The Nittany Turkey

Primarily about Penn State football, this is a tale told by idiots, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

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Archives for October 11, 2025

The Sum of All Fears

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Northwestern 22, Penn State 21

James Franklin cut his post-game presser uncharacteristically short. No “we lost this battle”, “we won that battle”, “we did this”, “we didn’t do that.” He took full responsibility for the loss, said we need to get to work tomorrow, then corrected himself and said “tonight, even.” And then, the bombshell: Drew Allar’s injury was season-ending. After someone asked whether staying at Penn State would be the best move for his career, he muttered something about being there for the players, then left.

This was more than a disappointment. It was unthinkable. Even my most cynical readers believed Penn State would easily handle Northwestern, as did I. We were all wrong. The state of this team is even worse than we all thought it was.

I keep asking what the hell happened. Pre-season #2, spending $750 million on stadium upgrades, playoff expectations — hell, national championship aspirations — the sky was going to be the limit. And then, the roof caved in, and Chicken Little was redeemed. The sky has fallen.

The Homecoming crowd was somewhat muted, somewhat bemused, and somewhat hostile. The returning alumni sure as hell did not expect to see such a flawed, half-ass performance from their former conquering heroes. They blame James Franklin, as well they should.

But let’s not get into “anybody but Franklin” mode, lest we wind up with Paul Chryst or worse. I just thought I’d throw that in.

Mistake after mistake piled up to doom Penn State in the game. At Homecoming, for Pete’s sake. This is the product you show off for your returning alumni? At one point, I remarked that the Nittany Lions looked like a high school team. Defense? Where? No pass rush, no stopping the run. Offense? The only thing that changed was Kaytron Allen got more carries than Nick Singleton. The vaunted, big bucks wide receivers? Nada.

A Game of Self-Destruction

Penn State didn’t just lose this game — they gift-wrapped it, tied a bow on top, and handed it to the Wildcats.

Andy Kotelnicki’s offense finally made the long-overdue shift, featuring Kaytron Allen as the primary back. He responded with 16 carries for 90 yards and a touchdown, running with decisiveness and power. Nick Singleton, demoted to RB2, managed 7 for 20 and a short TD, but again looked tentative. For a brief, shining stretch in the first half, the ground game clicked.

Then, as we submliminally feared, it all unraveled.

The Moment Everything Broke

The defining moment came late in the fourth quarter. Down by one, needing a miracle, Drew Allar tried to convert yet another third-and-long. Receivers weren’t open — nobody was. So Allar did what leaders do: he tucked it and ran, improvising, trying to will the offense forward on sheer guts, because he runs like a duck.

He broke one tackle, lowered his shoulder for the line to gain — and got folded awkwardly under two defenders. The stadium went dead silent as Allar stayed down, clutching his leg.

Moments later, they carted him off. Season over.

Say what you want about Allar’s regression this season, but he left it all on that play. It was one of the few moments in the game that looked like Penn State football — heart, effort, desperation — until it wasn’t.

Enter the Grunk

And thus begins the Ethan Grunkemeyer era, ready or not. The redshirt freshman, thrust into action cold, showed composure but no magic. How could he? Franklin’s habit of keeping the backups bubble-wrapped in “learning mode” all season leaves them ill-prepared when reality comes knocking. Grunkemeyer inherits not just an offense in disarray but a locker room teetering on the edge of disbelief.

Franklin’s Postgame Playlist

The coach’s presser hit all the familiar notes — accountability without clarity.

“This one’s on me,” said Franklin.
“We’ve got to clean up the details.”
“Kaytron was very productive early.”

Translation: We had no idea what we were doing after halftime.

Discipline, once a program hallmark, has evaporated. Leadership looks tentative. The vaunted recruiting classes are still waiting to be coached into something cohesive.

The Road Ahead: Grim and Grimmer

Next up: Iowa in Kinnick Stadium, where good teams go to die. Then a bye week (likely the only thing Franklin can’t lose). Then Ohio State in Columbus, followed by Indiana at home — the same Indiana that just beat Oregon and looks like the Big Ten’s second-best team behind OSU.

If the current pattern holds, Penn State could easily limp into the Moo U. game on November 15 at 3–6, with bowl eligibility anything but assured.

The only thing more consistent than this team’s inconsistency is its ability to find new and creative ways to disappoint.

At this point, the Kohler Toilet Bowl looks less like a joke and more like an impossible dream.

When I recover enough to write a preview of the forthcoming Kinnick Stadium prime-time loss, I will do so.

The Big Ten’s $2 Billion Sellout: When the “Student” Left the “Student-Athlete”

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Big Ten Money

Well, it’s finally happened. The Big Ten has decided that its soul is worth exactly two billion dollars — plus or minus a few yachts and a luxury suite or two. The conference that once pretended to value academics has now gone full Wall Street, forming a shiny new corporate shell called Big Ten Enterprises. I suppose “Big Ten, Inc.” sounded too honest.

This new Frankenstein’s monster of a “business development entity” will hold all the media rights, sponsorships, and anything else it can milk for a buck. And because there’s never enough cash to fuel the modern football arms race — what with the need for gold-leaf locker rooms and head coaches making more than university presidents — the Big Ten is inviting a private equity partner to join the party. Nothing says “higher education” quite like a pension fund from the University of California buying a ten-percent slice of your conference.

Not Selling a Piece of the Conference?

The propaganda line is that this isn’t “selling a piece of the conference.” Oh no, perish the thought! They’re just letting someone else own a chunk of all the money-making stuff while the academics — scheduling, officiating, championships — remain safely in the hands of the same bureaucrats who’ve already turned college football into a bloated, tax-exempt NFL farm system. It’s like saying you’re not selling your house, you’re just giving away the deed and renting it back for eternity.

Think of it this way — the conference is not selling a piece of the conference. Traditional conference functions would remain 100 percent with the conference office — scheduling, officiating and championships. The new entity being created would focus on business development, and it would include an outside investor with a small financial stake.
— League Source

The $2 billion “infusion” (their word, not mine — sounds more like an IV drip of greed) will go to schools that are allegedly “struggling with debt service.” Translation: they built too many damn luxury boxes and can’t make the payments. Meanwhile, professors still make less than offensive line coaches, and the English department can’t afford toner for the printer. But hey, Go Big Ten!

And let’s not forget the noble justification — this cash grab will “help middle-tier schools compete with the SEC.” Sure. Because Illinois is just one private-equity windfall away from becoming Georgia.

Methinks a reason for this high-finance shenannigan is protecting the conference’s autonomy and identity in an era of conference consolidation. Pundits talk about a “superconference” amagamating the Big Ten and SEC, which is now less likely to occur.

Recertifying the Mythology of the “Student-Athlete”

This whole charade obliterates any remaining pretense that these are student-athletes. While half of them can barely string together a coherent sentence, we’re still pretending they’re pursuing degrees while running a billion-dollar media empire on the side. Universities now exist primarily as glorified training and merchandising divisions for the football-industrial complex. The only “academics” left are the accountants.

Verily, welcome to the new era: Big Ten Enterprises™, where education takes a permanent knee while the conference sells off its legacy to whoever waves the biggest checkbook. The Big Ten presidents will call it “innovation.” I call it pimping out the ivory tower.

Think this is the end of the slide into decadence? Just wait until they start auctioning off naming rights to commencement!

I just came across this crap, which triggered me, so I wanted to share my pique. What a way to start a Saturday of big-time College moneyball viewing! I’ll now return you to your regular Nittany Turkey bullshit.