Pondering Kelly's Ghostly LSU Exit
From Grand Valley “Wow” to Bayou “Fire Kelly” Chants—Where Does He Go Next?
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As a freshman arriving at Grand Valley State University in the fall of 1996, I had no idea something special was unfolding inside a small coach’s office at the Laker Fieldhouse—something that would soon transform Saturday nights at Lubbers Stadium. Brian Kelly, to me, was just the sharp-eyed instructor in Football Coaching Theory, teaching us the bruising logic of the option offense. I remember the drill—Coach Kelly himself lining up at defensive end, daring us to make a read. He wanted us to feel what it meant to ride the fullback, how long to carry out the fake, when to keep, and when to pitch. Eager to make an impression, I locked eyes with him the whole way—riding the fullback for a couple of steps, edging down the line, refusing to break the stare. Then I planted and sold the hardest fake pitch I could manage before sprinting up the gymnasium floor, my legs hammering the hardwood. I jogged back, half expecting a pointer, maybe a correction. Instead, Coach Kelly barely looked up. All I heard—just under his breath—was one word: “Wow.” In that moment, you understood the seriousness and the expectations—how even the smallest things didn’t go unnoticed.
Decades later, watching Sunday Night Football, I found myself letting out my own kind of “wow”—this time, at Kelly’s expense. The news had broken: LSU was letting him go. After just under four seasons and a $53 million buyout, the man who had always chosen his own dreams, his own destinations, was suddenly out. For the first time in his career, Brian Kelly was being handed the door. That’s what made it all so surreal. At every stop—Grand Valley State University, Central Michigan, Cincinnati, Notre Dame—Kelly had built the program up, then moved up on his own terms. LSU was different. Here, college football’s brightest and most unforgiving spotlight turned on him instead.
How did it come to this? Kelly’s rise through the coaching ranks is impossible to ignore. He’d started by building Grand Valley State into a Division II powerhouse: two national titles, a 32-game winning streak, and an offense that rewrote record books. He took the formula to Central Michigan, wrenching a conference title from a forgotten program, then to Cincinnati, where he stacked up three straight 10-win seasons, a pair of conference titles, and propelled the Bearcats onto the national stage.
Notre Dame came calling in 2010, desperate for relevance. Kelly brought the Irish back to college football’s biggest arenas: the BCS National Championship Game in 2012, then College Football Playoff semifinals in 2018 and 2020. That 2012 team came painfully close to a perfect season and national title. By September 2021, Kelly had surpassed Knute Rockne to become the university’s winningest coach—though victories from 2012 and 2013 were later wiped from the record books due to NCAA sanctions. His time at Notre Dame delivered controversy, certainly, but it also brought twice being named AP Coach of the Year, a first-ever five-year run of 10+ wins, and a blueprint for rebuilding after disaster: his 4–8 crater in 2016 was followed by staff changes and a 54–10 stretch over five seasons. Even in the strange 2020 ACC year, he took the Irish to an undefeated conference record and Coach of the Year honors.
That drive is what LSU sought. In Baton Rouge, “good” didn’t last. A West title and several double-digit-win seasons bought him time, but not enough. Stunning losses to Vanderbilt and Texas A&M in 2025 set the stage; restless crowds turned “Fire Kelly” into a public demand, and the university responded. Administrators reportedly pushed for staff changes, but whether that was the final straw isn’t yet clear. In the end, LSU chose to move on—swallowing that enormous buyout just to keep Kelly from coaching another snap. Honestly, it wasn’t just disrespectful—it felt like LSU let the roar of the crowd do the firing for them. It’s as if the memory of Kelly’s ability to turn things around, as he did after hitting bottom at Notre Dame, vanished the minute things got uncomfortable. Now LSU is left searching for a new savior, and we all know the grass isn’t always greener on the other side.
With the headlines fading and rumors swirling, the question is familiar: what drives Kelly, and where does a builder go when the wall falls in? He’s always said the NFL isn’t for him. The college game—with its year-round recruiting battles and the chance to shape kids—remains his element. At LSU, he proved he could collect NFL-caliber talent: Heisman winner Jayden Daniels, star receivers Malik Nabers and Brian Thomas Jr., plus a deep roster of offensive and defensive standouts likely to succeed on Sundays.
The Midwest, where Kelly’s legend began, seems to be calling him home. The timing almost feels cinematic: just a day before Kelly’s firing, Michigan State was thrashed by its in-state rival, deepening the restlessness and frustration in East Lansing—less than a hundred miles from where Kelly first cemented his status as a builder. Jonathan Smith’s seat is getting hotter by the week, and Michigan State is in desperate need of a turnaround blueprint. Meanwhile, Penn State is searching for Franklin’s replacement, their program loaded with tradition but starved for a return to national prominence. As soon as Kelly’s firing made the rounds, you could sense those two fanbases—rooted in Midwest soil—beginning to wonder if he might be their answer.
You can see the symmetry: perennial underdogs and storied programs just off their axis, waiting for a coach who specializes in raw turnarounds, stubborn belief, and starting from the studs. Kelly’s currency isn’t just wins—it’s buy-in and a relentless drive to build and rebuild.
As I watched reports roll in Sunday night, I thought back to my own “wow” moment decades ago, in that gym at GVSU. Sometimes, the most consequential changes aren’t marked by fireworks, but by a single, quiet word. Kelly’s journey hasn’t ended in Baton Rouge. His silence feels like something coiled, waiting for a new field, a new locker room, another Saturday where it all matters again.
Wherever he lands, those who watched him build—whether in small-town gyms or under national lights—know what’s possible. The next “wow” moment is coming. The only question left: where?