Dodds probably told Powers one of two things: first, Texas didn't need the money, but they needed some exposure. The idea of a Pac-16 was a charming one, but having Texas float it's own boat with it's own network? - that was an idea touched by Midas. Second, Dodds probably told Powers that time was needed. Dodds saw the Big 12 like most saw the Alamo - a good place for a last stand. The imminency of two superpowers colliding - one from the west, one from the north - had made the Texan soil more prone to erosion than it once had been, but everyone knew not to "mess with Texas," and the school was already viable enough, financially and academically, to hold it's own ground until the current affiliation proved unnecessary. Essentially, time could be bought.
It was generally assumed that there were two golden tickets for expanding conferences not named the Southeastern Conference. And those were Texas and Notre Dame. Both were elusive, and both had such a firm grasp over the media that they could change public opinion by leaking controlled stories to internet affiliates (such as Orangebloods.com and various Twitter accounts). The sway of instant news from the Big 12, for readers and those involved, provided a college football rush equivalent to that of surfing a popsicle to safety in a tsunami. For once, outsiders had the chance to get in on the boardroom dance as the previously staid Pac-10 marshaled it's forces and dove in for the kill. It was mostly due to free access to internet sites smartly provided by Chip Brown and those at Texas, that a larger game than ever provided on the field, became more obvious to everyone.
What were the details of the new game? For starters, college basketball largely didn't matter and Kansas was (pun totally intended) "dust in the wind." Baylor was, and had always been, an afterthought. And there was a general consensus that if the Pac-10 succeeded, many schools would be left without a conference, and moreover (gasp!) a BCS golden ticket.
In short, "survival of the fittest" was becoming a way of dealing with increasing deficits in college football. Naturally, the weakest members of the herd turned towards Austin for guidance. They half expected Texas to kill them as well.
And then Texas declined - which was a quizzical move to those outside of Austin. Not so shockingly, a television press conference was issued not from the offices of the Big 12 in Dallas, but from Austin itself. Money was instantly provided. The BCS could continue. The Big 12 would perish no more.
However, the weaker schools had been forced into handing Texas, Texas A&M, and Oklahoma their lunch money for survival. And they agreed to revenue-sharing that would greatly decrease their chances to compete. If there had been an age of innocence in the Big 12, it had been in 1994, when the conference agreed to work together toward a greater good. But even Tom Osborne, Nebraska legend and athletic director, knew such a goal couldn't reach fruition in a Dallas-dominated midwest, and sixteen years later, he took his team and left. So did Colorado.
Thus, an exodus of members became the dilemma of Texas in the age of disillusionment. If the conference fell, it would surely be "Katy bar the door" for everyone. And when Dodds talked with Powers about positioning their school for the new era of superconferences, which had been pointed to, hinted at, talked about and everything but agreed to, he undoubtedly talked dollars. Because that's what works now. Success can be had for indefinite amounts of time, but when it's not, there's always a greener pasture. And in the game of Texas hold'em, stay or go, that pasture could always be had.
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