By Dana O’Neil, CNN
Atlanta (CNN) — Somewhere between what had been a previously unimaginable football commute from Pasadena, California, to Bloomington, Indiana, the first day of January bled into the second.
The Indiana Hoosiers, fresh off eviscerating none other than Alabama at the high holy grounds of the Rose Bowl, pulled up to the John Mellencamp Pavilion around 3:30 in the morning, the business of the 2025 season still very much in front of them.
One door had not, per the cliché, closed. Yet, as the Hoosiers flew home, another door had, in fact, opened. The transfer portal, the door to either Alice’s Wonderland or the gates of Hades, depending on your viewpoint, opened at midnight on January 2. And so while his players slept, his fanbase celebrated and a semifinal game loomed, Curt Cignetti went into the office and met with recruits to talk about the next season.
Meanwhile, in Oxford, Mississippi, an equally giddy and slightly more vindictive fanbase had all of about 30 minutes to celebrate their team’s win. Then the clock struck midnight on New Year’s Day, leaving Ole Miss fans to wonder if their offensive coachmen might turn back into mice. Or, more accurately, in this case, rats.
Jilted by Lane Kiffin, Ole Miss nonetheless beat Georgia in the Sugar Bowl but Pete Golding, the new man in charge, wasn’t quite sure which of his coaches would be coming with him to prep for a semifinal date with Miami and who was making the short ride across the bayou to Baton Rouge.
As it turned out, Joe Cox and George McDonald abandoned ship. The tight ends coach and wide receivers coach joined Kiffin, allowing the Rebels to go on without them.
“Do they want to be here?” Golding said of his former co-workers. “Damn right they do.’’
While all of this was going on across the country, retro recruits (also known as high school seniors) were saying goodbye to their families, their pals and their proms. Early college enrollment beckoned, even if high school graduation hadn’t yet happened. They needed to get a jump on things to stake their claim on a roster, even if the same coaches who months earlier promised them the moon and the stars were currently recruiting over them by entertaining guys in the portal.
And in ordinary academic buildings and offices tucked up in the corners of the athletic department, university registrars and academic advisors were setting their hair on fire, trying to figure out how to approve transcripts and shoehorn new students into classes that were already full.
The college football calendar is a mess. That sentiment is now universal. But rather than merely try to undo what’s been done, perhaps it’s time to figure out what the point of it all is. Not only how college football got into this quagmire, but also if anyone is actually benefiting from it all. Rather than just fix the problem, the sport might want to identify what exactly the problem is.
“What I’ll say is … it has made football teams and it’s made coaches and players better at handling chaos,’’ Oregon head coach Dan Lanning said.
And then he laughed, somewhat ruefully.
Early enrollment
The transfer portal did not start the fire; it only added the accelerant.
If you untangle the mess that is now college football’s January and try to figure out where it all got sideways, it might be wise to go back to 1991. That’s when Georgia quarterback Eric Zeier decided to