Last Wednesday, as thousands of Penn State students amassed in the streets of University Park in support of 84-year-old football coach Joe Paterno, I reached out to my friend Joe, now a grad student at PSU.

In the week since the Jerry Sandusky sex abuse scandal dropped, Joe’s was the most rational response I’ve seen from anyone at Penn State. I don’t know if the Five Stages of Grief apply in situations like these, but if so, most Penn State faithful seem firmly planted in the first stage — denial.

Paterno was fired last week not for what he did, but rather, what he didn’t do. In 2002, Paterno was allegedly informed by then-graduate assistant Mike McQueary that McQueary had seen Sandusky, a former Penn State assistant coach, in the football locker room shower engaged in a sexual act with a young boy. Paterno reportedly informed his superiors within the university, but the police were never contacted. Paterno lawyered up over the weekend, but the fallout isn’t over his responsibilities legal, but moral.

Since he became head coach in 1966, Paterno was viewed as a pillar of virtue, a role model for doing things the right way. When it mattered most, he was none of those things. The Penn State community is still having trouble accepting that, which explains the “Thank You, JoePa!” and “Pray for JoePa!” signs at Saturday’s football game at Beaver Stadium. It’s as if anger or betrayal hasn’t entered the emotional lexicon in University Park. It’s hard to understand from the outside looking in, but I take into consideration my friend Joe’s response:

“When I get around to processing it all I will fill you in.”

What I find most troubling is the great effort the general public has put into demonizing Paterno rather than castigating Sandusky. Lest we forget he was the single most responsible individual involved. Paterno’s downfall is shrouded in the hypothetical.

…If he had gone to the police in 2002, he would’ve saved other children.

…If he knew this was happening and didn’t call the police, he was enabling Sandusky.

…If he tolerated Sandusky’s deplorable acts, he should rot in a neighboring prison cell.

These hypotheticals do nothing but reduce Sandusky’s accountability. Make no mistake, Paterno made a life-altering mistake if he knew what was going on and didn’t alert the police. But consider Sandusky, who was brazen enough to continue to violate children even after he’d been caught by a peer. Let’s not compare sins.

Part of me understands Penn State fans and their misguided response to the Sandusky scandal. I remember when the Tiger Woods story unraveled. At best, we have an idea of what our idols are like and what they stand for. When they fail to meet that ideal, it’s crushing. We want nothing more than to go back to when they were people without flaw, without sin, somehow better than us. That’s where Penn State is at. On Saturday, watching the Penn State and Nebraska sidelines huddle at midfield before the game, you could see almost everyone in the crowd start to cry, perhaps slowly letting go of an ideal that hadn’t existed since 2002 or 1998 or the day Sandusky stepped foot on campus.

Maybe Joe Paterno was never Joe Paterno.

I’ve never been to University Park, but I’ve heard it described as an idyllic college community, its soul, Nittany Lion football. That little explains why the town’s people are so ensconced in denial. Due process will dictate who is guilty of what, but once again, we’re all guilty of respecting brilliance in sport as brilliance in humanity and character.

Some of us are lucky enough to build our legacy through scores of decisions and experiences, and if we do things right enough times, we might be remembered in a favorable light. That’s not true for everyone. Joe Paterno’s legacy may have crumbled based on a single decision, and whether that’s fair can be left for debate. However, there are some things that cannot be forgiven by an impressive tenure and hundreds of wins. Sometimes, the most telling action is the one you didn’t make.