By any sane measure, James Franklin was a successful college football coach. He helped rebuild Penn State from the ashes of NCAA sanctions following the Jerry Sandusky scandal, turned Saquon Barkley and Micah Parsons into household names, and won 10 or more games six times in 11 years.

He made Penn State respectable again. Stable. Relevant.

But college football isn’t sane. It’s an arms race disguised as a sport — a theater of excess where “pretty darn good” is just another way of saying “fired.”

And now, just two weeks after being unbeaten and ranked No. 3 in the country, Franklin’s gone — and $50 million of Penn State’s money just went up in smoke to make it happen.
That sound you hear from Gainesville and Tallahassee? It’s the collective heart rates of Billy Napier and Mike Norvell hitting warp speed.

Because when Penn State can light $50 million on fire for the privilege of starting over because its successful coach loses three consecutive games, it sends a message far beyond Happy Valley:

If a school wants to move on from a coach badly enough, it always finds the money.

Florida’s Billy Napier has been clinging to “the process” like a life raft for four seasons now. Structure, culture, development — all the buzzwords of a man hoping that belief can outrun the scoreboard. But hope has a shelf life in the SEC, and at Florida, it’s expired.

Napier is 21–23 through 44 games, and the Gators are 2-4 heading into homecoming against Mississippi State — a game that could decide his employment status by Saturday night. His $20 million buyout once seemed prohibitive. Now, in the wake of Penn State’s $50 million bonfire, it feels quaint. Practically a discount.

When Texas A&M paid Jimbo Fisher $76 million to not coach, it was shocking. When Penn State decided to spend $50 million just to reset, it became precedent. The dam has officially broken. There’s no more hiding behind the illusion of “we can’t afford to fire him.”

Florida can. And likely will.

Scott Stricklin, the Florida athletic director who hired Napier, knows it. The boosters know it. The fans screaming from the student section know it. The only question is timing.
In today’s world, Napier’s buyout won’t look like an obstacle; it’ll look like an investment.

Meanwhile, over in Tallahassee, the situation seems less imminent, but still precarious. Florida State’s Mike Norvell is still coaching under the long shadow of last year’s historic collapse and monumentally bad 2-10 season. The Seminoles have gone 1–10 in ACC play since August 2024. The magic and momentum of the 13-0 record two seasons ago has completely evaporated.

Norvell’s buyout after this season is $53 million. Before Sunday, that number felt like a fortress. Something too absurd even for college football’s warped economy.

Now? It’s just another line item in a sport that’s become allergic to fiscal responsibility.
If Penn State can torch $50 million while simultaneously spending $700 million on stadium renovations, then Florida State’s “we can’t afford it” stance rings hollow. They can. They just haven’t — yet.

Norvell should feel lucky that Florida State isn’t flush with the kind of athletic budget and booster liquidity Penn State enjoys. But even that’s a temporary blessing. Because history tells us these schools — these supposed cash-strapped, debt-laden athletic departments — always seem to find the money when the coach becomes unpopular enough.

They’ll claim poverty while paying athletes pennies on the dollar, then wire $40 million overnight to Jimmy Sexton — the super-agent who bullies gullible ADs into signing lopsided deals with his coaching clients.

Hypocrisy has become the business model.

Every fall, university presidents and athletic directors recite the same tired refrain:

“We don’t have the money.”

“We’re stretched thin.”

“We may have to cut Olympic sports.”

They preach fiscal restraint. They beg the federal government to give them an anti-trust exemption. They plead with state legislatures for appropriation. They tell students that tuition hikes are “unavoidable.” They warn that NIL spending is draining athletic coffers dry.

And then — boom! — they cut eight-figure checks to fired employees.

They cry poor when it’s time to pay players, but they spend like a trust-fund brat with dad’s Amex  when it’s time to pay off coaches.

James Franklin’s firing just reaffirmed what’s been obvious for years: college football isn’t broke. It’s bloated. These programs aren’t cash-poor; they’re just prestige addicts. They’ll beg, borrow or bond against their own futures if it means avoiding another Saturday of public embarrassment.

Florida and Florida State can talk all they want about “budget discipline.” But Penn State just gave them the perfect out. The perfect rationalization.

And the irony is that Franklin himself could end up as the solution to the very problem he symbolizes.

Florida will likely be shopping for stability in the coming weeks. Florida State might not be far behind. And what, exactly, does Franklin offer? Stability. Recruiting. Discipline. Nine wins a year.

Sound boring? Sure. But to two programs that have spent the past several years oscillating between chaos and crisis, boring suddenly sounds like bliss.

Napier’s buyout doesn’t feel big anymore. Norvell’s $53 million parachute doesn’t feel impossible. The only thing standing between either man and unemployment is timing — and maybe one more embarrassing Saturday loss.

You see, in 2025, college football isn’t about results; it’s about vibes. It’s about how a fan base feels on Sunday morning. And if those feelings are toxic enough, somebody’s getting bought out by Monday.

We’ve entered a new phase of college football insanity. Buyouts aren’t barriers; they’re branding exercises. They’re ego satisfiers — just like coaching salaries themselves. Just as colleges brag about how much they pay to hire a coach; now they can brag about how much they pay to fire a coach.

The logic is gone. The marketplace is broken. The price of failure has officially become its own status symbol.

Don’t kid yourself, Penn State just detonated a financial nuke under the sport, and the fallout is drifting south.

Napier might not survive the week. Norvell might survive the season, but he’s no longer safe.

Because when one school decides that $50 million is a small price to pay for “moving on,” everyone else starts wondering why they’re still waiting.

In Gainesville and Tallahassee, the question isn’t whether they can afford to make a coaching change. It’s whether they can afford not to.

Email me at mbianchi@orlandosentinel.com. Hit me up on social media @BianchiWrites and listen to my new radio show “Game On” every weekday from 3 to 6 p.m. on FM 96.9, AM 740 and 969TheGame.com/listen

Originally Published: October 14, 2025 at 11:25 AM EDT