Tulane football, the AAC Championship runner-up, just lost its star quarterback to an $8 million NIL deal.
This is the new reality for Tulane and head coach Jon Sumrall as they enter the 2025 season: competing against programs with financial resources far exceeding their own. Despite reaching the AAC Championship in Sumrall’s first season, the Green Wave now find themselves in a challenging position, rebuilding after watching their top performers get poached by larger programs with deeper NIL pockets.
“When you have a — call it a couple-million dollar roster versus a $15 million dollar roster you’re going sometimes into a gun fight with a knife,” Sumrall bluntly stated at the New Orleans Book Festival, as John Brice of Football Scoop reported.
But Sumrall isn’t backing down.
The Mass Exodus: How Much Talent Did Tulane Lose?
Quarterback Darian Mensah led the AAC in completion percentage and transferred to Duke for a reported $8 million NIL deal.
That’s just the beginning of Tulane’s exodus:
QB Darian Mensah: Left for Duke after throwing for 2,723 yards and 22 TDs with a 65.9% completion rate
RB Makhi Hughes: Hughes departed for Oregon after being the team’s workhorse in 2024
WR Room: All three top receivers – Mario Williams, Dontae Fleming, and Yulkeith Brown – transferred out
TE Alex Bauman: Moved to Miami, removing another key receiving option
Additional Losses: RBs Shaadie Clayton-Johnson (North Texas) and Trey Cornist (Central Michigan)
Defense: DL Parker Petersen transferred to Wisconsin
These weren’t just role players—they were the core of an offense that averaged 405 yards per game and was remarkable for its efficiency (62.9% completion rate) and discipline (just 1.1 turnovers per game).
How do you replace that much production in one off-season?
Sumrall’s Portal Strategy: 23 New Transfers to the Rescue
“We’re going to find every way we can to be successful and win,” Sumrall insists. “I’m biased and I may have blinders on and so I’m going to compete to win against whoever we play. Anyone, anywhere, anytime.”
His actions back up those words, with Tulane bringing in 23 transfers to rebuild the roster:
T.J. Finley (QB): A 6’7″ pocket passer with experience at LSU, Auburn, Texas State, and Western Kentucky
Maurice Turner (RB): Louisville transfer stepping into a depleted backfield
Jimmy Calloway (WR): Another Louisville transfer tasked with rebuilding the receiving corps
Defensive Line Reinforcements:Eliyt Nairne (Liberty), Trevon Alpine (Texas Tech), and Derrick Sheppard (UAB)
Jordan Hall (OL): Liberty transfer brought in to strengthen the offensive line
While the offense undergoes a complete rebuild, the defensive front seven might be stronger than last year’s unit that allowed 145.8 rushing yards per game.
But will it be enough?
Position-by-Position: Where Tulane Stands in 2025
Quarterbacks: The Veteran Journeyman
T.J. Finley brings much-needed experience, but can the traditional pocket passer replicate Mensah’s dual-threat efficiency?
The transition from Mensah to Finley represents a complete style change:
Mensah was mobile and efficient (166.7 passer rating)
Finley is a prototypical pocket passer with a big arm
Early-season growing pains seem inevitable
The ceiling remains high if chemistry develops with new receivers
Verdict: 🟡 Different style, similar potential production with patience
Running Backs: Starting From Scratch
The backfield faces the steepest rebuild on the entire roster.
Maurice Turner arrives from Louisville to a room that’s lost virtually all of its production:
Hughes has gone to Oregon
Clayton-Johnson transferred to North Texas
Cornist moved to Central Michigan
A committee approach seems likely in 2025
Early-season production could be inconsistent
Verdict: 🔴 Complete rebuild required
Wide Receivers: Who Steps Up?
Jimmy Calloway and other portal additions face enormous pressure with all top contributors gone.
The receiver reset is total:
All three top producers from 2024 transferred out
Chemistry with Finley must develop quickly
Unproven players will need to step into major roles
Expect new offensive wrinkles to help ease the transition
Verdict: 🔴 Major question marks remain
Defensive Line: The Bright Spot
This unit might be stronger in 2025 than it was in 2024.
The additions through the portal should create a more disruptive front:
Nairne, Alpine, and Sheppard bring experience and size
The 2024 unit was solid but unspectacular (145.8 rush yards/game)
Increased pressure could help the entire defense
Potential to be the team’s strength in 2025
Verdict: 🟢 Potential to be the team’s strength
Linebackers and Secondary: Stability Matters
These units remain relatively intact from the 2024 squad.
The defensive back seven provides needed continuity:
Minimal losses to the transfer portal
The secondary allowed 177.7 passing yards per game in 2024
More pressure up front could create more turnover opportunities
Likely to carry the team early while the offense develops
Verdict: 🟡 Solid but not spectacular
The 2025 Schedule: Opportunity and Challenge
Tulane’s path through 2025 includes fascinating storylines and significant tests.
Non-Conference Headliners:
Aug. 30: Northwestern (Home)
Sept. 13: Duke (Home) – Mensah returns to New Orleans
Sept. 20: Ole Miss (Away) – Major SEC challenge
Critical Conference Games:
Oct. 18: Army (Home) – 2024 AAC Championship rematch
Oct. 30: UTSA (Away) – Thursday night vs. rising conference power
Nov. 7: Memphis (Away) – Always a challenging road environment
Two strategically placed bye weeks (Oct. 4 and Oct. 25) should help the coaching staff make necessary adjustments throughout the season.
Can Tulane Find Sumrall’s “Secret Sauce”?
“Can you be the best in your league and find that secret sauce at the end where there’s chemistry and cohesion and culture that maybe beats somebody that may have a touch more talent than you?” Sumrall asked at the New Orleans Book Festival.
This question cuts to the heart of Tulane’s 2025 season.
Despite the coaching stability (Sumrall extended his contract in December 2024 despite Power 4 interest), the roster turnover creates enormous uncertainty. Integration of 23 new transfers tests even the best coaching staff.
The “secret sauce” of chemistry, cohesion, and culture faces its ultimate test.
Realistic Expectations: What Success Looks Like in 2025
With massive roster turnover and a challenging schedule, Tulane fans should recalibrate expectations.
Here’s what to watch for:
Early Growing Pains: September could be rough as the offense develops chemistry
Defensive Emergence: The defense may need to carry the team early
Midseason Improvement: If Finley settles in, the team could hit stride by mid-October
Bowl Eligibility: Securing six wins would represent success in this transition year
Conference Contention: Returning to the AAC Championship would be an impressive achievement
The Existential Question: Is Cinderella Dead in the NIL Era?
“Is it dead? I don’t know about that, yet. But, it’s challenging,” Sumrall said when asked if the Cinderella story is still possible in modern college football.
This is the existential question facing programs like Tulane’s.
How do you build sustainable success when your best players become immediate targets for financial packages you can’t match? When Sumrall says, “they’re able to just steal players from you left and right,” he’s describing a fundamental challenge to programs outside the Power 4 conferences.
Tulane’s 2025 season isn’t just about wins and losses—it’s about proving that a sustainable model exists for programs with limited resources in the NIL era.
Suppose Sumrall can develop undervalued players, effectively use the transfer portal, and build a strong culture to retain at least some key contributors. In that case, the Green Wave might establish a blueprint for similar programs.
For 2025, temper your expectations on the field.
But watch closely for signs that Sumrall is building something that can withstand the annual talent exodus that programs like Tulane now face in modern college football.
After all, he’s attempting something extraordinary: bringing a knife to a gunfight – and trying to win anyway.
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When History Comes Due: College Football’s Day of Reckoning
On the final Saturday of November 2024, college football will remind us why it remains America’s most compelling social experiment. In four different stadiums, eight teams will engage in a ritual that’s equal parts sporting event and psychological warfare. These aren’t just games—they’re settling accounts, tests of collective will, and exercises in mass delusion, where entire states convince themselves that the impossible is probable.
In South Carolina, two programs that share nothing but geography and mutual contempt will try to prove that statistics are just numbers on a page. In Columbus, Ohio State faces the cruel irony of finally getting a vulnerable Michigan team after three years of losses, only to discover that beating a wounded rival might be the most challenging task. In Los Angeles, USC will attempt to salvage a disappointing season by derailing Notre Dame’s playoff dreams, proving once again that nothing satisfies quite like ruining someone else’s perfect ending. And in Eugene, Oregon stands ready to exorcise three years of frustration against a Washington program that’s fallen from national championship contender to cautionary tale in less time than it takes to earn a college degree.
Each of these games carries its own particular strain of madness. Together, they form a perfect case study in how rational human beings – coaches, players, and millions of fans – can convince themselves that history, statistics, and probability are merely suggestions rather than laws. In short, it’s everything that makes college football the most irrational, and therefore most human, of our sports.
The Numbers That Lie: A Tale of Two Programs – South Carolina at Clemson
In the gathering dusk of late November, two football programs circle each other like prizefighters, each convinced they’ve decoded the other’s fatal flaw. The statistics tell one story: Clemson, the higher-ranked team with the more prolific offense, should win this game. But anyone who’s spent time in South Carolina knows that numbers, like the sweet tea served at every diner from Charleston to Greenville, can be deceptive.
The conventional wisdom says Clemson has the edge. Their quarterback, Cade Klubnik, throws for nearly fifty more yards per game than his counterpart. Their offense generates more total yards, touchdowns, and everything that should matter. We could all go home now if football games were played on spreadsheets.
But here’s where it gets interesting.
While everyone’s been watching Klubnik light up the stat sheet, South Carolina has been quietly perfecting the art of chaos. They don’t just play defense; they create havoc. Eighteen forced fumbles this season – a number that makes defensive coordinators salivate and quarterbacks wake up in cold sweats. Their defensive captain, Nick Emmanwori, has turned the secondary into a no-fly zone with four interceptions, but it’s his 76 tackles that tell the real story. He’s not just picking off passes; he’s hunting down ball carriers with the relentless precision of a Wall Street algorithm.
The market inefficiency here – the thing everyone else has missed – is in the special teams battle. South Carolina’s punter, Kai Kroeger, is averaging 47.8 yards per punt, a full five yards more than his Clemson counterpart. In a game where field position is currency, Kroeger prints money with every boot of the ball.
But perhaps the most telling number isn’t on any stat sheet. Five games – that’s how long South Carolina’s winning streak has stretched. Like confidence in financial markets, momentum in football is a self-fulfilling prophecy. Teams that believe they can’t lose often don’t.
The paradox at the heart of this rivalry is that for all of Clemson’s statistical superiority—their 469.9 yards per game, their 30 passing touchdowns, their number twelve ranking—they’re facing an opponent that has mastered the art of winning ugly. South Carolina’s defense doesn’t just stop drives; it ends them violently, with forced fumbles and defensive stands that send offensive coordinators back to their drawing boards.
Ultimately, this game won’t be decided by the comfortable certainties of statistics. It will come down to something far more primal: the ability to create chaos and thrive within it. South Carolina has turned defensive mayhem into an art form, while Clemson has built an offensive machine that looks unstoppable – until it meets a force that doesn’t play by the normal rules of engagement.
Overall Team Comparison
Records and Rankings:
Clemson: 9-2, ranked #12
South Carolina: 8-3, ranked #16
Momentum:
Clemson is on a 3-game winning streak
South Carolina is on a 5-game winning streak
Offensive Analysis
Passing Game:
Clemson’s Cade Klubnik leads a more prolific passing attack (274.6 yards/game) compared to South Carolina’s LaNorris Sellers (225.5 yards/game).
Clemson has a slight edge in passing touchdowns (30 vs. 20).
Rushing Game:
Clemson averages more rushing yards (195.3 vs. 181.8 yards/game).
South Carolina’s Raheim Sanders is the standout rusher with 11 TDs, while Clemson’s Phil Mafah leads with 8 TDs.
Key Playmakers:
Clemson: Antonio Williams (WR, 10 receiving TDs), Phil Mafah (RB, 1012 rushing yards)
South Carolina: Raheim Sanders (RB, 13 total TDs), Joshua Simon (TE, 6 receiving TDs)
Total Offense:
Clemson averages 469.9 yards/game
South Carolina averages 407.3 yards/game
Defensive Analysis
Run Defense:
South Carolina allows fewer rushing yards (103.4 vs. 139.6 yards/game).
Pass Defense:
Both teams are similar, with South Carolina slightly better (200.3 vs. 210.8 yards allowed/game).
Turnovers:
Clemson has more interceptions (13 vs. 12).
South Carolina forces more fumbles (18 vs. 11).
Key Defenders:
Clemson: T.J. Parker (9 sacks), Wade Woodaz and Barrett Carter (61 tackles each)
South Carolina: Kyle Kennard (11.5 sacks), Nick Emmanwori (76 tackles, 4 INTs)
Special Teams
Kicking:
Clemson’s Nolan Hauser: 15/20 FGs, 50/51 XPs
South Carolina’s Alex Herrera: 13/18 FGs, 41/41 XPs
Punting:
South Carolina’s Kai Kroeger averages 47.8 yards/punt
Clemson’s Aidan Swanson averages 42.4 yards/punt
Returns:
Clemson has a slight edge in kick returns (18.8 vs. 17.5 yards/return)
Clemson is significantly better in punt returns (8.2 vs. 5.9 yards/return)
Key Factors for the Matchup
Offensive Firepower: Clemson’s more balanced and productive offense could challenge South Carolina’s defense.
Defensive Playmaking: South Carolina’s defense has shown a greater ability to force turnovers and create big plays.
Quarterback Play: The performance of Klubnik (Clemson) and Sellers (South Carolina) will be crucial.
Field Position Battle: South Carolina’s superior punting game could be a significant factor.
Red Zone Efficiency: Both teams have efficient kickers, making red zone conversions critical.
Momentum: South Carolina enters with a longer winning streak, potentially providing a psychological edge.
Prediction
This matchup promises to be closely contested. South Carolina’s defensive strengths balance Clemson’s offensive advantages. The game could come down to turnovers, special teams play, and quarterback performance in critical moments. Given Clemson’s slightly higher ranking, more balanced offense, and home-field advantage, they might have a slight edge. However, South Carolina’s momentum and defensive playmaking ability make them a formidable opponent. Expect a tight game with the potential for big plays on both sides. The team that manages the turnover battle and performs better in special teams is likely to emerge victorious in what could be a classic rivalry matchup.
The smart money says Clemson wins this game 31-27. That’s what the algorithms predict, the statistical models suggest, and every rational analysis concludes. But there’s something fitting about the fact that this game will be played on the last day of November when the crisp autumn air carries just a hint of winter’s chaos. Because in the end, this rivalry isn’t about the predictable – it’s about the moments that break the models.
Clemson 31, South Carolina 27. That’s what the numbers say. But as one wizened South Carolina assistant coach told me with a knowing smile, “The beautiful thing about this game is that it’s played on grass, not paper.” In Palmetto State, grass has a way of growing wild.
Other Games Where We’re Targeting Winners
Michigan at Ohio State – The Cruelest Game in College Football
There’s a particular kind of torture in being favored by three touchdowns against your most bitter rival. Just ask Ohio State, which enters this year’s edition of The Game carrying the kind of burden that could crush a lesser program: the weight of three straight losses to Michigan, a clear path to the Playoff, and the suffocating expectations that come with being the team that absolutely, positively cannot lose to a 6-5 Michigan squad.
The cruel irony isn’t lost on anyone in Columbus. After years of falling to Jim Harbaugh’s powerhouse Michigan teams, the Buckeyes finally get a vulnerable version of their nemesis – and that somehow makes this game even more dangerous. Michigan’s offense may be diminished, but their defense remains stubborn enough to turn this into the ugly, grinding affair that has haunted Ohio State’s recent nightmares.
For Ohio State, it’s a game of psychological warfare against their own demons. Win, and they secure their spot in the Big Ten title game against Oregon while exorcising three years of Michigan-induced trauma. Lose, and… well, no one in scarlet and gray dares contemplate that scenario, even though their Playoff spot would likely survive such a catastrophe.
Michigan, meanwhile, arrives with the most dangerous weapon in college football: nothing to lose. Their defense, still salty enough to make life difficult for any offense, now gets to play the role of spoiler – a position that has produced some of college football’s most
The Game, as it’s known, has never needed additional drama to justify its appointment-viewing status. But this year’s edition adds a particularly twisted psychological element: Ohio State must beat a weakened version of the team that has tormented them or risk a new level of nightmare. There’s no greater pressure in college football than being the team that absolutely must win.
Prediction: Ohio State 31, Michigan 13. But if Michigan’s defense can force a couple of early turnovers and plant those seeds of doubt, that’s why they play The Game.
Notre Dame at USC – The Perfect Trap
There’s something poetic about Notre Dame having to pass through Los Angeles on its way to the College Football Playoff. Like any good Hollywood script, this one comes with all the classic elements of a potential tragedy: the protagonist riding high after overcoming early adversity, one final obstacle that seems manageable on paper, and an antagonist with nothing left to lose but their pride.
The Irish have spent months rehabilitating their image after that inexplicable slip-up early in the season. Like a forgiving audience, the playoff committee has bought into their redemption arc. However, USC’s Coliseum has always had a way of rewriting expected endings, especially when Lincoln Riley’s teams have their backs against the wall.
The numbers that matter here aren’t USC’s five losses – they’ve faced zero fourth-quarter deficits at home this season. Even Penn State, a team currently sitting in playoff position, needed overtime to escape Los Angeles with a win. For all their deficiencies and inconsistent play, the Trojans have mastered the art of the homestand. They’re like a veteran actor who might forget their lines in a touring production but never misses the mark on their home stage.
Lincoln Riley knows this is his last chance at salvaging something from a disappointing season. Expect him to empty the playbook, unleashing everything in USC’s arsenal – George Tirebiter, Traveler, Tommy Trojan, and even John McKay’s statue if he could make them eligible. In USC’s world, where a 6-5 record feels like a dramatic fall from grace, this game represents their chance at a redemptive finale. They’re not just playing spoiler but fighting for their own Hollywood ending.
And therein lies the trap for Notre Dame. They’ve convinced everyone – the committee, the analysts, perhaps even themselves – that they’ve evolved beyond that early-season stumble. But college football has a cruel sense of symmetry. A season that began with an unexpected stumble could end the same way.
Prediction: USC 34, Notre Dame 31. Because sometimes the best Hollywood endings are the ones nobody sees coming, written by a USC team that’s spent all season practicing fourth-quarter drama.
Washington at Oregon – When Empires Fall
Last January, as Washington walked off the field after the national championship game, the future seemed written in stone. The Huskies had Oregon’s number—three straight wins over their nemesis—and a program trajectory that pointed straight up. The rivalry’s power dynamics had shifted permanently toward Seattle.
Ten months later, the story reads like satire. Oregon stands undefeated, the last perfect team in major college football, while Washington stumbles into Eugene, looking less like a rival and more like a ritual sacrifice. The Ducks aren’t just winning; they’re thriving with the offensive balance that defensive coordinators see in their nightmares. Dillon Gabriel has turned the passing game into performance art, already eclipsing 3,000 yards. At the same time, Jordan James pounds out tough yards on the ground like a metronome measuring Oregon’s inevitable march toward the playoff.
Washington’s Will Rogers, meanwhile, looks like a quarterback trying to read a playbook written in hieroglyphics, throwing more interceptions (six) than touchdowns (two) over his last five games. The Huskies’ only hope lies in their 19th-ranked defense, and the strange mathematics of rivalry games – six of the last nine meetings have been decided by less than seven points.
But there’s something almost quaint about those historical statistics now. They’re like photos from a different era, reminders of when Washington could go toe-to-toe with the Ducks. Oregon doesn’t need this game – they could lose here and in next week’s Big Ten title game and likely still make the playoffs. That’s the kind of security that breeds either complacency or ruthlessness.
Prediction: Oregon 42, Washington 17. The cruelest part of college football’s natural order isn’t the fall from grace – it’s watching your rival ascend to heights you thought would be yours.
In the high-stakes college football arena, where careers are made and broken on the whims of boosters and the bounce of an oblong ball, ten men are perched precariously on the edge of oblivion. “Gridiron Gambles: The 10 College Football Coaches Walking a Tightrope” isn’t just a headline—it’s a window into the soul-crushing, sweat-soaked world where multimillion-dollar contracts collide with the harsh realities of wins and losses. From the Appalachian highlands to the sun-baked plains of Texas, these coaches navigate a landscape where success is measured in increments of eternal optimism and crushing disappointment. Their stories, a cocktail of ambition, desperation, and financial engineering, reveal the true nature of an industry where the difference between genius and failure is often nothing more than a well-timed trick play or a kicker’s wayward foot.
In the peculiar economy of college football, where success is measured in increments of eternal optimism and crushing disappointment, Shawn Clark finds himself caught in the undertow of expectations at Appalachian State. The numbers tell one story: 39-23 since taking the helm in 2020, a winning percentage that would keep most mid-major coaches comfortably employed. But numbers, as any good statistician will tell you, can lie by omission.
What the raw data fails to capture is the psychological toll of regression. The Mountaineers weren’t just expected to be good in 2023 – they were supposed to be the darlings of the Group of Five, the team that might crash the party of college football’s elite. Instead, they’ve become a case study of the dangers of potential unrealized. At 4-5, with games against James Madison and Georgia Southern looming like storm clouds on the horizon, Clark has managed to do something remarkable: he’s made winning 63% of his games feel like a failure.
The truly fascinating part isn’t that Clark might lose his job – it’s that he’s demonstrated how quickly the currency of past success can be devalued by present disappointment. In the modern college football marketplace, where fans trade in the futures market of expectations rather than the commodity market of actual wins, Clark’s greatest sin wasn’t losing – it was making people believe they could win more.
Contract and Buyout: The Price of Promise
To understand the true economics of college football’s expectations game, look no further than the elaborate financial instrument known as Shawn Clark’s contract. It’s a document that reads like a futures trading agreement, where the underlying commodity is hope itself. The university has systematically increased its investment in Clark yearly – from $775,000 in 2021 to $925,020 in 2023 – a nearly 20% appreciation in perceived value over just two years. This comes complete with a monthly “retention bonus” of $22,085, which seems precision-engineered by some unseen actuary to satisfy Clark just enough to stay.
But it’s in the buyout structure where the real financial engineering reveals itself. The university created what Wall Street would recognize as a descending ladder of put options – starting at $5 million and stepping down to a mere $250,000 by 2025. It’s the kind of carefully crafted exit strategy that investment bankers admire, protecting both parties while gradually reducing exposure. The genius is in how it mirrors the depreciation of both risk and potential – like a financial instrument slowly losing its time value as it approaches expiration.
The contract extension through 2026 tells its own story – one of institutional optimism colliding with the harsh reality of on-field results. However, it’s worth noting – and this is where the fine print becomes crucial – that these buyout figures come from Clark’s initial contract signed in December 2019. Like any sophisticated financial instrument, the terms may have been restructured during his 2021 extension. In the opaque world of college football contracts, such details often remain sealed in filing cabinets, known only to agents, attorneys, and athletic directors until they become relevant.
In the risk-obsessed college football world, where athletic directors typically rush to extend their coaches’ contracts at the first sign of competence, Charles Huff’s situation at Marshall stands as a fascinating market inefficiency. Here’s a coach entering the twilight of his original six-year contract – a virtual unicorn in modern college athletics – with no extension in sight and a buyout figure that reads more like a mid-level administrator’s salary than a Power Five coach’s exit package: $125,917.
The number itself tells a story. Not $125,000, not $126,000, but $125,917. It’s the kind of precise figure that suggests it was calculated by someone who believes in the power of actuarial tables and compound interest rather than the typical athletic department mathematics of ego and escalation.
What makes this situation particularly remarkable is its rarity. In an industry where coaches typically receive extension after extension – often before proving their worth – Huff operates in a state of contractual purgatory. His original 2021 deal will expire at the end of next season, creating the sort of uncertainty that athletic directors typically avoid, like a blocked punt. It’s as if Marshall accidentally discovered a new way to incentivize performance: by doing absolutely nothing.
This arrangement is a controlled experiment in coaching motivation. While his peers coach with golden parachutes worth millions, Huff operates with a buyout that wouldn’t cover the cost of a decent offensive coordinator in the SEC. It’s the kind of situation that would make Billy Beane smile. This market inefficiency either proves the conventional wisdom about coaching contracts wrong or demonstrates exactly why such wisdom exists in the first place.
Ultimately, Huff’s contract situation reads less like a strategic decision and more like an oversight – as if Marshall’s athletic department forgot to follow the standard operating procedure of college football’s coaching carousel. The question isn’t whether this approach is brilliant or foolish but whether it was an approach at all.
If you wanted to design a perfect experiment to test the breaking point of college football’s traditional patience with new coaches, you couldn’t do better than the case of Kenni Burns at Kent State. His record reads like a Silicon Valley startup’s burn rate: 1-22 overall, hemorrhaging games at a pace that would make even the most optimistic venture capitalist nervous. But what happened off the field transforms this from a simple story of athletic underperformance into something far more revealing about the economics of mid-major college football.
In a move that defied conventional market logic, Kent State doubled down on its investment in February 2024, extending Burns’ contract through 2028. Just months later, a local bank would be suing their head coach over $23,852.09 in credit card debt, representing roughly 4.5% of his annual salary. It’s the kind of financial disconnect that would make a Wall Street risk manager break out in hives: a man making half a million dollars annually defaulting on a credit card from the same community bank that once sponsored the school’s baseball program.
The financial architecture of Burns’ deal reveals the strange economics of mid-major college football. His base salary – starting at $475,000 and climbing to $515,000 – comes wrapped in a series of micro-incentives that read like a behavioral economist’s experiment in motivation. There’s $5,000 for beating Akron in the battle for the Wagon Wheel trophy (a sum that somehow manages to overvalue and undervalue a rivalry game simultaneously), and up to $15,000 for hitting academic benchmarks – as if to say, “If you can’t win games, at least make sure the players can read about them.”
But it’s in the confluence of the guarantee game clause and the credit card debt where the real story emerges. While up to $200,000 per year from Power 5 “guarantee games” goes directly to the football budget – effectively creating a financial instrument where Kent State profits from their competitive irrelevance – their head coach couldn’t manage to keep current on a $20,000 credit limit. The excuse of “a recent remodel and move” reads less like a justification and more like a perfect metaphor for the program: renovating while the foundation crumbles.
The buyout figure of $1.51 million after 2024 now looks less like an insurance policy against success and more like a cautionary tale about financial due diligence. In the strange economy of college football, Kent State potentially has to pay seven figures to part ways with a coach who couldn’t pay his credit card bill.
This is no longer a coaching contract; it’s a case study of the disconnect between institutional faith and personal finance. Every clause, every bonus, every carefully worded incentive tells the story of a program trying to convince itself that patience is still a virtue in an industry that traded that commodity away years ago. At 1-22, with their head coach dodging debt collectors, they’re not just losing games; they’re conducting an expensive experiment in the limits of institutional faith while their coach conducts his experiment in the limits of credit.
The most telling detail might be the timing: Burns’ team was 60 days past due on its payments to Hometown Bank and past due on delivering a single win in the 2023 season. In college football’s economy, some debts seem more forgivable than others.
In college football economics, Neal Brown’s contract at West Virginia is a case study in the psychology of institutional momentum. Here’s a coach who parlayed a 9-4 season into what might be the most elaborately structured compensation package in the mid-tier Power Five – a document that reveals more about the anxieties of college football administration than it does about winning football games.
The raw numbers tell one story: a $4 million base salary escalating to $4.4 million by 2027, a buyout structure that would make a Wall Street severance specialist blush ($9.525 million if terminated after this season), and a bonus structure so intricately layered it resembles a hedge fund’s fee schedule more than a coaching contract. But it’s in the timing that the real story emerges.
What makes Brown’s situation particularly fascinating isn’t just the money – it’s his apparent reconceptualization of the product he’s being paid to deliver. In October, after another loss to a ranked opponent (bringing his record against Top 25 teams to a sobering 3-16), Brown offered the most revealing quote in modern college football: “Did they have a good time? Did they enjoy it? It was a pretty good atmosphere. I’m assuming they had a pretty good time tailgating.”
It was the kind of statement that would make a McKinsey consultant proud – a brilliant pivot from measuring success by wins and losses to measuring it by customer satisfaction with the peripheral experience. Brown reframed a football program as an entertainment venue, suggesting that the actual game might be incidental to the tailgating experience. It’s as if the CEO of a struggling restaurant chain decided to focus on the quality of the parking lot rather than the food.
Brown’s contract’s genius—or perhaps madness—lies in its bonus structure. It reads like a Choose Your Own Adventure book written by an accountant: $100,000 for eight wins, $125,000 for nine, and up to $200,000 for running the table. Notably, nowhere in the contract is there a bonus for enhancing the tailgating experience.
But it’s in the perks where the true nature of college football’s economy reveals itself. Two courtesy vehicles, a country club membership (funded through “private dollars” – a distinction that speaks volumes about the creative accounting of college athletics), and a $5,000 allowance for university apparel. Even the ticket allocations are meticulously detailed: 25 premium tickets or a suite for football, five for basketball, and 20 for bowl games – enough to host quite a tailgate party of his own.
The buyout clause – 75% of the remaining salary if terminated without cause – stands as a monument to institutional fear: fear of being wrong or right or having to admit either. At current projections, that’s $9.525 million to say goodbye to a coach who might finish 5-7, make a bowl game, or do just enough to make everyone wonder if next year will be different. Or perhaps, given his new metrics for success, just enough people might have a good time tailgating to make it all worthwhile.
In the end, Neal Brown’s tenure isn’t just about coaching football – it’s about an institution trying to put a price on hope while their coach redefines what hope means. Each clause, each bonus, and each carefully worded provision reveals a program desperate to believe it has found its answer while simultaneously hedging against the possibility that it hasn’t. At 5-5, Brown isn’t just managing a football team – he’s curating an entertainment experience worth millions, where the game might be an excuse for the party in the parking lot.
In the complex marketplace of college football coaching talents, Kevin Wilson’s career trajectory reads like a case study in the industry’s peculiar definition of failure and success. Here’s a coach who helped orchestrate some of the most prolific offenses in college football history at Oklahoma, got fired from Indiana for winning too little, landed at Ohio State, where he helped set conference records, and then – in a move that defies conventional career logic – chose to take over at Tulsa, where he’s currently orchestrating what might be called a masterclass in proving why offensive coordinators don’t always make great head coaches.
The numbers tell a story that no Wall Street analyst would want to pitch to investors: 7-13 at Tulsa, adding to a career head coaching record of 33-60. But the path to those numbers makes Wilson’s case so fascinating. This is a man who once presided over an Oklahoma offense that scored 716 points in a season (still third-best in FBS history), helped develop multiple Heisman Trophy finalists at Ohio State, and somehow managed to make Indiana’s offense lead the Big Ten in passing – a feat roughly equivalent to making Vermont a skiing powerhouse.
Wilson’s career is exciting because it perfectly captures the football industry’s inability to value talent properly. Here’s a coordinator who helped create offensive systems that generated billions in revenue for major programs, yet when given his own program at Indiana, was dismissed after going 6-6 – a record that at Indiana should have earned him consideration for canonization rather than termination. The official reason was “mistreatment of players,” but in college football’s economy, winning six games at Indiana while losing the PR battle proves about as sustainable as a crypto startup with good fundamentals but an evil Twitter presence.
The move to Tulsa represents the greatest market inefficiency in college football or its most predictable regression to the mean. Wilson left a position at Ohio State where he was helping generate NFL quarterbacks like a factory assembly line to take over a program where success is measured in bowl eligibility rather than national championships. It’s as if a quantitative trader left Renaissance Technologies to manage a local credit union’s investment portfolio.
The tragedy isn’t that Wilson is failing at Tulsa – it’s that his career perfectly illustrates college football’s inability to distinguish between the skills needed to coordinate an offense and those required to run an entire program. His genius for designing plays that made Oklahoma and Ohio State unstoppable hasn’t translated into the ability to make Tulsa merely competitive. It’s the coaching equivalent of the Peter Principle: promoting someone until they reach their incompetence, except in this case, Wilson chose his promotion.
Ultimately, Kevin Wilson’s story isn’t just about wins and losses – it’s about how college football’s market for coaching talent consistently misvalues specialized skills. His career path from offensive mastermind to struggling head coach serves as a reminder that in college football’s economy, being brilliant at one thing doesn’t guarantee even basic competence at the next level up. At 3-5 this season, Wilson isn’t just coaching football – he’s providing a cautionary tale about the dangers of mistaking tactical brilliance for strategic leadership.
Some numbers tell you everything you need to know about a program’s soul. At Auburn, that number is $68 million – paid not to win games but to make coaches disappear since 2000. The figure transforms a football program into a case study of institutional behavior, like watching someone set fire to their house because they didn’t like the paint color.
Hugh Freeze arrived on the Plains as the latest solution to a problem Auburn can’t quite define. His 2-5 record wouldn’t be remarkable at many places, but it’s just the latest chapter in a story of perpetual dissatisfaction at Auburn. The Tigers have fired a coach two years after winning a national title (Gene Chizik), dismissed another despite his beating Alabama in odd-numbered years with mystifying regularity (Gus Malzahn), and scrapped Bryan Harsin for the crime of not being from around here.
What makes Freeze’s situation fascinating isn’t just his struggles – it’s how carefully Auburn planned for them. His contract reveals an institution that has learned one lesson from its past: how to structure a buyout. While previous coaches like Malzahn ($21.5 million) and Harsin ($15.6 million) had to be paid off like desperate ransom demands, Freeze’s $20.3 million sendoff can be stretched out in monthly installments through 2028, like a mortgage on mediocrity.
The cruel irony is that Freeze, hired to fix Auburn’s offense, has instead provided a masterclass in offensive futility. His team ranks among the SEC’s worst in scoring despite generating 444.5 yards per game – they’re breaking down exactly where the end zone comes into view. It’s as if someone hired Picasso to paint their house, and he insisted on using his feet.
Yet Freeze might survive, at least temporarily, because of a recruiting class ranked fifth nationally – though, as Texas A&M recently demonstrated by signing a top-20 class a month after firing Jimbo Fisher, even that achievement comes with an asterisk in the NIL era.
At 2-5, with five opponents ahead who all have better records, Freeze is approaching territory that not even Auburn’s most creative accountants can rationalize. He’s already matching Bryan Harsin’s pace toward dismissal and doing it with an offense that makes three yards and a cloud of dust look innovative.
The most revealing detail might be this: Auburn structured Freeze’s buyout not as a deterrent to firing him but as a more convenient mechanism. It’s the behavior of an institution that knows itself too well – like someone who builds the divorce settlement into their wedding vows.
In December 2021, Sonny Cumbie orchestrated what appeared to be a perfect audition. As Texas Tech’s interim coach, he dismantled Mike Leach’s Mississippi State team in the Liberty Bowl, displaying offensive creativity that makes athletic directors dream big dreams on small budgets. For Louisiana Tech, a program perpetually searching for innovation at discount prices, Cumbie represented a calculated risk: a quarterback whisperer who might turn Ruston into Conference USA’s laboratory for offensive evolution.
Twenty-four games later, that laboratory has produced mostly smoke. Cumbie’s record at Louisiana Tech reads like a scientific study in diminishing returns: 3-9, 3-9, and now 4-6, with an offense that’s regressed from five 40-point outbursts in 2022 to sporadic signs of life in 2024. The quarterback whisperer has largely gone silent.
But the real story isn’t in the wins and losses – it’s in the assembly of his coaching staff, where Louisiana Tech’s financial reality collides with its aspirations. “We are at the bottom rung of the assistant coach pay scale,” one fan noted, defending a collection of hires from places like Central Washington and Stephen F. Austin. Another countered, “None of these resumes are very impressive,” missing the point that impressive resumes rarely come at discount prices.
Consider the economics: Louisiana Tech offers Cumbie $900,000 annually, escalating to a modest $1 million, with $1.4 million to divide among ten assistants. In today’s college football, that’s like trying to build a sports car with spare parts from a bicycle shop. The program’s one notable coaching success story – Manny Diaz – stayed precisely one year before moving to bigger opportunities, a pattern that repeats itself across similar programs.
Cumbie’s tenure reveals the fundamental challenge facing programs like Louisiana Tech: they’re forced to bet on potential rather than proof, on coaches who might become something rather than those who already are. His staff, assembled from the outer reaches of college football’s map, represents either brilliant talent spotting or desperate bargain hunting, depending on your perspective and, crucially, the final score.
The tragedy isn’t that Cumbie is failing; his failure was priced into the system from the start. That Liberty Bowl victory, rather than launching a career, may have obscured an essential truth: miracles rarely come with multi-year warranties in college football’s modern economy.
At 10-24 overall, Cumbie has reached the point where even patient programs begin asking hard questions. But perhaps the most challenging question isn’t about Cumbie – it’s whether any coach, given Louisiana Tech’s resources, could build something sustainable from spare parts and promises.
At Arkansas, they’re learning that timing in college football isn’t just about when to fire your coach – it’s about understanding when you’ve lost the luxury of waiting. The Razorbacks find themselves trapped in a maze of their construction: $40 million in new financial obligations from revenue sharing and settlements, a coach with a $10 million buyout that nobody can quite justify, and a contract clause that threatens to extend the very situation fans are desperate to escape.
Sam Pittman’s tenure reads like a cautionary tale about institutional decision-making. In 2021, when his team peaked at No. 8 in the country, Arkansas rewarded a coach who had never led another program with contract protections that assumed he had somewhere else to go. “Zero leverage in any negotiations,” as one fan put it, somehow translated into maximum security.
Now, at 5-5, with Louisiana Tech and Missouri remaining, Arkansas faces a peculiar mathematical crisis: two more wins, including a potential bowl victory, would trigger an automatic extension. It’s the kind of clause that transforms every touchdown into a threat, every victory into a potential long-term liability.
The administration’s whispered excuse – waiting for revenue sharing to settle before making any moves – ignores a crucial market reality: this may be the recent slowest season for Power Five vacancies. While Arkansas waits for perfect conditions, they’re watching their coach surrender 694 yards to Ole Miss in the most expensive audition for an extension in SEC history.
The genuinely revealing detail isn’t Pittman’s 28-30 record or even the historic defensive collapse against Ole Miss. The architecture of decisions led Arkansas to create a contract where success and failure became equally problematic. They built a system where winning just enough could be worse than losing outright.
As the Louisiana Tech game approaches, Arkansas faces a question beyond football strategy: How much does it cost to fix a mistake before it compounds itself? In a season where every other Power Five job remains secure, the opportunity to make a change has never been more evident – or more urgently needed before those two fateful wins can materialize.
The irony isn’t lost on a fanbase watching their program twist into financial knots. They know that while $10 million might seem steep to move on from Pittman, it’s a bargain compared to the long-term cost of letting him stay just long enough to earn the right to stay longer.
College football usually punishes hubris swiftly, but at UAB, they’re experimenting to see how long an administration can ignore reality. The results aren’t encouraging.
Trent Dilfer inherited Bill Clark’s masterwork – six straight winning seasons, two conference titles, a program that survived death once and emerged stronger. In less than two years, he’s transformed it into a case study in institutional denial. The on-field collapse would be enough: no first-half touchdowns in conference play, players ejected for shoving officials and post-touchdown headbutts. But it’s Dilfer’s “It’s not like this is freakin’ Alabama” dismissal that reveals the more profound dysfunction.
Athletic Director Mark Ingram’s steadfast support of Dilfer doesn’t read like loyalty so much as a refusal to acknowledge a $4.1 million mistake. The Jalen Kitna situation crystallizes the dynamic: faced with predictable backlash over signing a player dismissed from Florida on child pornography charges, the administration didn’t retreat – they dug in deeper, with Dilfer dismissing “initial headlines” as if they were discussing a parking ticket rather than felony charges.
The tragedy isn’t just in UAB’s regression from conference champion to cautionary tale. It’s in watching an administration convince itself that standing firm amid disaster demonstrates strength rather than stubbornness. While Dilfer jokes about his high school coaching days after 35-point losses, Ingram’s support transforms from professional courtesy to something more troubling: an administrator who can’t or won’t distinguish between standing by his coach and standing in the way of his program’s recovery.
The most revealing detail isn’t the empty stands or the lopsided scores – it’s the growing suspicion among boosters that this might be what program death looks like when it comes from within rather than from above. UAB once rallied a city to save its football team. Now they watch that same team dismantled by the people charged with protecting it, led by a coach who reminds them they’re not Alabama, backed by an AD who seems determined to prove it.
In the heart of Blacksburg, Virginia, a story of ambition, expectation, and the relentless pursuit of gridiron glory unfolds. Brent Pry, the man tasked with resurrecting Virginia Tech’s football program, stands at the center of this tale—a coach caught between the weight of history and the harsh realities of the present. Three years ago, Pry arrived at Lane Stadium with the promise of defensive brilliance and a return to the Hokies’ golden era. The faithful, hungry for success, embraced him. In early 2024, a staggering 75.1% of fans rated his performance at the top of the scale. Hope, it seemed, had found a new home in Virginia Tech. But in the unforgiving world of college football, where yesterday’s hero can quickly become today’s scapegoat, Pry’s journey has been anything but smooth. His first season in 2022 was a brutal 3-8 campaign—a record that would make even the most optimistic fan wince. It was as if the Hokies had forgotten how to win, their once-feared program reduced to a shadow of its former self. Yet, like any good underdog story, 2023 brought a glimmer of hope. A 7-6 record, capped by a Military Bowl victory, suggested that perhaps Pry’s process was beginning to bear fruit. The defense, long the backbone of Virginia Tech’s identity, cracked the top 20 nationally. For a moment, it seemed the tide was turning. But college football is a game of “what have you done for me lately,” and 2024 has been a study of unfulfilled potential. As November’s chill settles over the Blue Ridge Mountains, the Hokies sit at 5-4, their dreams of ACC contention fading like the autumn leaves. The faithful who once believed Pry would deliver an ACC championship now watch each game with bated breath, hoping for a miracle but fearing the worst. The numbers tell a story of their own. A 1-11 record in one-score games hangs around Pry’s neck like an albatross, each close loss a reminder of what could have been. It’s the statistic that keeps coaches up at night, poring over game film in search of answers that seem just out of reach. In the high-stakes chess match of college athletics, Pry’s moves are scrutinized with the intensity of a Wall Street earnings report. His contract, set to pay him $5 million a year by 2026, looms large—a bet placed by an administration hoping for a long-term payoff. But the clock is ticking in a world where patience is rare. As the 2024 season hurtles toward its conclusion, Brent Pry stands at a crossroads. The next chapter in this saga of redemption and reckoning will be in the coming months. In the stands of Lane Stadium, under the Friday night lights, the verdict on Pry’s tenure hangs in the balance—a reminder that in college football, as in life, the line between triumph and tribulation is often as thin as a goal line.
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