Sitting at the same table he sat at more than 12 years ago, James Franklin answered a question.
All of those years ago, in that very same room, he made Penn Staters feel that he was one of them. That he – the former East Stroudsburg quarterback and Langhorne native – had always been a part of Penn State, in the same way many of us were born into this.
In the same way many of us grew up with this. That went to this college. That watched this football team. That spent the money on the tickets. That wore blue and that wore white. That found Penn State, not as a college, but a pillar of life in a sense of belonging.
On that day, more than 12 years ago, Franklin made us believe that he had always been a part of Penn State when he answered that question.
On Saturday night, he faced another.
“I know you said that you love your players and everything,” the Centre Daily Times’ Jon Sauber began. “But do you still think it’s best for your career to be the head coach at Penn State?”
Sitting at the same spot where he delivered the passionate “Pennsylvania boy with a Penn State heart,” Franklin answered that latest question.
“Again I take full responsibility for what happened tonight,’ he said. “I take full responsibility for what’s happened this season, and I’m committed to the guys in that locker room.”
That was the entire answer.
Unlike his answers 12 years ago, Franklin didn’t mention Penn State when asked about his future at Penn State. He didn’t say he was committed to Penn State. He didn’t mention that he still has plans to be a part of Penn State. He didn’t show pride for Penn State. Instead, he put a division between Penn State and the Penn State football locker room when there shouldn’t be one, where there should never be one.
In that answer, he gave up on Penn State. It’s time to give up on him.
Hours before giving that answer, Penn State fans – some sporting blue and some sporting white – took their places inside one of the world’s largest stadiums. They all saw, dressed in a color coordination by section, one that feels more of a marketing stunt and less like a tradition.
But they still showed up. They still took part. They still were there. They still believed.
Much of the conversation this week was about what the experience inside Beaver Stadium would be like. Anger and animosity, mostly fueled by the semi-self-contained social media and online discourse, would show its face en masse of 100,000-plus at some point. But how nasty? How bad? That remained to be seen — even if some of which was rightfully placed.
When Penn State’s football team – the players in that locker room Franklin referenced – trotted onto the field inside Beaver Stadium for the 410th time, there weren’t jeers for them. There wasn’t a hostile environment toward its own. Instead, there was a warm greeting, full of whistles and ovations as many members prayed in the north end zone.
That’s because Penn Staters always look after Penn Staters.
After Penn State’s loss to UCLA last week, sitting in the same spot on Monday he would be in on Saturday, Franklin was asked about his belief in his ability at Penn State.
“I believe in Penn State,” Franklin said. “I believe in our players. I believe in the men and women in the Lasch Building, and I believe in myself.”
Even there, in that moment, Franklin showed he wanted to be a part of Penn State. At that moment, he showed he still believed in Penn State, especially in the face of the harshest adversity he’s ever faced at Penn State.
Even for the most pessimistic, at that moment, there were still strands of optimism that Penn State could will its way back to a place of promise starting against Northwestern.
All because Penn Staters never give up on Penn Staters.
But on Saturday night, when Franklin answered that question from Sauber, he gave up. He ignored “the noise” to a point of using it against those making it – even when he tried to fully accept the responsibility for it. In that quote, he tried to turn Penn Staters against Penn Staters – when only he, Penn State’s football coach, failed Penn State.
It seemed to unravel every “unrivaled” message of what could be at Penn State under his guidance.
Franklin, as Audrey Snyder wrote this week, has always sold when he hasn’t always had to. With credit to Franklin, Penn State was in a much different place when he inherited the program 12 years ago as he sat at the podium in the media room inside Beaver Stadium.
He has almost singularly willed Penn State to a point of expectations – all created by his own sales plan with genuine shreds of credibility at moments throughout. Penn State fans bought it because they believed he was a Penn Stater. Penn Staters bought it because they believed he knew what was best for the pride of Penn State.
It won’t be forgotten either. He made Penn Staters believe in the power of a powerful football program again. He returned meaningful expectations to Penn State. But in that time, between that first time and potentially the last time he sat in that press room, he could never meet those expectations.
Instead, he’s let Penn State down. Now, at this moment, it feels like he no longer wants to be a Penn Stater, and how this is all ending – how this is all closing in so fast – doesn’t feel right to Penn State. He only wants Penn State to believe it doesn’t care about that locker room.
Penn State has never been about one person. Penn State has never been bigger than one person. That fallacy nearly cost Penn State much more in a far more serious situation than winning and losing football games.
And while homecoming may not be the fall’s premier event in Happy Valley, it’s still about Penn State and celebrating the love that all of those people who have believed in Penn State share. Franklin forgot that.
At the same spot where Franklin began to make you believe in Penn State all those years ago but before he answered a question on Saturday night about Penn State, Franklin forgot to give a scouting report of Northwestern on Monday.
It was a forgivable moment — even he was running out of those.
But when he answered that question after the 22-21 loss to the Wildcats on Saturday, there was no “Penn State” in the answer. He forgot. It was an unforgivable moment.
It was a glaring omission from someone incredibly calculated about every word choice.
It was a glaring acknowledgement that he knows that Penn State doesn’t believe in him anymore.
It was a glaring concession that it’s time to end all of this.
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