And just like real-life America, the folks at the top are doing great. Everybody else… well, enjoy your “valuable life lesson,” kids.
When Coaches Become CEOs and Players Become Disposable Employees
Head coaches love to sell the dream. Stability. Culture. Brotherhood. All that warm, fuzzy motivational-poster nonsense that was legit four decades ago but evaporates in modern-day times the moment a bigger check slides across the metaphorical boardroom table.
Lane Kiffin looked the University of Mississippi (Ole Miss) players in the eyes, talked long-term vision, and had fans believing he'd be building something for years. Then Louisiana State University (LSU) called, waved a fatter contract loaded with incentives, and suddenly the “future of the program” he sold to teenagers wasn’t his future anymore. And let's not forget some of his assistant coaches that he leaves behind who are suddenly unemployed. Unfortunately, there's no transfer portal for them and there are no relocation fees for their families like what Lane's family received.
He dipped out in the middle of a playoff run. A playoff run! That’s like a CEO announcing he’s leaving the company halfway through the biggest product launch in years because another corporation promised a better health plan and a corner office with windows.
But he’s hardly the only one handing out empty promises like breath mints.
Charles Huff turned Marshall into a 10–3 team… then packed his bags, recruited his favorite players to follow him to Southern Mississippi (USM), and left Marshall looking like someone turned off the lights and took the furniture. USM benefitted, sure… briefly. Then he did what CEOs do best: bounce for a “strategic opportunity” in Memphis and leave another program to sweep up the confetti from his exit. Now USM is looking like the side chick who was left for another side chick.
Programs are left scrambling. Players are left stranded. Fanbases are left confused. Meanwhile, coaches walk away with buyouts big enough to fund a small nation’s infrastructure.
Sound familiar?
Welcome to Corporate America: The Football Edition!
In the real world, CEOs talk about loyalty and culture, too. They “value their employees” right up until it’s bonus season. Then suddenly half the staff is laid off to “streamline operations” and “ensure long-term growth,” which is corporate for: We needed this money for the executive suite’s annual yacht party.
Coaches are playing the same game.
Players commit to them, not the school. Coaches know it. They use it. And when they leave? They burn the place down on their way out, flipping the light switch off with one hand while grabbing their next signing bonus with the other.
The athletes — the ones juggling academics, pressure, expectations, and now the transfer portal tsunami — get stuck making last-minute decisions like employees waking up to that “This wasn’t an easy decision…” email from HR.
It’s not college sports. It’s capitalism in cleats.
The Harsh Lesson They’re Learning Early
Are these even “student-athletes” anymore? Depends on who you ask. But one thing is crystal clear: they’re getting a masterclass in real-world power dynamics before they turn 21.
Lesson one:
People with power will promise you the moon right up until they find a shinier moon down the street.
Lesson two:
They’ll call it “opportunity.” You’ll call it “starting over again.”
Lesson three:
They will always — always — do what’s best for themselves, no matter how many people they leave scrambling in the aftermath.
Coaches preach commitment while practicing mobility. They demand loyalty while showing none. They condemn players who enter the portal but celebrate the “vision” of their own career moves. It’s a double standard dressed up in school colors.
College Football Isn’t Broken. It’s Just Imitating Us.
The sport isn’t chaotic by accident. It’s chaotic because it reflects the country running it.
Corporations reward the people at the top.
College football rewards the people at the top.
Workers get squeezed.
Players get squeezed.
Promises get made. Promises get broken.
Careers get disrupted. Lives get reshuffled.
The scoreboard looks familiar because the game isn’t just football.
It’s America’s favorite pastime: benefitting the powerful while everyone else cleans up the mess.
And until the system changes, the lesson stays the same:
In this country — on the field or in the office — the people in charge will shake your hand, swear they’re committed, and then leave you on read when they see a better offer.
Welcome to the big leagues.
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