In a dark and smokey room one sultry night this summer a dark cadre of affluent Vol fans and boosters sat down and looked across at a young man at the far side of the table.
"We want Fulmer gone." said the ringleader. (unconfirmed reports suggest Hatvol) "We will make it worth your while. Can you do it?"
"Yes." the young man said as he slid a slip of paper across the table. "I want the money wired to this account before the UCLA game, got it?"
"What about the new OC?" one of the shadowy boosters asked.
"It won't make a difference who's calling the plays or how good they are. Trust me." the young man said smiling.
And with that Jonathan Crompton strode into the dark, his future assured.
"We want Fulmer gone." said the ringleader. (unconfirmed reports suggest Hatvol) "We will make it worth your while. Can you do it?"
"Yes." the young man said as he slid a slip of paper across the table. "I want the money wired to this account before the UCLA game, got it?"
"What about the new OC?" one of the shadowy boosters asked.
"It won't make a difference who's calling the plays or how good they are. Trust me." the young man said smiling.
And with that Jonathan Crompton strode into the dark, his future assured.
