Introduction
I was in Dublin in 2014 when Sam Ficken kicked that last-second field goal against UCF. After the scandal, sanctions, uncertainty, and years of wondering whether Penn State would ever feel like Penn State again, that moment meant everything to me.
Those players preserved something bigger than themselves. Christian Hackenberg had already helped restore hope, and Franklin’s first game was another step toward normalcy. That’s where my admiration began. Twelve years later, too many fans forget how far he brought us.
Thesis
Firing James Franklin wasn’t a necessary step toward greatness. It was a risky dismantling of a successful program because too many fans confused wanting a national championship with being entitled to one.
I wanted championships, too. But I also valued what we actually had: a respected coach, NFL-caliber talent, national relevance, and the expectation of competing almost every Saturday. Franklin built a foundation that could have supported another decade of success. Penn State discarded it without demonstrating that a better alternative existed.
1. Look at the actual record—not just the losses that hurt
Franklin went 104–45, won the 2016 Big Ten championship, produced multiple 11-win seasons, won major bowl games, and took Penn State to the 2024 College Football Playoff semifinal. That 2024 team finished 13–3, one close loss to Notre Dame away from playing for a national title.
Was he perfect? Of course not. His record against Ohio State and Michigan was a legitimate weakness. Losing to UCLA and Northwestern in 2025 was unacceptable. Those criticisms deserve honest discussion.
But why do those losses erase everything else? How many programs would have traded places with us? How many coaches could have done more? Being consistently excellent without winning the final game is disappointing. It is not the same as failing.
2. Our expectations have become detached from our history
Penn State claims two modern national championships: 1982 and 1986. Joe Paterno became head coach in 1966 and didn’t win his first until his 17th season. Nobody would suggest the eras are identical, but patience was once part of this program’s identity.
We seem to remember Paterno’s championships while forgetting all the seasons when even tremendous Penn State teams fell short. Franklin spent just over 11 seasons rebuilding and then sustaining a national program in a far more commercial, rapidly changing sport.
We were so busy wanting to be Ohio State that we forgot to appreciate being Penn State.
3. Recruiting was a strength, not an afterthought
Think about the players we got to cheer for: Saquon Barkley, Micah Parsons, Pat Freiermuth, Joey Porter Jr., Jaquan Brisker, Abdul Carter, Tyler Warren, and many more. Watch the NFL on Sunday and you’ll regularly see the talent that came through Happy Valley during Franklin’s tenure.
Recruiting means convincing families, building relationships, and making players believe. Franklin had presence, confidence, and credibility. He could walk into a living room and make Penn State feel like somewhere a young star belonged.
That kind of recruiting infrastructure doesn’t automatically survive a coaching change.
4. Winning now requires more than just a good coach
College football has changed. NIL, revenue sharing, the portal, and roster retention are part of the competition. Penn State’s earlier spending figures are disputed, and Franklin himself acknowledged the university went “all-in” for 2025. That makes the collapse fair game for criticism. But a stronger one-year budget doesn’t instantly repair years of roster-building differences.
Franklin kept trying to improve the staff. Joe Moorhead helped transform the offense before leaving for a head-coaching job. Franklin later pursued other accomplished offensive minds, including Andy Kotelnicki. And in 2025 he hired Jim Knowles, the coordinator of Ohio State’s national-championship defense.
Not every hire worked. But bringing in Knowles is evidence of a coach trying to win, not one who had stopped caring.
5. The 2025 collapse was real. It still didn’t justify a panic firing.
I won’t sugarcoat 2025. The Oregon loss was brutal. UCLA and Northwestern were worse. Franklin deserved accountability for those performances, his big-game record, and any questionable roster decisions.
But some criticisms go beyond analysis into character assassination. Where is the evidence that Franklin “quit” on his team? Was it a frustrated press conference? A sideline expression? A losing streak? Those are not proof that a man who devoted more than a decade to this program stopped wanting to win.
Drew Allar’s season-ending injury came during the Northwestern game, so it does not excuse the losses leading up to it. But it does illustrate how quickly an already difficult season can unravel. Losing key contributors and installing a new defensive scheme added complexity—not an automatic excuse, but context worth considering.
And here’s something critics overlook: Knowles’s complex defense can take two seasons or more for players to fully master. Look at Ohio State. Its defense improved significantly in his second season and became truly dominant in his third, when it won the national championship. Penn State was only in Year One of implementing that system in 2025. Franklin had hired one of the country’s best defensive coordinators, yet fans expected immediate perfection from a system that takes time to develop. Instead of allowing that investment to mature, we fired the coach who made it.
A bad stretch should have triggered an evaluation of what needed fixing. Instead, it triggered the destruction of the whole operation.
6. The cost of firing him was never just a buyout
Firing a head coach in October doesn’t merely remove one employee. It destabilizes recruiting relationships, risks transfers, disrupts staff continuity, and tells every prospective player that the program is entering uncertainty.
Franklin had already demonstrated he could recruit, win double-digit games, build staffs, and reach the semifinal. Those are difficult things to replace. Even if a new coach eventually succeeds, you sacrifice years of momentum getting there.
And why not let him finish the season? He deserved a more professional exit, and the program a less chaotic transition.
7. What exactly have we gained?
I wish Matt Campbell well. He knows football, and I hope he wins. But replacing Franklin with Campbell did not establish a higher ceiling just because Campbell was new.
As of October 19, Penn State is 3–4 and 0–4 in the Big Ten. That’s not a complete verdict on Campbell, who inherited a difficult transition. But it is a vivid reminder that sustained success is not guaranteed, and that the replacement deserves to be judged by the same standards used to condemn his predecessor.
Can Campbell recruit at Franklin’s level? Can he sustain 10- and 11-win seasons? Can he make deep playoff runs? Can he restore the momentum lost in the transition—and do it without substantially greater spending?
I genuinely want those answers to be yes. But what evidence did we have when Franklin was fired that the next coach would produce better results?
Meanwhile, a possible expansion of the playoff to 24 teams could make regular postseason appearances more attainable. That possibility makes it even harder for me to understand abandoning a coach who had already reached the semifinal.
8. There was more to Franklin than a spreadsheet
I loved his daring calls, even when they drove me crazy. I loved his confidence, his willingness to gamble, his pride in the program, and the players he brought here. Some decisions were a hair away from brilliance; others failed spectacularly. But he made Saturdays exciting.
I could hear “Seven Nation Army,” “Zombie Nation,” or “Mo Bamba” at the gym and immediately think about Beaver Stadium. I was proud enough of Penn State to make friends and family watch games with me—even people who couldn’t care less about football.
Franklin made me believe we’d show up, compete, and usually win. That feeling isn’t trivial. It’s part of what being a fan means.
I once imagined he’d stay for decades, the way Paterno did, and perhaps eventually bring us a national title. He had years left to build. I thought loyalty and sustained success meant something here.
Conclusion
The popular refrain is, “I liked Franklin, but it was time for him to go.”
Why? What does “it was time” actually prove? Where was the demonstrable recruiting advantage, tactical upgrade, or financial commitment that made firing a winner a smart bet?
To anyone who insists Franklin couldn’t win a national title: you’re entitled to that opinion. But you are not entitled to treat winning one as a routine expectation at a school whose last championship came in 1986. Nor can you dismiss 104 wins, a Big Ten title, NFL stars, and a playoff semifinal as though they were failures.
Maybe Campbell will eventually surpass him. If he does, I’ll cheer as loudly as anyone. But hope is not a strategy, and change is not automatically progress.
I didn’t need Penn State to be Alabama or Ohio State to love Penn State. I loved what we were: a nationally relevant program that clawed its way back from a dark chapter, played meaningful games, recruited extraordinary athletes, and gave us reason to believe every fall.
Franklin helped build that. The fan base should have demanded improvement within that foundation before applauding its demolition.
We may discover that the hardest part wasn’t reaching Franklin’s ceiling. It was realizing how high his floor really was.
I was in Dublin in 2014 when Sam Ficken kicked that last-second field goal against UCF. After the scandal, sanctions, uncertainty, and years of wondering whether Penn State would ever feel like Penn State again, that moment meant everything to me.
Those players preserved something bigger than themselves. Christian Hackenberg had already helped restore hope, and Franklin’s first game was another step toward normalcy. That’s where my admiration began. Twelve years later, too many fans forget how far he brought us.
Thesis
Firing James Franklin wasn’t a necessary step toward greatness. It was a risky dismantling of a successful program because too many fans confused wanting a national championship with being entitled to one.
I wanted championships, too. But I also valued what we actually had: a respected coach, NFL-caliber talent, national relevance, and the expectation of competing almost every Saturday. Franklin built a foundation that could have supported another decade of success. Penn State discarded it without demonstrating that a better alternative existed.
1. Look at the actual record—not just the losses that hurt
Franklin went 104–45, won the 2016 Big Ten championship, produced multiple 11-win seasons, won major bowl games, and took Penn State to the 2024 College Football Playoff semifinal. That 2024 team finished 13–3, one close loss to Notre Dame away from playing for a national title.
Was he perfect? Of course not. His record against Ohio State and Michigan was a legitimate weakness. Losing to UCLA and Northwestern in 2025 was unacceptable. Those criticisms deserve honest discussion.
But why do those losses erase everything else? How many programs would have traded places with us? How many coaches could have done more? Being consistently excellent without winning the final game is disappointing. It is not the same as failing.
2. Our expectations have become detached from our history
Penn State claims two modern national championships: 1982 and 1986. Joe Paterno became head coach in 1966 and didn’t win his first until his 17th season. Nobody would suggest the eras are identical, but patience was once part of this program’s identity.
We seem to remember Paterno’s championships while forgetting all the seasons when even tremendous Penn State teams fell short. Franklin spent just over 11 seasons rebuilding and then sustaining a national program in a far more commercial, rapidly changing sport.
We were so busy wanting to be Ohio State that we forgot to appreciate being Penn State.
3. Recruiting was a strength, not an afterthought
Think about the players we got to cheer for: Saquon Barkley, Micah Parsons, Pat Freiermuth, Joey Porter Jr., Jaquan Brisker, Abdul Carter, Tyler Warren, and many more. Watch the NFL on Sunday and you’ll regularly see the talent that came through Happy Valley during Franklin’s tenure.
Recruiting means convincing families, building relationships, and making players believe. Franklin had presence, confidence, and credibility. He could walk into a living room and make Penn State feel like somewhere a young star belonged.
That kind of recruiting infrastructure doesn’t automatically survive a coaching change.
4. Winning now requires more than just a good coach
College football has changed. NIL, revenue sharing, the portal, and roster retention are part of the competition. Penn State’s earlier spending figures are disputed, and Franklin himself acknowledged the university went “all-in” for 2025. That makes the collapse fair game for criticism. But a stronger one-year budget doesn’t instantly repair years of roster-building differences.
Franklin kept trying to improve the staff. Joe Moorhead helped transform the offense before leaving for a head-coaching job. Franklin later pursued other accomplished offensive minds, including Andy Kotelnicki. And in 2025 he hired Jim Knowles, the coordinator of Ohio State’s national-championship defense.
Not every hire worked. But bringing in Knowles is evidence of a coach trying to win, not one who had stopped caring.
5. The 2025 collapse was real. It still didn’t justify a panic firing.
I won’t sugarcoat 2025. The Oregon loss was brutal. UCLA and Northwestern were worse. Franklin deserved accountability for those performances, his big-game record, and any questionable roster decisions.
But some criticisms go beyond analysis into character assassination. Where is the evidence that Franklin “quit” on his team? Was it a frustrated press conference? A sideline expression? A losing streak? Those are not proof that a man who devoted more than a decade to this program stopped wanting to win.
Drew Allar’s season-ending injury came during the Northwestern game, so it does not excuse the losses leading up to it. But it does illustrate how quickly an already difficult season can unravel. Losing key contributors and installing a new defensive scheme added complexity—not an automatic excuse, but context worth considering.
And here’s something critics overlook: Knowles’s complex defense can take two seasons or more for players to fully master. Look at Ohio State. Its defense improved significantly in his second season and became truly dominant in his third, when it won the national championship. Penn State was only in Year One of implementing that system in 2025. Franklin had hired one of the country’s best defensive coordinators, yet fans expected immediate perfection from a system that takes time to develop. Instead of allowing that investment to mature, we fired the coach who made it.
A bad stretch should have triggered an evaluation of what needed fixing. Instead, it triggered the destruction of the whole operation.
6. The cost of firing him was never just a buyout
Firing a head coach in October doesn’t merely remove one employee. It destabilizes recruiting relationships, risks transfers, disrupts staff continuity, and tells every prospective player that the program is entering uncertainty.
Franklin had already demonstrated he could recruit, win double-digit games, build staffs, and reach the semifinal. Those are difficult things to replace. Even if a new coach eventually succeeds, you sacrifice years of momentum getting there.
And why not let him finish the season? He deserved a more professional exit, and the program a less chaotic transition.
7. What exactly have we gained?
I wish Matt Campbell well. He knows football, and I hope he wins. But replacing Franklin with Campbell did not establish a higher ceiling just because Campbell was new.
As of October 19, Penn State is 3–4 and 0–4 in the Big Ten. That’s not a complete verdict on Campbell, who inherited a difficult transition. But it is a vivid reminder that sustained success is not guaranteed, and that the replacement deserves to be judged by the same standards used to condemn his predecessor.
Can Campbell recruit at Franklin’s level? Can he sustain 10- and 11-win seasons? Can he make deep playoff runs? Can he restore the momentum lost in the transition—and do it without substantially greater spending?
I genuinely want those answers to be yes. But what evidence did we have when Franklin was fired that the next coach would produce better results?
Meanwhile, a possible expansion of the playoff to 24 teams could make regular postseason appearances more attainable. That possibility makes it even harder for me to understand abandoning a coach who had already reached the semifinal.
8. There was more to Franklin than a spreadsheet
I loved his daring calls, even when they drove me crazy. I loved his confidence, his willingness to gamble, his pride in the program, and the players he brought here. Some decisions were a hair away from brilliance; others failed spectacularly. But he made Saturdays exciting.
I could hear “Seven Nation Army,” “Zombie Nation,” or “Mo Bamba” at the gym and immediately think about Beaver Stadium. I was proud enough of Penn State to make friends and family watch games with me—even people who couldn’t care less about football.
Franklin made me believe we’d show up, compete, and usually win. That feeling isn’t trivial. It’s part of what being a fan means.
I once imagined he’d stay for decades, the way Paterno did, and perhaps eventually bring us a national title. He had years left to build. I thought loyalty and sustained success meant something here.
Conclusion
The popular refrain is, “I liked Franklin, but it was time for him to go.”
Why? What does “it was time” actually prove? Where was the demonstrable recruiting advantage, tactical upgrade, or financial commitment that made firing a winner a smart bet?
To anyone who insists Franklin couldn’t win a national title: you’re entitled to that opinion. But you are not entitled to treat winning one as a routine expectation at a school whose last championship came in 1986. Nor can you dismiss 104 wins, a Big Ten title, NFL stars, and a playoff semifinal as though they were failures.
Maybe Campbell will eventually surpass him. If he does, I’ll cheer as loudly as anyone. But hope is not a strategy, and change is not automatically progress.
I didn’t need Penn State to be Alabama or Ohio State to love Penn State. I loved what we were: a nationally relevant program that clawed its way back from a dark chapter, played meaningful games, recruited extraordinary athletes, and gave us reason to believe every fall.
Franklin helped build that. The fan base should have demanded improvement within that foundation before applauding its demolition.
We may discover that the hardest part wasn’t reaching Franklin’s ceiling. It was realizing how high his floor really was.
