The breaking point that led to James Franklin’s firing

First, he blew a tire against Oregon. Football coach James Franklin threw on a spare and drove to UCLA, where he ran off the road and cracked an axle. He got a tow back to State College, Pennsylvania, and made some emergency repairs, then CRASH! — a head-on collision with Northwestern.

Just like that, Franklin totaled his Penn State career.

Seven games ago, Franklin’s team was leading at halftime of the College Football Playoff semifinals. Seventeen days ago — days! — the Nittany Lions were ranked No. 3 in the country when I was at their stadium for the White Out game against Oregon. The pre-game mood among the faithful was giddy and optimistic – little did they know they were feeling like Drake fans when “Push Ups” dropped. Franklin was in position to become the first Black head coach to win a college football national championship. Penn State was knocking on redemption’s door.

Damn, damn, damn, James.

The speed of Franklin’s demise was head-spinning, as is the estimated $50 million he’s due in his contract buyout, but we should not be shocked that he got fired. Yes, patience is sadly a lost virtue in sports and society. But with universities pouring more money than ever into winning, and roster construction a year-round shopping trip through the shadowy transfer economy, coaches have to put up or shut the door behind them on the way out.

What happened at Penn State? How did Franklin fall so far, so fast? And whatever happened to that Drake guy, anyway?

There are some Xs and Os explanations. Quarterback Drew Allar did not develop into the kind of dynamic playmaker needed to win at the highest level — or even at UCLA, where he ran for minus-3 yards on a fourth-and-2 read option with 40 seconds left on the Bruins’ 9-yard line. Linebacker Tony Rojas was injured against Oregon and has not returned. Penn State’s two best players from last season are in the NFL – pass rusher Abdul Carter (drafted No. 3) and tight end Tyler Warren (No. 14) – and nobody has filled their shoes.

Developing players, building depth, reloading playmakers – all of that is Franklin’s job.

Then there was his play calling. As the losses to ranked teams piled up, sometimes Franklin seemed to get swallowed by big moments. Late in last year’s loss to Ohio State, with Penn State down seven with first-and-goal on the Ohio State 3-yard line, Warren didn’t touch the ball once in four downs. In the White Out game, Franklin’s team punted into the end zone from Oregon’s 36-yard line; the Ducks converted five fourth downs.

But as much as all that mattered, from outside of Happy Valley looking in, I see a different breaking point. It didn’t come against Northwestern, when Penn State was favored to win by more than three touchdowns but lost 22-21 and Allar went down with a season-ending injury. Not versus UCLA, which was 0-4 and had never led in any game this season, yet trampled Penn State’s defense (led by new $3.1-million-per-year defensive coordinator Jim Knowles, who left Ohio State for … this) for 42 points and 446 yards.

No, I think it was that first blown tire. Against Oregon. The White Out game.

The hunger I observed at Penn State was ravenous. It was the first high-stakes White Out Game in years. They packed 115,015 into Beaver Stadium, with just as many gathered outside. With Franklin’s record against top-ranked teams standing at 4-20, you could feel the sand emptying through the hourglass. Penn State started the game flat. The boos began by halftime and I thought, Penn State boos itself at the White Out?

Perhaps that mix of frustration and self-loathing comes from the horror of 14 years ago, when championship-winning coach Joe Paterno was fired as a result of assistant coach Jerry Sandusky’s sexual assaults of boys. Sandusky abused some victims in football facilities. To exorcise those demons – not just banish them – Penn State needs to become the kind of winner it used to be, the kind they built their “We Are!” identity on.

Only with another national championship can Penn State fully heal.

The Oregon loss wasn’t the end of that road. Penn State still could have made the Playoff. But after the game, when I asked Franklin, “After everything that’s happened versus ranked teams, how do you personally maintain your belief?” he sounded overwhelmed by his past failures — swallowed by the darkness of the moment.

​​“I get that narrative, and it’s really not a narrative — it’s factual. It’s the facts,” Franklin said.

Wait, what? It’s a fact that you can’t win big games? Franklin was probably trying to not make excuses, but … bruh. I gave you an out with “maintain your belief.” At least serve up a cliche about “it’s a long season” and keep it moving.

“I try to look at the entire picture and what we’ve been able to do here,” Franklin continued. “But at the end of the day, we’ve got to find a way to win those games.”

“Find a way” means that in your 11th season in State College, you still didn’t have an answer.

Ever since losing to Notre Dame in last season’s semifinal, this year became all or nothing. Maybe the Oregon loss, in the cauldron of the White Out, melted Franklin. My theory – which is all it is, because I’ve never had a one-on-one conversation with Franklin – is that the buildup and pressure on this season was so huge, and the disappointment of that loss was so great, it sent Franklin and his team rolling into Los Angeles on bald tires. Then, after losing to UCLA, they knew their season was wrecked, and that the repo man was coming sooner or later. Thus, Northwestern.

The last part of Franklin’s answer to my question was: “I totally get it. And I take ownership. I take responsibility.”

OK. You got it.

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