They were calling for the head of the chairman: so the chairman threw them the carcass of the manager.
That, in a nutshell, was the upshot of events after Hibs folded to Dunfermline and an angry crowd - with a boardroom-lynching on their minds - gathered outside of Easter Road.
Colin Calderwood, just a year into the job, was doused in mint sauce and fed as sacrificial lamb - roasted - to the baying mob.
It's not a football club: it's a sack factory.
They don't give out many gold watches for long service in Leith.
The truth is that Hibernian haven't been very good this season right enough. In fact, one game I watched against Aberdeen was marginally more enjoyable than root canal treatment.
But if they didn't actually turn the corner then at least on a few occasions - at Motherwell, St Mirren and the first half of the League Cup tie against Celtic - they showed promise that maybe they could select the indicators.
Hibs chairman Rod Petrie is about as popular in Leith as a hole in the hull of the Royal Yacht Britannia, which, like Hibs, is going nowhere fast.
They don't spare the whip with chairmen in the capital.
Remember the abuse Chris Robinson used to take at Hearts?
It says much for his passion for the club that he still takes his seat in the stand at every home game. I wonder if Rod Petrie will buy a season ticket when his time comes?
Hibs are a football conundrum; a club which has produced a gold medal performance in infrastructure issues - stadium and training ground - but who can't get a team to match or a manager who stays long enough to require a change of training gear.
You couldn't make it up.
Hibs are making a bid to snatch the biggest headlines in Edinburgh, no mean effort given the tram scandal and the weird rants of the blessed Vladimir.
Auld Reekie: no smoke without fire right enough.
The Easter Road uprising which led to the binning of Calderwood was fan power showing its muscle, a real display of supporter clout.
And for all the financial firepower of Sir Tom Farmer, ultimately it will be the people who pay at the turnstiles who will shape the destiny of Hibernian.
And that is the truth, despite Farmer's stand shoulder-to-shoulder with his chief executive at the club's AGM.
History shows - at Celtic for example when Fergus McCann rode into town or indeed at Hibernian when Wallace Mercer attempted the jaw-dropping takeover of Easter Road - that the people who support the clubs usually win the day.
Petrie is, it seems, allergic to the media.
I suspect he would rather give you three choruses of Glorious Hearts than an interview - and to be honest, that in itself doesn't make you a flawed chairman. Dermot Desmond, for example, clearly put an X on his coupon for no publicity.
But a charm offensive might be in order here, a wee explanation to the fans about what on earth is behind the urge to cannon managers over the horizon with the regularity of the one o'clock gun at the castle.
And a full briefing from Mr Farmer on the headline grabbing statement about Rod Petrie being "the finest chairman this club could possibly have" wouldn't go amiss either.
I cannot see forgiveness in the air if Hibs appoint the wrong man this time. You get the feeling that even if they persuaded Alex Ferguson or Pep Guardiola to take the job and they cocked it up, the fans would still blame the board.
So should it be the old Hearts combination of Jim Jefferies and Billy Brown - only maybe with a twist, this time making the Brown the number one given that he at least has a foot in the door?
Fair enough for some, but others would view it like Walter Smith taking over at Celtic.
And put like that, it has a Hell freezing over ring about it.
But maybe it's more important that in Leith they just find the right manager, a man who can stop the rot, no matter previous allegiances.
Hibs are a grand old club; I love their history and the tales of the Famous Five, of dear old Eddie Turnbull who used to scare the living daylights out of young reporter cubs like me and the now-gone - but never forgotten - slope at Easter Road.
I remember Blackley and Brownlie and Stanton and Cropley and the remarkable sight of George Best in a green jersey with white sleeves and his stories of derring-do on and off the park.
And more recent still Franck Sauzee, Le God of Easter Road.
You would think that at least they would have made the effort to find out the French for God.
For as long as I can remember Hibernian have always been a club with character.
That is a commodity they will need in bucketloads now...