Timing is everything or nothing.
Your death before one of the happiest days of your life seems cruel and unfair.
One can question these things without having any hope of receiving an adequate response.
You died days before the 50th anniversary of your most famous play, probably the most famous and celebrated play in American football history. The legendary “Immaculate Reception.”
You died days before your number was retired by the Pittsburgh Steelers. Neither Bradshaw, Swann, Stallworth, Ham, or Lambert have been so honored.
The symmetry was perfect. The anniversary of the Reception. Your jersey retirement. The Steelers are playing the Raiders, just as they did 50 years ago.
Time had lined everything up for you.
Until it didn’t.
In the midst of our sadness, at least we have precious memories.
Of course, we remember the Reception, but you were so much more.
That famous play was the apex of your remarkable rookie season.
Which turned into a remarkable career.
You were one of the foundational players in the Steelers dynasty.
You were one of the first interracial heroes in American sports history, claimed and loved by both Italians and Blacks. You even commanded Franco’s Italian Army, which counted Frank Sinatra as a member.
You were never the brash, arrogant superstar, but unfailingly kind, gracious, and warm.
You lived your life with dignity and purpose.
You will never be forgotten by Steeler Nation.
Or the Raiders.
You will always be remembered for being a great player, and a better man.
Rest well. You have earned it.
But forgive us if we wish it had come at a later date.
Goodnight, Franco.
Goodnight.