He stares out the panoramic window of his third-floor office at the camouflage-clad students shuffling between the hodgepodge of mismatched and architecturally inconsistent buildings. A knock at the door. He dives behind his desk, hands over his head in the tornado-drill position, heart racing, breathes deeply as he counts to 10, tries to catch his breath.
"C-come in," he finally says as he peaks over his desk.
The door handle rattles.
"It's locked, sir."
He tiptoes across the office, unlocks three deadbolts, opens the door.
"Yes?"
"Sir, we have a slight situation," says the assistant.
He staggers backwards into the office, hand over his heart, leans against a chair for support. "Oh no, what is it this time? A rogue booster bought a player a car? Recruits getting paid with bags of cash? Oh, oh, oh, I can see the headlines now. And with our track record the NCAA is sure to -"
"Um, sir, sorry to interrupt but it's really nothing like that at all. It's Fred Thomas. It seems he -"
"Robbed a bank?"
"No."
"Ran a multi-state dog-fighting ring?"
"No."
"Shouted gay slurs in public?"
"No."
"Well what then? Out with it."
"He played in a charity basketball game."
"A CHARITY BASKETBALL GAME? Well of all the idiotic, hare-brained . . . Doesn't he know that's against NCAA rules?" He pulls out a 10,000 page binder and flips right to the correct page. "Right here in black-and-white. No charity games allowed. There's a copy of this very book in the locker room and I told them to commit it to memory. Oh no, oh no -"
"Sir, how do you wish to handle this?"
"We'll self report, of course, and plead for mercy. The NCAA has always been very impressed with my candor and cooperation. With a little finesse maybe I can pull another rabbit out of a hat like with that sordid Redmond affair. I'll handle this immediately. You're dismissed." He dials"1" on speed-dial.
The assistant closes the door gently behind him, drops to his knees, looks heavenward, shakes his fist. "BRACKY!!!!"