"Losing a game is heartbreaking. Losing your sense of excellence or worth is a tragedy" -- Joe Paterno

The Penn State Controversy—something that actually makes me wonder why it's such a controversy at all—has really crossed the line into "too much."

Penn State in and of itself has done nothing itself to cross that line. But their administrators, the guys with the pay-grade to handle the big problems, were befuddled, ostrich-like, too-little-too-late mentality would seemingly have the university's leadership confused about what to do if they were on "GO" in Monopoly and then rolled a three. Instead of moving their top hat those three spaces, they'd all probably just walk around the room in a panic trying to buy the other players' "Get Out of Jail Free" cards. They would fall into the category of "too little, too late."

But cancel Saturday's game? Have businesses revoke their corporate sponsorships? Fire Mike McQueary? And isn't the embattled receivers coach the most unfortunately named person who could possibly be involved here short of Jerry McJailbait?

Penn State itself didn't do anything wrong here. The professors, groundskeepers, receptionists, students, tutors, ticket takers, parking lot attendants, and snow removal specialists didn't have a hand in any of the heinous crimes committed here. Nor did any of the football players who'll take on Nebraska on Saturday.

I can't wrap my head around the vindictiveness of some talking and typewriting heads in the media. One of the opinionated-but-underinformed yahoos on local radio here in Ocala promised that he knew no one on coach Joe Paterno's current staff "will ever coach again."

Really?

What—are they a bunch of paedolphilic child molesters, too? What exactly did any of those nameless (outside of Happy Valley) schlubs do to torch their careers other than make the seemingly innocuous to accept a paycheck from Penn State? I get the fact that Penn State desperately needs to clean house ASAP, but that means the future careers of these guys are over?

Please.

There was a time in the not-too-distant past that most Americans wouldn't have wasted spit on the reviled Michael Vick. Now people are wearing his Eagles jerseys and cheering him on, having forgiven him for being guilty of personally snuffing the lives his poor dogs in sickeningly creative ways after seeing them slowly and painfully shredded with bestial brutality. But we're all about forgiveness as a culture, aren't we?

Yet somehow, we find it a litte harder to forgive the innocent?

McQueary is a perfect example of a guy who should get an immediate dose of that forgiveness, and here's why: I taught elementary school in Pennsylvania, and the laws there are such that one should, indeed, report suspected child abuse to superiors at work if the organization's protocols require it. There is no loophole that I am aware of for calling the police yourself if it is work-related.

McQueary absolutely would have ended his career at that point, as a graduate assistant (living on a meager stipend for a shot at a coaching career in NCAA football), had he decided just to go ahead and call child protective services himself in 2002. He'd have seen his career snuffed, and he might be the faceless manager of a Foot Locker store in Beaver Falls right now, if he'd have gone ahead and made that call, embarrassing a university that would definitely (and within their legal rights) have required a low-level employee to tell his supervisor, not the cops.

And students would not have rioted or protested to get McQueary his job back just because he did the right thing. He'd have simply cut his own professional throat in 2002 by doing what comfortably employed journalists today say was the "right thing."

The law is designed, as I understand it, to protect employees from just that: Being fired for doing the difficult job of reporting abuse because it might, in turn, make the company of institution look bad. Ironically, the law is designed to protect McQueary (or any witness to abuse) from exactly the sort of scapegoat's criticism and emotional heat that he's taking right now!

Pass the responsibility up the ladder to those who can do the right thing without recriminations against them—and without worrying how he or she will feed his or her family as institutional an 'thank you' for having done that "right thing."

However, it appears head coach Paterno—arguably the most powerful single person on the Penn State campus—used that the letter of that law to circumvent his own moral responsibility. Passing the abuse allegations up the chain of command to his athletic director is a joke in the case of Penn State: Paterno could have had the AD and probably even the president fired at will. There was simply no one on campus who could have fired, or even called out, Paterno for calling protective services.

The Pennsylvania law—different from here in Florida, where the witness must make the call immediately, even at risk of losing his or her job—worked as it is supposed to work in that state. The burden of the responsibility fell on those powerful individuals who would not be fired for having made the call to help the victimized children, but who would be prosecuted for not having made the call. That is supposedly the incentive for administrators looking to keep their high-paying jobs to pick up that phone and dial the police.

And that's exactly what we're seeing now: Powerful individuals, who selfishly hid the fact that a heinous series of crimes was being committed, are being axed and many will be prosecuted.

But don't confuse poor McQueary with the power brokers and insular enablers who turned a blind eye to the crimes without having to worry about their the loss of their livelihoods.

And as the metaphorical guillotine falls again and again: Good riddance to those in the Ivory Towers, Paterno included. Unfortunately, others, like the current Penn State coaching staff, will be part of the collateral damage.

The most important thing that we need to keep in mind is that, no matter what sort of hardships will now be endured by anyone at Penn State, those difficulties pale in comparison to the pain and suffering of the abuse victims and their families.