Flock Talk: Turn the Page

 

The time for all the talk. The analysis. The criticisms. The questions. That time is over. Tomorrow night in Happy Valley, Oregon faces Penn State in a collision that will shape the direction of both programs. This may not be the “game of the century,” but it is the kind of test that becomes a launching pad for the winner and a measuring stick for the loser. That is the nature of a true hinge-point game—where one team pushes forward with clarity, and the other spends weeks answering uncomfortable questions.

Dan Lanning knows that cycle well. He earned his breakthrough last season with a signature win over Ohio State. But the calendar turned, the voices returned, and the questions began again on January 1.

Would Lanning take Oregon to the next step?

The same has been true for James Franklin. For more than a decade, his legacy at Penn State has been framed not by what his teams accomplished, but by what they could not. His critics argue that he can’t win when the odds are against him. The numbers both support and complicate that narrative. When Franklin’s team is favored, they rarely stumble: 37–2 overall, and a perfect 30–0 when favored by six points or more. But when cast as the underdog—particularly against top-ten opponents—his record is 4–20. For Penn State to break through to the absolute top tier, Franklin must do one of two things: slay the giants in front of him, or build a program so strong that it becomes the giant others must topple.

For Lanning, the criticisms are different but just as persistent. Too reckless on fourth down. Too reliant on the talent of others. Incapable of finishing the climb. Yet already, he has proven some of those narratives wrong. Take development, for example. It was said that Oregon couldn’t grow its talent, only attract it. But Bo Nix and Josh Conerly are living counterarguments. Nix arrived in Eugene beaten down by the SEC grind; he left a Heisman finalist, now thriving in the NFL. Conerly came in raw, grew into an NFL player, and now represents the very development pipeline Oregon supposedly lacked. Those are not exceptions—they’re proof of a system.

The claim that Lanning inherited all his success from Mario Cristobal is equally hollow. As Dale Bliss recently outlined in Autzen Zoo, more than half the scholarship roster turned over when Lanning arrived. Many left with Cristobal, others were “processed out.” Yes, he inherited a Ferrari—but without an engine. He’s the one who rebuilt it, tailored it to his own design, and turned it into a machine capable of running with anyone.

That doesn’t mean Cristobal failed. Far from it. He proved that Oregon could recruit with the nation’s elite. That blueprint still guides the program today. I’ve traded texts with Mario—sometimes pleasantries, sometimes questions—and I respect what he built. But programs evolve. And what Lanning inherited was not a finished product, but an opportunity.

Crucially, he inherited something less tangible but more fragile: a locker room scarred by feeling like a steppingstone. Cristobal’s departure left players, staff, and fans alike wary of investing trust. Healing that wound takes time. Yet today, Lanning is not simply seen as the caretaker of Oregon football—he is its architect.

He’s also a realist. At not yet 40, he understands a lesson that some coaches take decades to learn: never take the present for granted. He has a program fully aligned behind him—administration, boosters, fan base. He has the recruiting footprint to compete with anyone. He has a city where his kids can grow up with stability. And he has the perspective to recognize how rare that alignment is. That’s why, despite the constant noise—Texas A&M wanted him, Alabama wanted him—he has chosen to stay. Money, prestige, and attention are temptations. But family, culture, and conviction are anchors.

Nick Saban once walked a similar path. Before he arrived, Alabama had become a middling program in the post-Gene Stallings years (74-61 in the 11 seasons between Stallings and Saban). Saban won at LSU, tried the NFL, then learned the hardest truth of all: greener pastures often aren’t. When he settled in Tuscaloosa, he built the most dominant dynasty in the modern sport. Not by chasing the next thing, but by fully embracing where he was.

Lanning has found that same kind of place. Eugene has embraced him, and he has embraced it back. The question now is not whether he belongs—it is whether he can ascend the final step. Beating Ohio State was monumental. But championships are won in December and January, not October.

That is the context for tomorrow. It is a single game, yes, but also something more. An on-ramp to the postseason. A proving ground for the playoff. A chance to seize momentum in a season that will be defined by moments like this.

If I had one critique of last year, it would be this: the Ohio State win felt like a destination, not a step. The celebration carried the weight of finality. But the truth is different. Each win in the regular season matters. None of them are the finish line.

And that will be Lanning’s message. Play the game. Do your job. Understand the stakes, but don’t be consumed by them. Because Penn State is not the destination. It is the beginning of the road that leads there.