The Buckeyes have been backed into a corner, but that’s when they often play their best

There is no particularly comforting way to describe where the Ohio State football program finds itself right now. The Buckeyes have two losses before November has even properly begun for the first time since the ill-fated Luke Fickell season, sit at No. 12 in the initial College Football Playoff rankings, and would be outside the 12-team field if it were selected today. There is still a path to the playoff, but it is so precarious that one misstep could send the season careening over a cliff.

Worse, the team’s 6-2 record doesn’t fully capture the comparative mediocrity that we have been forced to watch in recent weeks. Even the gritty 19-15 victory over Indiana felt more like an escape than a statement of competency. Against USC, the Buckeyes had their chances, but penalties, missed opportunities, and a maddeningly familiar lack of urgency turned another consequential game into a massive disappointment. For all the talent on this roster, Ohio State hasn’t consistently looked like a team playing anywhere near its ceiling for approaching a calendar year.

Zoom out, and the picture grows even bleaker: The Buckeyes are 6-4 in their last 10 games dating back to last December’s Big Ten Championship Game. I understand that two of those losses came in the postseason and that the schedule has been stacked with marquee, blue-blood opponents, but six wins in 10 games? At Ohio State? That is something that should be unacceptable for any Buckeye team, regardless of situations or opponents.

I wish I could tell you that my confidence is unshaken, but that would be a lie. Still, I am, through and through, a Buckeye homer, and until all the cards have been dealt, I’m not ready to surrender the season. There is simply too much talent on this roster, even without Julian Sayin, to believe that everything this team might accomplish has already been lost.

But more than anything else, there is one annoyingly stubborn piece of Ohio State history preventing me from abandoning all hope: Ryan Day’s teams have a frustrating habit of waiting until their backs are against the wall to play their most ferocious football.

Think about the playoff rematch with Clemson after the 2020 season. The Buckeyes carried the sting of the previous year’s controversial semifinal defeat, while critics questioned whether their abbreviated schedule justified a playoff berth. Day’s team responded with a 49-28 demolition that essentially ended Clemson’s run as a national power, with Justin Fields throwing six touchdown passes. Ohio State wasn’t trying to prove it belonged; it was making Clemson regret the question had ever been asked.

Or consider the Peach Bowl after the 2022 season. Another Michigan defeat had left the program bruised, but against defending national champion Georgia, Day finally turned C.J. Stroud and the offense loose. The Buckeyes lost 42-41, heartbreakingly, yet the imagination and audacity of their approach made them look capable of beating anyone. I wrote afterward that Day needed to coach that way all the time. My unsolicited consulting services, it seems, remain unutilized.

Then came the ultimate proof: the four-game rampage to the national championship after the 2024 Michigan debacle. With the criticism deafening and Day’s future being debated, Ohio State attacked Tennessee, Oregon, Texas, and Notre Dame with a swagger that had been conspicuously absent against the Wolverines. Those Buckeyes didn’t sit around waiting and hoping that their opponents would make mistakes and gift wrap victories for them; they forced the issue, trusted their advantages, and played like they had finally stopped fearing what might happen if they failed.

That is the team I believe must, and can, reappear. Not because an emotional and inspirational speech will magically erase the deficiencies of the past two months, but because we’ve seen these coaches and this program find clarity when there is no alternative.

Of course, that hope comes with an uncomfortable question: Why should it take a five-alarm fire for Ohio State to remember where it keeps the extinguisher?

After that 2024 championship, I thought the breakthrough would become the foundation of something enduring. With the psychological burden lifted, Day had the chance to turn Ohio State’s extraordinary talent, resources, and institutional commitment into sustained dominance. Throughout last year’s regular season, I genuinely believed the Buckeyes were establishing themselves as the preeminent program in college football, with an increasingly formidable advantage over the competition.

Instead, in every major game since then, the timidity has returned. The fear has squashed OSU’s aggression. What should have been the beginning of a heretofore unseen era in Ohio State football history is now in danger of becoming little more than a brilliant exception

And this isn’t solely an indictment of the man wearing the headset. Players must catch balls that hit their hands, tackle ball carriers running right at them, execute assignments in all situations, and stop destroying drives via boneheaded penalties. The coaches can draw up the game plan, but it won’t matter a lick if the players can’t get out of their own way in order to execute it on Saturdays.

Still, the staff sets the tone. Day and company determine whether pressure is something to endure or an opportunity to seize. Injuries and an inexperienced quarterback require adjustments, of course, but adapting doesn’t mean surrendering. You can help a young quarterback without wrapping the entire offense in bubble wrap. You can put your team in a position to win without retreating into the cozy confines of a conservative turtle shell.

Against Oregon, we absolutely must see coaches who trust their preparation and players who pair urgency with discipline. Not blind aggression or machismo displays of toughness that never seem to work, but the conviction to dictate a game rather than spend four quarters reacting to it. And, more importantly, if Ohio State is going to even approach its main goals for the season, we will need to see that mentality last longer than a single afternoon.

Championship-level intensity is not something that can be turned on and off on the whim of the coaching staff, depending on who is standing on the other side of the field. If you want to play your best when the lights are brightest, it has to be your default mindset every time you put the pads on, regardless of the situation or opponent. Great teams don’t wait until the last possible moment to prove their greatness.

I admit, there is a real possibility that the Buckeyes have already done too much damage to their postseason hopes to turn things around. But, as someone with scarlet and gray blood pumping through my veins (it’s a metaphor, relax), I also refuse to believe that what we’ve seen through eight games is the best version of this squad. Not when history has shown us time and again that the most dangerous version of a Ryan Day-coached Ohio State team is often the one everybody has begun to doubt.

Perhaps this is where another remarkable run begins. Perhaps the disappointment we’ve been carrying since last December finally becomes the fuel for something worthy of this program’s championship standard. And perhaps, this time, Day and his players can finally learn that the fearlessness that has defined their greatest victories shouldn’t have to be born out of desperation; it should be the cornerstone upon which everything else is built.

There is no doubt that the Buckeyes have backed themselves into a corner, and, at this point, there is no guarantee that they can fight their way out. But we’ve seen what happens when Day and his teams stop worrying about what they stand to lose and start playing like they understand what they’re capable of winning. If there was ever a time to summon that version of the Buckeyes, it’s today. Ohio State can’t rewrite the disappointing chapters that brought it to this point, but there is still plenty of time to make the rest of this story something extraordinary.