The day that forever changed a nation

By Robert Dvorchak, Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

It was fourth down on their own 40 with 22 seconds to play. Trailing by a point after a bruising battle with the Oakland Raiders, the Steelers were down to their last gasp on a ghostly gray afternoon 35 years ago.

The spirits of Franco Harris sagged just a bit because his role in 66 Circle Option, a play designed to go to a wideout, was to stay in and block.

"In my mind, I said to myself, 'Franco, it's been a great year. This is probably the last play. Play it to the end,'" Harris recalled last week.

Time seemed to stand still for the 50,350 fans in Three Rivers Stadium. Then, in 17 seconds, the ashes of crushing defeat became unabashed elation because of the most electrifying play in franchise history, the most improbable touchdown captured by NFL Films and perhaps the greatest turnabout in all of sports.

"It seems like yesterday," Harris said.

On Dec. 23, 1972, the Steelers were looking for their first playoff win.

On that Saturday a devastating earthquake had struck Nicaragua, stirring Roberto Clemente to begin a relief effort. B-52 bombers pounded North Vietnam as America tried to extricate itself from a divisive war. And football hopes were as swollen as the local rivers after three consecutive days of rain.

After a scoreless first half in a street fight of a game, Roy Gerela kicked a pair of field goals for the only scoring. Then, with just 73 seconds left, the Raiders went up, 7-6. Like a punch in the stomach, Ken Stabler's 30-yard scramble had knocked the breath out of Gerela's Gorillas, Dobre Shunka, Frenchy's Foreign Legion, Franco's Italian Army and every other fan club that had energized Three Rivers Stadium.

Nothing that happened early on the climactic play suggested history was about to change. Terry Bradshaw had to scramble to avoid a sack. The Raiders had the primary receiver covered. And the ball went toward Frenchy Fuqua a split-second before Bradshaw was knocked to the turf.

Oakland's Jack Tatum decked Fuqua with a ferocious hit just as the football arrived. The force of the impact sent the ball hurtling backwards, end over end. Out of nowhere came Franco, who had been coached by Joe Paterno and later Chuck Noll to keep hustling and remain involved in a play until he heard a whistle.

"Joe always said, 'Go to the ball. Go to the ball,'" Harris said. "One of the things I've always been proud of was I was going to the ball. Things happen when you keep hustling."

He plucked the ball off his shoe tops at around the 42 yardline, sprinted down the home sideline, stiff-armed one defender and found the end zone to complete a 60-yard touchdown pass.

Although a roar went up, nobody was quite sure what had happened. In the bedlam that followed, the officials huddled on the field for two minutes, although it seemed like an eternity. Then referee Fred Swearingen raised his hands to signal touchdown. The miracle play was later named the Immaculate Reception by Myron Cope on the suggestion of a listener.

A mystique still surrounds the play and always will. Even if replay had been in effect, there is no definitive view to validate or disprove what was ruled a touchdown by the rules of the day.

But Harris readily confesses, "We had a little help from above, no doubt about that."

And what happened to the ball?

"No one knows," said Harris. "In the chaos, with everybody on the field, a fan knocked it out of my hand. It just rolled into oblivion, and no one's seen it since."