Stop treating ESPN, FOX, and every other studio personality like they have a secret playbook for college football. They do not. They have connections, headshots, and a budget that pays for hot takes. That is it. The rest, the certainty, the hype, the “this guy’s the next whatever” garbage, is a feedback loop built to sell ads and clicks, not to actually explain the game.

Look at the receipts. Texas started the year as the AP preseason No. 1, a headline that made every studio soundbite feel momentous. Penn State started at No. 2. Big names, big expectations. And yet both programs have taken public tumbles that the networks did not properly own up to as they happened. Texas was preseason No. 1 and then got knocked out of the Top 25 after losses that should have been red flags for anyone who actually watches the tape instead of recycling a promo package. Penn State lost multiple games in a row and ended up firing its head coach, a move that should make every “we told you they were title contenders” take sound thin. The preseason hype did not match what was happening on the field.

Now let us talk about Arch Manning, because that was the poster child for lazy narrative. All offseason the narrative engines ran hot: “next Tim Tebow,” “the best college QB we have ever seen,” every variant of hype you can imagine. Fine, brand names move markets. But numbers matter. Arch Manning’s 2025 stat line through mid-October showed 1,317 passing yards, 12 touchdowns, and five interceptions with a QBR in the high 60s. That is a solid season for a young quarterback, not the supernatural breakout people sold as guaranteed. Hype is entertainment. Stats are evidence. Do not confuse the two.

This is not some humblebrag about how smart I am. It is a reality check about standards. Most of the heavy hitters on TV are paid to package certainty. Networks want sharp, repeatable phrases: “He is a generational talent,” “They are playoff-bound,” “This is the offense of the future.” Certainty plays well in promos and highlights. Nuance does not. Meanwhile the scoreboard keeps telling the quiet truth. When teams actually get tested, on the road, against decent defenses, when injuries pile up, the scoreboard beats the narrative every single time.

Let us be blunt about what these “experts” actually bring to the table. They have connections. They can get scoops. They can book guests. They can read a recruiting report and make it sound urgent. That is valuable. But connections are not the same thing as having coached an offensive line through three downs facing a four-man rush. They are not the same as watching 30 hours of tape and being able to explain why an offense struggles on third and long. You can be plugged in and still be wrong on the Xs and Os. Plenty of studio analysts never played high school football, let alone coached one. That does not make them bad people. It makes them performers in a content economy. Treat their certainties accordingly.

Accountability is what I want from these people. If you told fans Arch Manning was the second coming and you have been loud about it on a national platform, own it when it looks wrong. Say you were bullish on the name and you got ahead of the tape, then explain why. Do not spin. Do not pivot to passive voice nonsense about “context.” We respect people who admit mistakes. Owning a bad call shows you watch, you care, and you adjust. No one loses credibility faster than the analyst who doubles down on a busted take because admitting error might mean fewer clicks next week.

Here is a basic playbook for fans who are tired of being gaslit by the content machine.

Watch the tape, not the montage. Two full-game views of a quarterback’s footwork and decision-making tell you more than a dozen studio rundowns repeating the same highlight clip. Studio reels cherry-pick highlights to sell narratives. You can do better.

Contextualize the stats. A team piling up yards against a cupcake nonconference slate is not the same as doing it against top-25 defenses. Adjust your interpretation accordingly. If a team’s turnover margin evaporates against quality opponents, that is a real signal, not noise.

Follow the beat writers and boots-on-the-ground reporters. They show up to practice, see the locker-room mood, and know when an injury is being downplayed. That kind of diligence matters more than hot takes.

Respect humility. Analysts who say “I could be wrong” deserve your attention more than the ones who shout certainty. Being willing to revise is not weakness, it is competence.

Let us get specific because whining without receipts is weak sauce. Texas opened as preseason No. 1 in the AP Top 25, yes, but that poll had caveats. Texas did not even take a majority of first-place votes. The sample was not unanimous. Then they lost games that highlighted structural problems the studio did not spend enough time breaking down. Offensive line issues, inconsistent pass protection, defensive lapses in key moments. Fans who actually watched the games could see problems the highlight-driven punditry glossed over.

Penn State’s slide is more glaring only because the program’s preseason billing was so high. They lost games they should have won, the roster underperformed relative to expectations, and the administration made the call to fire the head coach. That is not an “oops.” That is a structural failure of a season that the networks were slow to reckon with. If you told me two months ago that Penn State would be firing its coach after starting the year so highly touted, I would have laughed and asked for proof. The proof is in the headlines now.

One more thing: the media economy rewards noise. Networks monetize controversy and certainty. That creates perverse incentives. Want a safe show that gets clicks? Push a polarizing take. Want the slow, patient work of film breakdown and contextual analysis? That is harder to monetize in 30-second clip culture. So the loudest voices are not always the most qualified ones. They are often the loudest because loudness is a currency.

Here is the part I want on the record. ESPN, FOX, whoever, give me airtime. Hand me a chair on your panel. Put me on a show. Let me rant for sixty seconds, whatever. I will tell the truth. I will pull film. I will show receipts. I will not hide behind hot takes that smell like sponsor money. When I am wrong, because I will be wrong sometimes, I will say it out loud. I will explain why I got it wrong and show what I would do differently next time. No excuses. No spin. No PR-safe “well, in context” dodge. That is accountability. That is how credibility is rebuilt.

You want to know the difference between me and the people currently hogging the mic? I value being right over being loud. I would rather lose a fight publicly and come back smarter than win a fight by shouting louder and never admitting I was off. That is the difference between a real analyst and a paid performer. The audience deserves the former.

Final play. Do not let the studio be your automatic oracle. Be skeptical. Cross-check. Watch the games. Read the beat writers. Demand that analysts who get it wrong own it and break it down, not bury it under the next hot headline. College football is messy, human, and full of wild turns. The scoreboard will sort the narratives eventually. The problem is we keep handing our beliefs to people whose job is to sell certainty.

So next time the networks tell you a player or team is the new messiah of college football, do this. Watch an actual game. Check the stats in context. Then decide. If you still buy the hype after that, fine. But do not let a polished TV promo be the reason you are right or wrong. That is on you. And if any studio wants to give me time to explain why, I will take the mic and tell the truth, loud and clear, without excuses.