ones we should be (and are) praying for, that God can alleviate — somehow, in some way — their suffering.

Still, there is a larger cultural problem at play; without which this situation would likely not exist (at least to this magnitude). When a GA would choose to back out of a shower where a CHILD –A YOUNG BOY– was being assaulted, not stopping it, but waiting, and calling his father to decide what course of action to take, likely because he felt his career was at stake, there is a problem. When a coach – essentially a CEO; one whose word is to be obeyed – chooses not to take responsibility, but passes the buck, never follows up, and assumes that’s okay; it is where his ethical obligation ends, there is a problem. When an administration will minimize criminal actions for, ostensibly, the good of the university and the program over the safety and well-being of young children and when fans identify so strongly with a coach — who knew that there was something going on and did not take action — and a program that they will riot and defend them because, after all, that program is an extension of themselves, there is a problem.

I don’t know whether this culture is the foundation or the result of other oft-dissected problems with “amateur” college football, where young men and their bodies are torn down, chewed up, and spit out for a scholarship which may or may not actually support them as they earn millions of dollars for their institutions, and billions for the media, other companies that trade on their achievements on the field, and the NFL, for which they are essentially a farm league. When something is that big and that valuable, those involved do what’s needed to protect it, and their positions within it, at all costs.

I would like to think that, had this happened at Oklahoma, my beloved alma mater and the backdrop to innumerable wonderful memories — many of them, of course, centered around the football field — I would be able to step back from the situation and hold the feet of those responsible to the flames. That I would be able to separate my love for an institution and my time there from the absolutely disgusting and beyond reprehensible actions of a few. I hope so, because the traditions I value and the game I so enjoy is not the actions of  a few men and their moral failings passing the buck and protecting their own at all costs, and I don’t think the Penn State that many are mourning right now is, either. These leaders, who were supposed to be molders of men, failed. Beyond miserably. But the University itself, the parts that its students and alumni hold most dear, did not.

Penn State is not the unspeakable crimes Jerry Sandusky committed. It is not Joe Paterno, who walked the sidelines, but after 46 years turns out to not be a leader at all when it really, truly counts. It is an institution that will continue to exist after this week, and the young men who put on those blue jerseys and play their hearts out, whether it be for a scholarship, for love of the game, or for a chance at the next level will play this weekend. Things will go on. But a culture that allowed this big of a cover-up (and I fear that this story is not over, that there is still more to come out) has to change. They were Penn State. They still are — but hopefully, to say the least, things will be different now.

They must be.