Flock Talk: Our House

Inheritance

There’s a familiar rhythm this time of year.
As Oregon sits on the doorstep of the College Football Playoff, outsiders revive the same tired accusations—unlimited NIL, buying players, gaming the system. What those voices never seem to understand is that Oregon’s rise, like every rise before it, wasn’t born from shortcuts. It was built the same way the best things in this program have always been built: through people, through truth, through culture.

And culture, when done right, starts to feel like a home.

In January of 2020, after Oregon outlasted Wisconsin in the Rose Bowl, I wrote in this space about the spirit of that 2019 team—a team that clawed its way out of 4-8 and rebuilt itself brick by brick, visitor by visitor, moment by moment. They were rediscovering who they were, and in rediscovering themselves, they built something stronger than the record or the hardware: they built a foundation.

Rumi captured that kind of place in The Guest House:

“This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.”

“Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.”

Winning programs learn to welcome arrivals.
Great programs learn to grow from them.
Special programs learn to let every visitor leave the house stronger than when they entered.

And somewhere in the space between Rumi’s invitation and Oregon’s evolution, a lyric rings true:

“Our house, in the middle of our street…”
Not a location. A culture. A way of living. A way of carrying each other.

Five years after rediscovering that foundation, Oregon is no longer rebuilding the house.
They’re living in it.

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Honesty as a Recruiting Philosophy, Not a Risk

When Ohio State offensive coordinator Brian Hartline left for South Florida, it blindsided the nation’s No. 1 receiver, Chris Henry Jr. Somehow the possibility of Hartline leaving was never discussed—never acknowledged—until it happened.

That’s not how a real house works.

A real house doesn’t hide creaking boards.
A real house doesn’t pretend storms don’t come.
A real house stands because everyone inside knows what it’s made of.

At Oregon, everyone knew Will Stein was high on candidate lists. Everyone knew Tosh Lupoi was on track for a head coaching role. Dan Lanning didn’t conceal that from recruits or families. He embraced it.

He opened the door — again, the house.
He welcomed reality in rather than fear it.

That is the mark of a leader confident not only in himself, but in the permanence of his culture.
Talent may pass through—but the culture remains.
Coaches grow—but the mission stays intact.
People evolve—but the program endures.

You could hear Madness singing in the background:

“Father wears his Sunday best…
Mother’s tired, she needs a rest…”

A house works because everyone has a role. Everyone contributes. Everyone understands the rhythm. Oregon recruits didn’t commit to stability at the coordinator level. They committed to the house.

So when Stein and Lupoi earned head coaching jobs, every single committed player still signed.
They didn’t commit to the shingles or the paint.
They committed to the foundation.

Immanuel Iheanacho didn’t commit to Will Stein.
Jett Washington didn’t commit to Tosh Lupoi.
They committed to Oregon because Oregon told the truth.

And the truth held.

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NIL Isn’t the Story. Alignment Is.

Yes, Oregon offered a strong NIL package to Chris Henry.
So did Ohio State.
So did Texas.

That isn’t what differentiates Oregon.

What differentiates Oregon is the way players describe the program — not as a transaction, but as a place. A structure. A shared identity. A house.

And that’s why it’s ironic to watch programs with long reputations for “packages” or backdoor benefits now cast aspersions at Oregon. The ones pointing fingers loudly tend to be the ones who know exactly how much effort it takes to keep a house standing.

While others criticize from outside the fence, Oregon is preparing for a playoff run with both Stein and Lupoi still in the building. They’re finishing the season together before they head to their next job, taking the lessons and culture of this house with them.

Stein will bring it to Kentucky.
Lupoi will take it to Cal.
Kenny Dillingham took it to Arizona State.

That’s how houses work.
People grow up in them, then build their own versions somewhere else.

“Our house, it has a crowd…”
And the crowd keeps growing — players, coaches, families, recruits — all part of something that feels bigger than the moment.

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The Lesson That Connects 2019 to 2024

Winning a championship requires talent, luck, and relentless work.

But sustained excellence requires something deeper — a shared mission built on honesty, upheld by integrity, and resilient enough to withstand any departure or arrival.

That’s the through-line from the 2019 Rose Bowl team to the 2024 playoff-bound Ducks.

Back then, the program learned to welcome the unexpected visitor.
Now, the program knows how to move forward without fear of who walks in — or who walks out.

Rumi spoke to this truth long before Oregon ever lived it:

“The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.”

A house that can welcome hardship and joy, transition and return, ambition and uncertainty —
that house does not crack under pressure.

Because when the culture is real, it travels.
It travels with coaches.
It travels with players.
It travels through adversity, through transition, through eras.

It travels because it’s inherited.
And like the song says:

“Our house, in the middle of our street —
something tells you that you’ve got to get away from it.”

But you always come back.
Even if you leave, you carry it with you.

And for Oregon, that is what makes the future feel so inevitable.