If you have a heart, the story of the Penn State scandal surely broke it. And for those of you who had the misfortune of reading the grand jury findings on the alleged crimes of Jerry Sandusky, the former defensive coordinator at Pennsylvania State University, I sympathize with the profound sadness you’re surely feeling for those young men right now.

For the rest of you — those lucky enough to have shielded their eyes from those horrible offenses — I sincerely advise you to avoid them.

I would say Sandusky is a disgrace to the human race, but surely his alleged molestation of at least eight young boys since the mid-1990s is more heinous than anything we would logically ascribe to humanity. These allegations are not the actions of a rational person. Physically assaulting young boys — especially those who had been specifically identified by his own charitable foundation as vulnerable — is sub-human by any acceptable standard.

Sandusky is a rapist of the worst kind. He lured children with gifts, money and the promise of a college athletics program in the most disgraceful way imaginable. Fortunately, the man who was once famous for helping Penn State earn the moniker Linebacker U will spend the rest of his days in the hands of the Pennsylvania Department of Corrections. He will be castigated. He will never step foot among decent people again.

It would be convenient to think this man was totally invisible; a modern John Wayne Gacy who was only caught due to the bravery of one of his victims. But it’s not that easy. There is no delete button for this error.

The only solution is to destroy the whole system. It won’t eradicate this horror, but it would serve to teach a simple lesson Penn State must learn — the same lesson this University had to relearn not too long ago.

Two years ago, Chancellor James Oblinger, Provost Larry Nielsen and Chairman of the Board of Trustees McQueen Campbell were involved in a pay-for-play scheme that led to the hiring of Mary Easley, the wife of Governor Mike Easley, in a highly-compensated role with the University. With that said, it always seemed to be a tangential cognizance for Oblinger and Nielsen. If they had divulged the extent of their knowledge before the inquiries crashed down, they might still hold their former positions. The cover-up is often the source of the greatest consternation.

In Penn State’s case, the cover-up bears a pretty obvious corollary here. The offense was obviously much more egregious, but the point remains: the administrators at Penn State, from the legendary head football coach, Joe Paterno, to the athletics director and all the way up to the president of the university, had the opportunity to right an obvious wrong when these sins were originally brought into context in 2002. Instead of immediately reporting the actions to law enforcement when they were apprised of the situation, theirs was a concerted and deliberate effort to save face for Penn State at the expense of some of the most vulnerable children in State College, Pennsylvania. They allowed a known sexual predator to molest for nine additional years and ruin the lives of several innocent children.

Everyone who had knowledge of this situation and failed to stop Sandusky is an accessory — perhaps not in the eyes of the law, but certainly under any sense of morality. There is zero excuse for inaction when children’s safety is at stake.

Joe Paterno has done great things for football in Pennsylvania, but his hands aren’t free of this blood. He must never coach another game. End of story. Some of the other relevant administrators here will surely serve jail time, but all must go.