I grew up adoring Joe Paterno. What he built at Penn State was extraordinary—not just in wins, but in identity. But that level of sustained greatness also created something less helpful: a standard that no longer reflects the realities of modern college football.
Paterno’s “Grand Experiment” succeeded for decades. But when the scandal broke, fairly or unfairly, Penn State became a target. The same program once criticized for doing things “the right way” was suddenly defined by its worst association. Many outside the program still take satisfaction in Penn State’s struggles—and too often, we’ve internalized that narrative ourselves.
What’s been lost in that shift is perspective.
The conditions that allowed Penn State to dominate under Paterno no longer exist. College football in 2026 is more national, more financial, and more competitive than ever. The advantages that once sustained long-term dominance have been flattened. Expecting Penn State to replicate that era—without adopting a win-at-all-costs model like the Alabama Crimson Tide football or Ohio State Buckeyes football—isn’t ambition. It’s miscalibration.
So the real question is this: when did 10-win seasons and top-10 finishes become unacceptable?
When James Franklin took over, Penn State was in one of the most compromised positions in modern college football—sanctions, scholarship limits, and a damaged reputation. His job wasn’t to maintain excellence. It was to restore relevance.
He did that.
Franklin rebuilt Penn State into a consistent national presence. His teams competed at a high level, recruited at a high level, and represented the program with stability and structure. He established a culture centered on accountability, player development, and long-term competitiveness. That kind of infrastructure is difficult to build—and easy to disrupt.
And yet, that’s exactly what happened.
This past season wasn’t defined by collapse—it was defined by margin. Close losses to teams like Oregon and Indiana weren’t evidence of systemic failure; they were examples of how thin the line is between a great season and an elite one. College football outcomes often turn on a handful of plays. In previous years, Penn State benefited from those moments. This year, it didn’t.
That’s variance—not dysfunction.
But instead of recognizing that, the knee-jerk response was to reset.
Firing Franklin midstream—while maintaining a strong recruiting class, developing young talent, and lacking a clearly superior alternative—wasn’t strategic. It was reactive. Programs that operate from impatience rarely outperform programs that operate from continuity.
There’s also a deeper issue at play: expectation drift.
A portion of the fan base has moved from wanting excellence to demanding perfection. Competing annually is no longer enough; anything short of dominance is treated as failure. But Penn State has never been, and has never claimed to be, a program that sacrifices its identity for championships. That distinction matters.
The assumption that replacing Franklin with Matt Campbell automatically raises the program’s ceiling is, at best, unproven. Coaching changes don’t occur in a vacuum—they reset systems, relationships, and recruiting pipelines. At a time when the Big Ten is becoming more competitive, not less, introducing instability carries real cost.
Just look at the landscape: Michigan Wolverines football is established, Oregon Ducks football is rising, and even programs like Indiana Hoosiers football are now “above” us. This is not the environment to voluntarily step backward in continuity and experience.
Successful programs understand this. They invest in stability. Mario Cristobal, for example, faced heavy criticism at Miami before a breakthrough season reframed his trajectory. That’s how development works—it’s not linear, but it requires patience.
Penn State chose otherwise.
With an expanded playoff, the program was entering a phase where sustained competitiveness had a clearer path to national relevance than ever before. The foundation was in place. The margin just hadn’t broken the right way yet.
Instead of building on that, we broke it.
This decision wasn’t just about one coach—it reflected a broader misunderstanding of where Penn State stands in today’s college football hierarchy. Sustained success at a high level is not failure. It’s the prerequisite to breakthrough.
Penn State had that.
Now it has uncertainty.
And uncertainty, not continuity, is what pushes programs further away from championships—not closer.
