UCLA 42, Penn State 37
Time for the Sanguinarians to start jumping out of their basement windows. After the Oregon White Out Debacle, they of blind faith penciled in the next five games as automatic W’s, already counting the miles to Columbus and the decimal points in the CFP rankings. Yea, verily, even after Oregon, they were ridiculously ASS-uming that Penn State was a shoo-in for the College Football Playoffs.
Well, reality just ripped them a new cloaca.
The mighty, vaunted, allegedly #7 Nittany Lions traveled west for what was supposed to be a restorative psych-spa weekend against an 0-4 UCLA team in full administrative disarray — three coordinators gone, a fan base in mourning, an empty Rose Bowl, and a new play-caller who’d barely found the headset jack. Instead, the Bruins punched them squarely in the snout and never let go.
UCLA: Quick, Spirited, and Purposeful
UCLA’s sophomore quarterback Nico Iamaleava — yes, the same kid who’d been written off as a hyped-up Tennessee transfer — turned into a one-man wrecking crew. Five touchdowns. 294 total yards. He ran off-tackle at will, sliced through arm tackles like wet tissue, and made the Penn State defense look like the Powder Puff squad. The Bruins jumped out early and never trailed.
Meanwhile, the Nittany Lions looked like they were sleepwalking through an 8 a.m. midterm after an all-night kegger. The noonish start didn’t help, but the real problem was between the ears. Franklin’s crew was catatonic — flat, uninspired, and perpetually one step behind.
Franklin’s Post-Mortem Understatement: “We Didn’t Handle It Well”
James Franklin’s postgame comments sounded like a hostage statement:
“We made mistakes today that we normally don’t make… had a ton of missed assignments, turnovers at critical times, penalties at critical times… we did not handle last week’s loss well.”
No shit, Coach.
He also admitted the obvious — “We had a hard time stopping him [Iamaleava] all day long.” Translation: UCLA ran wherever they wanted, whenever they wanted.
Franklin’s body language screamed a man watching his credibility circle the drain. He muttered about “sticking together” and “blocking out the noise,” which is code for “the pitchforks are already out.”
Texting me during the game, lifelong PSU friend Toejam said, “Maybe Pegula can cough up the $50 million to buy out Franklin’s contract.” But he might not need to. Franklin is persona non grata in Pennsylvania at the moment. When that plane lands, he might be whisked off to Allegheny National Forest to engage in an unplanned forced solo survival drill.
After this crowning achievement, he’ll be lucky to get a job as special teams coach at East Stroudsburg. But he doesn’t need to worry about that, because he feathered his nest quite well at the behest of Penn State.
Fans Go Nuclear
The fan base reaction was apocalyptic. X/Twitter lit up like a Chernobyl control panel:
- “You can’t let James Franklin on that plane.”
- “Fire him before the bus leaves Pasadena.”
- “We’ll never trust him again.”
Even the few remaining optimists are wobbling. This wasn’t Oregon. This was a zero-win team with an interim coordinator. It wasn’t a punch in the mouth — it was a soul extraction.
Everything I Warned About Happened
Last week, this Turkey warned that the Oregon hangover could metastasize into something worse. That Franklin’s “good time to get out of town” quip smelled of escapism, not motivation. That without linebacker Tony Rojas and some senior leadership, this team was rudderless.
Well, they were.
They didn’t jump early. (Except maybe offsides).
They didn’t run the ball effectively.
They didn’t sustain drives.
They didn’t protect Allar.
They didn’t pressure Nico.
They didn’t show focus, or fire, or even mild interest.
They looked like a team that believed its own press releases until the first punch landed.
The Sanguinarian Delusion
Now, the same Sanguinarians who were touting playoff scenarios two weeks ago are scrambling for their blue-and-white emotional support squirrels. The math isn’t complicated anymore. The only remaining path to the College Football Playoff now runs through Columbus, on November 1, and that path is paved with the bones of crushed delusions.
Some Sanguinarians might still have enough blind faith — and I do mean blind — to believe a road win over Ohio State is within reach. Not me. I see more losses piling up. This team’s mental state is so fragile, even a Homecoming hangover could finish them off.
Lose to Northwestern next week in Beaver Stadium, and you can officially put this team out of its misery. Then, at least, they can play for fun instead of phantom glory.
Bowl trip? Yep, Turkey fans know where we’re going: the Toilet Bowl in Kohler, Wisconsin.
Big Game James, Same Old Story
It’s been eleven years, folks. Eleven years of the same narrative loop: high expectations, lofty rankings, one big pratfall, then the slow-motion implosion. The postgame script never changes. “We didn’t execute.” “We didn’t handle adversity.” “We’ve got to learn.”
Learn what, exactly? How to not look past 0-4 teams? How to play four quarters instead of one and a half?
Franklin’s critics have long said he can’t win “the big one.” After Saturday, we can amend that: he can’t even win the little one when it matters.
Da Bottom Line
UCLA didn’t just beat Penn State; they ripped open the façade of a program that can’t handle prosperity. The Playoff dreams are cooked, the defense is Swiss cheese, and the offense is a slow-motion car crash in neutral.
The Sanguinarians are in full mourning mode — clutching their pom-poms, staring at the standings, and wondering how it all went so wrong, so fast.
The rest of us? We’re just shaking our heads and muttering, “Same old story.”
Penn State 37, UCLA 42.
Next stop: Homecoming — and possibly, the wake.
