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DOLLARS AND SENSE O'Brien said his decision to talk to several NFL teams was not based on financial considerations. Patrick Mansell Had his potential departure after just one season on the Nittany Lions' sideline compelled deep-pocketed donor Terry Pegula to kick in a $1.3 million deal-sweetener? Was the Penn State job just a paycheck to him? No, no and no. "If it was about money," O'Brien said, "more than likely I wouldn't be sitting here right now." We have become cynical about such pronouncements over the years. When someone tells us it's not about the money, we immediately think: It's about the money. But since taking the Penn State job a year ago, O'Brien has proven to be about as forthright as any major-college head coach can be in an age when his every utterance is going to be scrutinized, disassembled and rigorously tested for any traces of a hidden agenda. He couldn't have been more forceful in rejecting speculation that his willingness to talk with NFL teams was merely some sort of cash-grab. And there's reason to put our natural skepticism aside and accept that assertion. Even if he isn't making the kind of money that Urban Meyer and Nick Saban are making – $5.3 million and $4 million annually, in case you were wondering – O'Brien isn't exactly hurting. His current pact pays him $2.3 annually – not bad for a guy whose head coaching record was 0-0 as recently as last August. When he makes his daily run to Dunkin' Donuts (alternating between two State College locations so as not to offend anyone), he can afford to splurge on the Dunkaccino. That O'Brien is not obsessing over his paycheck is good news for Penn State, which has never been known for throwing money around like some of college football's big spenders. It wasn't paying Joe Paterno top dollar, and it will have to spend more wisely than ever now that the NCAA has come down hard. The athletic department recently took out a loan (at 4 percent interest) from the university's reserve fund to pay a $12 million fine. If that sounds like a lot of money, bear in mind that it's only the first installment; there are five more to go. But if O'Brien was not thinking about his net worth when he talked to those teams, what was he thinking about? That's a thorny question for Penn State, because he may have been thinking about something the university can't give him: an opportu- nity to coach at football's highest level. O'Brien spent four seasons in the NFL and he clearly came away from that experience with an appreciation for the pro game. "My profession is coaching," he said, "and in my profession, the National Football League is the highest level of coaching. You don't get any higher in coaching than the National Football League." Returning to the NFL might not be an immediate career priority now that he has committed to returning to the Nittany Lions in 2013, and there's no reason to doubt his assurances that he enjoys his current job and his life in State College. But he has gone out of his way these past few months to avoid closing any doors, and he left them ajar once again when he was asked what he would do if he were to be approached by an NFL team next year. "That's next year," he said. "I'm telling you right now, I'm committed to this 2013 team, and I'm looking forward to coaching them." It seems hard to believe after everything that's happened at Penn State the past few years, but there was a time when the prospect of a coaching change didn't inspire panic. For years, it was assumed that Paterno would get out of the game while the Nittany Lions were at or near the top and that a relatively seamless transition would then occur, with Paterno's handpicked successor carrying on the tradition. After all, that's how Paterno got the job in the first place, taking over in 1966 after years as Rip Engle's protégé. But the Nittany Lions faded in the final decade of his career, and the succession plan – to the extent that there was one – became more contentious. Sensing that the program had become stagnant, many fans warmed to the possibility of a clean break. Except among hardcore loyalists, previous ties to the university were no longer a prerequisite to getting the job. No one was going to hold it against Urban Meyer that he hadn't mowed Paterno's lawn when he was a kid.

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