Everything about College Football Coaches
There are many FBS Coaching Changes this weekend as the 2024 season winds down.
Check out our Week 15 Coaches Hot Seat Rankings released Tuesday morning.
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Congratulations to Blake Harrell, who was named the new head coach at East Carolina today. There are 12 other FBS openings shown below:
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In the high-stakes college football casino, the usual season-end trading frenzy has given way to something more unusual: fiscal restraint. We’re calling it “The Great Coaching Correction of 2024.” You see, athletic departments across the country are staring down a triple-witching hour of financial obligations that would make even a seasoned hedge fund manager break into a cold sweat: massive coaching buyouts, the impending $20 million House settlement expense per school, and another estimated $20 million (first year) hit from revenue sharing with athletes. Suddenly, the market for coaching talent is behaving less like cryptocurrency in 2021 and more like banks during a Federal Reserve stress test.
Consider Billy Napier at Florida, a case study in modern football economics. In a world where 70% of Florida’s NIL payments flow to underclassmen—a stat that would make any Wall Street analyst question the business model’s sustainability—Napier has somehow convinced his CEO, Scott Strickland, to double down on their position. It’s the contrarian bet that either makes or ends careers. The market had priced Napier for failure after the Miami and Texas A&M disasters, but like a value investor spotting hidden assets, Strickland saw something others missed: stability in chaos. Or perhaps more accurately, he saw the price tag of starting over.
Meanwhile, Sam Pittman presents a different sort of market inefficiency in Arkansas. At 62, with a hip that’s giving out, he’s like an aging blue-chip stock with solid fundamentals but questionable long-term prospects. The twist? This comes courtesy of Jackson Collier of the Hardwood Hawgs Podcast – hidden in plain sight in his contract is a provision that would make any compensation committee blush: hit seven wins, including a bowl game, and trigger an automatic extension and raise. This incentive structure would make even the most hardened private equity executive wonder about governance. Let me repeat that – if he gets to seven wins – LA Tech plus one other, including the bowl – he gets a raise and extension. Completely doable.
But the real arbitrage play is happening in Waco, Texas, where Dave Aranda’s job security has behaved like a volatile tech stock—swooping early, rebounding late, and keeping traders guessing. After opening 2-4 with wins against only Air Force and something called Tarleton State, Aranda’s position looked about as secure as a crypto wallet password. Yet here he is, three wins later, trading above his September lows on volume. His contract runs through 2029, and in this bear market for buyouts, that’s starting to look less like a liability and more like a forced diamond-hands strategy. If he is a smidge above .500, he stays.
The distressed assets division brings us to Marshall’s Charles Huff, a coach whose contract is expiring like a soon-to-mature junk bond. At 27-20 over four seasons, including a telling 5-1 against non-Power Four competition this year, Huff’s position looks like a classic case of a middle-market firm unable to compete with the more prominent players. The smart money is betting on a change, though in this capital-constrained environment, even obvious moves come with additional scrutiny.
Then there’s Kevin Wilson at Tulsa, running a program performing like a penny stock in a bear market. When your highlight reel consists of a single comeback win against UTSA and a victory over 3-5 Louisiana Tech, you’re trading in territory usually reserved for companies about to be delisted. At 5-14 in two seasons, Wilson—a former blue-chip coordinator at Ohio State and Oklahoma—has turned premium pedigree into discount-bin performance.
The most fascinating short position in the market might be Trent Dilfer at UAB. In less than two years, he’s taken Bill Clark’s ascending program—six straight winning seasons, two conference titles—and performed a dismantling usually reserved for failed hedge funds. His now-infamous “It’s not like this is freakin’ Alabama” quip reads like a CEO dismissing disappointing earnings by saying, “We’re not Apple.” The market rarely forgives such hubris, but at a $4.1 million buyout, the cost of forgiveness in this economy starts to look like a luxury good.
At the extreme end of the risk spectrum sits Don Brown at UMass, whose position has moved from “distressed asset” to “complete write-off.” The market has spoken, and this particular security is being delisted.
However, perhaps the most telling indicator comes from the “too big to fail” institutions—Florida State, USC, Oklahoma, Nebraska—where the Mike Norvells and Lincoln Rileys of the world operate with the kind of security usually reserved for government bonds. These programs have determined that stability, even at a premium, is preferable to the volatility of the coaching free agency market, especially with the looming costs of settlements and revenue sharing casting shadows over their balance sheets.
Ultimately, college football’s coaching market operates with all the efficiency of a teenager with their first credit card. It overreacts to both success and failure, frequently misprices assets, and occasionally makes moves that would make a bankruptcy lawyer blush. But like all markets, it eventually finds its level—even if that level involves paying millions to make someone go away. This year, though, a cold dose of fiscal reality has tempered the usual irrational exuberance. When your industry is staring down $40+ million in new mandatory expenses, even the most trigger-happy athletic director thinks twice about adding another eight-figure buyout to the books.
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The college football coaching carousel is spinning.
Four coaches have been shown the door this year, even before Mike Bloomgren got the boot at Rice over the weekend. Let’s recap:
With Bloomgren out at Rice, there will be five coaching changes in October. We expect fewer coaching changes than we saw during the 2023 season, but the pace of changes will accelerate as the season continues.
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Well, folks, the Mike Bloomgren experiment in Houston has finally ended. Rice has decided to move on from their head coach after seven seasons, a 24-52 record, and a disappointing 2-6 start to this year.
Bloomgren did manage to get the Owls to back-to-back bowl games, which is something, I guess. But let’s be honest, a losing record like that just isn’t cut it in today’s college football landscape.
It’s tough to see a coach lose his job, but sometimes a change is necessary. Hopefully, Rice can find someone to take them to the next level.
As for Bloomgren, I’m sure he’ll land on his feet somewhere. He’s a good coach with a solid track record. Maybe a fresh start is precisely what he needs.
The college football coaching carousel is spinning.
Four coaches have been shown the door this year, even before Bloomgren got the boot. Let’s recap:
With Bloomgren out at Rice, there will be five coaching changes in October. We expect fewer coaching changes than we saw during the 2023 season, but the pace of changes will accelerate as the season continues.
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We’ve all been there. Your team is on a losing streak, the season’s slipping away, and that “Fire the coach!” chant starts echoing in your head. It’s cathartic. It feels like someone is taking action, like something is being done to right the ship.
Lately, however, athletic directors seem to be hitting the “snooze” button on those hot seat alarms. Coaches who, in years past, would be packing their bags are somehow clinging to their jobs. Why?
Firing a coach isn’t just about the head coach’s buyout (though those numbers are eye-popping enough on their own, as you can see in the chart below featuring buyouts for the top 20 on our Coaches Hot Seat Rankings). There’s a ripple effect that impacts the entire athletic department and can hamstring a program for years.
Take a look at that list. Those buyout numbers are staggering. Schools are paying tens of millions of dollars to coaches not to coach. That money could be used to improve facilities, hire top-tier assistants, and support other athletic programs.
And it’s not just the head coach’s salary. Assistant coaches have buyouts, too, which can add millions more to the tab. Suddenly, that “quick fix” looks like a costly gamble.
As if those costs weren’t enough, the recent House v. NCAA settlement has created a new financial landscape in college athletics. Schools can now directly pay their athletes a share of the revenue they generate. This is a game-changer, but it also means athletic departments have even less financial wiggle room. Those House settlement expenses are estimated to be around $20 million per school in 2025.
Think about it: a massive buyout combined with the new athlete compensation rules can seriously strain a school’s budget. And it’s not like the spending stops there. You’re still paying the fired coach and his staff NOT to coach while simultaneously shelling out money for the new coaching staff’s salaries. It’s like trying to buy a new car while paying off your student loans and a hefty credit card bill and still making payments on the old car you just traded in. Something’s gotta give.
It seems athletic directors are thinking twice before hitting that panic button. They’re facing a financial landscape that demands a more strategic approach. They’re weighing the long-term costs and benefits instead of bowing to pressure and making a rash decision. Maybe those hot seat coaches are getting a longer leash because school administrators are playing the long game, prioritizing financial stability and sustainable success over quick fixes.
Sometimes, patience and a long-term strategy are the more intelligent plays, even if they don’t provide the instant gratification of a coaching change.
What do you think? Is the cost of firing a coach worth it? Let me know here.
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Man, the coaching hot seat is scorching right now. First Mike Houston at ECU, and now Will Hall at Southern Miss? It’s a brutal reminder that winning is the only thing that matters in college football.
Hall came to Hattiesburg with a ton of promise. Deep ties to Mississippi and a successful stint at Tulane – it felt like a perfect fit. But sometimes, even the best-laid plans go up in flames.
A 1-6 start? Ouch. That’s not just a slump; that’s a full-blown meltdown. And when your only win comes against an FCS team? Well, let’s say the writing was on the wall.
Look, I’m not here to pile on. Coaching is a tough gig, especially in today’s pressure cooker environment. But the reality is, results matter. Fans demand them, and athletic directors expect them. When those results don’t come, something’s got to give.
It’s easy to point fingers at the offense, the defense, or the players. But at the end of the day, the head coach is the one who takes the fall. That’s the burden of leadership and a heavy one to bear.
So, what’s next for Southern Miss? They’ve got an interim coach in place, and the search for a new leader is on. It’s a chance for a fresh start, a new vision, a renewed sense of hope.
But for Will Hall, it’s a tough lesson learned. In this game, you’re only as good as your last season. And sometimes, that’s just not good enough.
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Let’s be honest: college football is a ruthless business. It’s a world where expectations are sky-high, patience wears thin, and yesterday’s hero can quickly become today’s casualty. Mike Houston just learned that lesson the hard way.
He arrived at East Carolina with a vision, ready to rebuild a program yearning for success. And for a while, it seemed like he was building something special. Back-to-back winning seasons and a bowl game victory were tangible signs of progress. But as anyone who’s ever played the game knows, momentum can shift instantly.
The 2023 season was a brutal turning point. A dismal 2-10 record exposed cracks in the foundation, and the pressure started mounting. Despite a glimmer of hope early in 2024, that crushing loss to Charlotte felt like a knockout punch.
Losing stings. But in this game, losing to your in-state rivals? That stings even more. An 0-7 record against North Carolina FBS schools? That’s a tough pill to swallow for any fanbase.
Let’s not forget the ever-spinning carousel of talent. College football today is a different beast. The transfer portal, NIL deals—it’s a constant battle to keep your roster stocked with playmakers. Houston struggled to navigate those choppy waters, ultimately costing him.
Now, the Pirates are left picking up the pieces, searching for a new captain to steer the ship. It’s a reminder that in this world, you’re only as good as your last season.
So, who’s next on the chopping block? The coaching hot seat is heating up, and the drama is just getting started. This is college football in 2024.
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Picture this: It’s 2021, and USC just dropped a cool $110 million on Lincoln Riley, college football’s offensive wunderkind. The champagne’s flowing, the Spirit of Troy – the greatest marching band in the history of the universe – is playing “Conquest,” and Trojan fans are waving the “victory” sign while simultaneously dreaming of national titles.
Fast-forward to 2024, and the Trojans are stumbling into the Big Ten with offensive and defensive lines as sturdy as a Hollywood movie set. Fans wonder if they’ve bought tickets to a blockbuster or a B-movie flop.
What’s going on? Let’s break it down, play by excruciating play.
Remember when Riley was the toast of Los Angeles? Seems like ancient history now.
Year one: 11-3. Not bad. Riley waltzed in, waved his offensive magic wand, and voila! USC was relevant again. Caleb Williams did his best Houdini impression on the field, escaping tackles and expectations. The Trojans were back, baby!
Or so we thought.
Year two: A stumble. The offense still hummed, but the trenches? They were like a revolving door in a hurricane.
Year three: A faceplant into Big Ten reality. USC’s gone 8-8 against power conference teams since that 2022 Pac-12 title game loss. Ouch. It’s like watching a Hollywood blockbuster with amazing special effects but a plot full of holes.
But here’s the kicker: Riley’s teams are getting pushed around like a shopping cart in a tornado. Michigan and Minnesota – yes, Minnesota, land of 10,000 lakes and 11 immovable defensive linemen – manhandled USC in the trenches.
The Trojans have become the fancy sports car that can’t handle a pothole. All flash, no bash.
Hold onto your visors, folks. The number crunchers here at Coaches Hot Seat have cooked up a fancy algorithm, and it’s spelling trouble in Tommy Trojan land. Our proprietary metric, “Minimum Acceptable” (MA) winning percentage for USC? A cool .697.
Riley’s current record? It’s dipped below that magic number faster than a Hollywood star’s career after a bad facelift. We’re talking .667 overall, with a measly .308 against ranked teams. Yikes!
Winning percentage for Jones, McKay, Robinson I, Carroll, and Riley after eight games into their 3rd year at USC. The blue line represents USC’s minimum acceptable winning percentage before the seat starts to heat up (as determined by Coaches Hot Seat.)
Winning record vs AP Ranked teams after eight games into the 3rd year at USC for each coach. AP Rankings started in 1936, so Howard Jones is omitted.
Let’s talk about expectations. At USC, they’re higher than the Hollywood sign.
Howard Jones, John McKay, John Robinson I, Pete Carroll. These aren’t just names; they’re legends. By year three, they were all either holding national championship trophies or knocking on the door.
Howard Jones? By year three, he had USC steamrolling towards its first national title. The man built a football powerhouse when LA’s biggest attraction was still orange groves.
John McKay? Year three, 1962. National champs. Boom. He invented “Student Body Right” and ran it down everyone’s throat. Why? Because he could.
John Robinson I? National title by year three. The man could recruit and develop talent like he had a crystal ball and a hypnotist on staff.
Pete Carroll? Okay, he took until year three to win a national title. Slacker. But by then, USC was already the coolest show in town. Half of Hollywood was at practice, and the other half wished they were.
Riley? He’s still trying to figure out which door to knock on. It’s like he’s got the keys to a Ferrari but can’t find the ignition.
Now, before we get too caught up in the USC glory days, let’s take a quick detour to Reality Check Boulevard. Remember Nick Saban at Alabama? Jim Harbaugh at Michigan? These guys didn’t exactly set the world on fire right out of the gate, either.
Saban, the holy grail of college coaching, went a pedestrian 7-6 in his first year at Alabama. It took him three seasons to bring home the national title. Harbaugh? He needed seven years to finally beat Ohio State and make the College Football Playoff.
So, is Riley behind schedule? Maybe. But he’s not exactly in uncharted territory. The difference? Saban and Harbaugh embraced their school’s cultures faster than a Hollywood starlet embraces Botox. They recruited locally like their lives depended on it. And most importantly, they built their teams from the trenches out.
Riley’s got the time. But does he have the blueprint?
Here’s where things get interesting, folks. Right now, USC’s offensive and defensive lines are about as imposing as a velvet rope at a nightclub. But hold your horses – or should we say, hold your Trojans.
Riley’s squad is full of raw talent that is developing faster than a Polaroid picture. These young warriors are busting their chops every day, and word on the street is that next year, they might just transform from a sandcastle into a fortress. It’s like watching a before-and-after montage in a Hollywood makeover film—the potential is there; it just needs time to be realized.
But here’s the rub: being young and promising in college football is like bringing a spork to a knife fight. You might make some interesting moves, but you’re not winning many battles… yet. The key word here is ‘yet.’
This is the late-season record for Jones, McKay, Robinson I, Carrol, and Riley through week eight of each respective coach’s third season.
Here’s a wild stat: In the last three years, USC signed just 15% of California’s top 60 high school players. None were linemen.
Let that sink in.
USC, the program that once had SoCal high schools on speed dial, is now the stranger at the party. It’s like forgetting your ATM pin at your local bank.
Riley and his staff? They’re like tourists in their own recruiting backyard. Local high school coaches, once USC’s best friends, are wondering if Riley even knows their names.
One prominent SoCal coach (let’s call him Coach X – this isn’t the Marvel Universe, but secret identities matter) put it bluntly: “I’ve had more meaningful conversations with my Uber drivers than with USC’s recruiting staff.”
Ouch. That’s gonna leave a mark.
It’s like a Hollywood star forgetting where they came from. And in college football, that’s a cardinal sin. Make that a cardinal and gold sin.
Riley’s leaning on the transfer portal like it’s a crutch. Sure, it’s flashy. It makes headlines. “USC Lands 5-Star Transfer!” Sounds great, right?
But here’s the thing: Riley’s building a house with rental furniture. It looks great for the open house, but what happens when the lease is up?
Here’s a plot twist: Riley, the offensive genius, needs help. Shocking, right? It’s like finding out Gordon Ramsay can’t make a grilled cheese.
Word on the street is that Riley needs to hire an offensive coordinator who knows the run game, like Riley knows Instagram filters. Someone to collaborate with, to balance out that air-raid obsession. Because right now, Riley’s offense is as one-dimensional as a paper doll.
And while we’re at it, how about Riley starts acting like a head coach? You know, the guy who’s supposed to oversee the whole shebang, not just the fancy passing plays. Right now, he’s outsourcing the defense like it’s a call center, taking zero responsibility when things go south. That’s not leadership; that’s dodgeball.
Here’s where it gets interesting. USC is Hollywood’s team. The media isn’t just part of the job; it’s part of the show.
McKay had one-liners sharper than a Spielberg script. Following the 51–0 loss to Notre Dame in 1966, “I told my team it doesn’t matter. There are 750 million people in China who don’t even know this game was played. The next day, a guy called me from China and asked, ‘What happened, Coach?” Boom. Mic drop before mic drops were a thing.
Robinson made reporters feel like family. He spun yarns that would make Mark Twain jealous. The media didn’t just cover USC; they were part of the story.
Carroll? He turned press conferences into pep rallies. He was P.T. Barnum in khakis and a headset. The man could sell sunshine to Southern California.
Riley? He’s treating the media like a blitz he can’t read. Cantankerous. Defensive. It’s a bad look; in LA, looks matter – just ask any Hollywood producer.
After a recent loss, Riley snapped at a reporter, “You clearly don’t understand football if you’re asking that question.” Yikes. That’s not burning bridges; that’s nuking them from orbit.
And it’s not just the media. Former players? They feel about as welcome as a vegan at a barbecue. The Trojan Family? More like the Trojan Distant Cousins Twice Removed.
Here’s a shocker: Riley is about as connected to USC tradition as a flip phone is to 5G. He has the Trojan history book, but it might as well be written in hieroglyphics.
Open practices? Nah, Fort Knox is more accessible. The legendary #55 jersey for linebackers? Gathering dust. The Notre Dame rivalry? Riley’s campaigning to drop it faster than a Hollywood diva drops last season’s fashion.
It’s like he’s directing a remake of a classic film but hasn’t bothered to watch the original. No wonder the team comes out flatter than week-old soda against rivals like Notre Dame and UCLA.
During his first season, Riley’s teams performed well against UCLA and Notre Dame. Last year, they came out “flat” and lost to both. Note: UCLA’s first game against USC occurred at the end of Jones’s third season, and the first against Notre Dame occurred during Jones’s second season.
USC is about to trade in its surfboard for a snow shovel. The Big Ten isn’t just a new conference; it’s a whole new world. It’s like moving from “Baywatch” to “Game of Thrones.” Winter is coming, and USC looks woefully underprepared.
If Minnesota pushed USC around, what would happen against Ohio State? It’s like watching a chess player realize he’s signed up for a boxing match.
Riley’s offenses are Ferraris. The Big Ten? It’s demolition derby country. USC’s about to learn that sometimes, you need a tank, not a sports car.
Here’s the thing about college football: today’s decisions echo into tomorrow faster than you can say “dynasty.” Riley’s current approach isn’t just affecting win-loss columns; it’s reshaping USC’s entire football ecosystem.
By neglecting local high school relationships, Riley risks more than just missing out on the next star quarterback. He’s potentially dismantling decades-old pipelines that have fed USC’s success. It’s like cutting off the roots and expecting the tree to grow taller.
And that cultural disconnect? It’s not just annoying alumni. It’s slowly eroding the very identity that made USC football a brand name. The Trojan mystique, that intangible quality that made kids dream of wearing cardinal and gold, is fading faster than a Hollywood star’s relevance.
If Riley doesn’t course correct, USC might win some games, but at what cost? A program that feels more like a mercenary squad than a storied college football powerhouse? A fanbase more connected to their transfer portal apps than their own team’s history?
The clock isn’t just ticking on Riley’s tenure. It’s ticking on USC’s football soul.
Here’s the rub: Riley has an $87 million buyout, and he’s not going anywhere soon. That’s not a contract; it’s a fortress with a moat full of money.
But in college football, “soon” is relative. Two more seasons of this, and even that golden parachute might not look so shiny. It’ll be more like a lead balloon.
Jennifer Cohen, USC’s athletic director, is putting on a brave face worthy of a Spielberg close-up. “I have full confidence in him,” she says, with all the conviction of a B-list actor swearing they’re “just friends” with their co-star. But here’s the twist in our Hollywood tale: Cohen didn’t cast Riley in this big-budget drama, and word on the Tinseltown grapevine is that their chemistry reads about as well as “Ishtar.”
Is Lincoln Riley’s seat hot? Not yet. But it’s warming up faster than a Kardashian’s Instagram post.
The next two seasons aren’t just crucial. They’re everything. Riley needs to:
Here’s the thing, Trojan faithful: Lincoln Riley isn’t just some hack director stumbling onto the USC lot. He’s got the chops, the vision, and, let’s face it, the paycheck of a blockbuster auteur. With a few script rewrites – beefing up the local recruiting, hiring a run-game whisperer of an OC, and maybe taking a crash course in “How to Make Friends and Influence Media” – this show could still be a smash hit.
The trenches are on the verge of a glow-up that would make any Kardashian jealous. The talent is there; it just needs seasoning. And let’s be honest: Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither was any dynasty worth its salt. Saban needed time. Harbaugh needed time. Hell, even Carroll didn’t turn water into wine overnight.
This is the Home vs Road record for Jones, McKay, Robinson I, Carrol, and Riley through week eight of each respective coach’s third season.
So, while Riley’s seat might be warming up faster than a convertible’s leather on a SoCal summer day, it’s not hot… yet. The potential for a USC renaissance lurking just beneath the surface like a plot twist in a Tarantino flick.
The question is: can Riley pull it all together before the credits roll? Can he merge his offensive genius with the grit and glamour of USC football? Only time will tell. But one thing’s for sure – everyone loves a good comeback story in this town. Over to you, Coach Riley. The stage is set, the cameras are rolling, and the Trojan Family awaits its happy ending.
Picture this: It’s April 2021, and Lincoln Riley, the offensive mastermind, decides to show off his culinary chops. The result? A brisket so dry it could’ve been used as a coaster at the Sahara. Social media exploded faster than a USC fan’s expectations after a five-star recruit commitment.
Fast forward three years, and the internet hasn’t forgotten. That brisket has become the culinary equivalent of USC’s defensive line – tough, chewy, and leaving a bad taste in everyone’s mouth.
But here’s where the plot thickens, folks. In a twist worthy of a Tarantino flick, we’ve got a Southern California solution that could save Riley’s bacon (or in this case, his brisket):
Enter Gus’s Barbeque, the Trojan Horse of the smoked meat world.
Phone: 626-799-3251. Website link: Gus’s BBQ
It’s like the transfer portal for BBQ – ready to step in and save the day when your homegrown talent isn’t cutting it.
See, in Los Angeles, it’s not about whether you can do it yourself – it’s about knowing who to call. Riley might not be able to smoke a brisket, but if he can learn to swallow his pride and dial-up Gus’s, he might turn this meat metaphor around.
And isn’t that what USC needs right now? A coach who knows when to call an audible, when to bring in the specialists? Whether it’s BBQ or football, sometimes you need to admit you’re out of your depth and bring in the pros.
So, Coach Riley, here’s some free advice: Next time you’re thinking of firing up the grill, maybe fire up that phone instead. After all, in LA, it’s not what you know; it’s who you know who smokes the competition.
And who knows? If Riley can master this playbook – knowing when to cook it himself and when to call in the reinforcements – he might serve up a juicier season than any brisket Gus could smoke.
Now, that would be a comeback story that even Hollywood couldn’t script.
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