Now That Talking Season Is Over After Media Days, It’s Time for Real Football and No More Free Cold Cuts and Soundbites
The so-called “talking season” has finally come to a close. That annual summer tradition where coaches, players, and media members gather under bright lights and hotel chandeliers to answer questions, pose for pictures, and deliver carefully rehearsed lines is now in the rearview mirror. Everyone’s had their turn. From the SEC’s sprawling circus in Nashville to the more subdued gatherings of the Big Ten, Big 12, ACC, and Pac-12 (or what remains of it), each program has stepped up to the mic. They’ve all offered their thoughts, danced around controversies, previewed their depth charts, and made bold proclamations about culture, toughness, and brotherhood. The microphones are now off. The cold cuts are gone. The watered-down drinks have been poured out. The real work begins.
There’s something uniquely theatrical about college football media days. It’s a place where optimism is both currency and costume. Every coach goes undefeated. Every transfer portal addition is a perfect fit. Every team had their “best summer ever.” There are endless claims about being “more disciplined,” “more locked in,” or “more connected than ever.” The players, usually dressed in sharp suits and bright smiles, echo the same sentiments—most of them trained to speak like seasoned PR veterans despite being just 20 or 21 years old. It’s all very polished, very hopeful, and very temporary.
But now it’s over. The cameras are off. The interviews have been transcribed. The media members have gone back to their columns and podcasts. And all that remains is the silence between the end of talking season and the start of fall camp. It’s a liminal space, one where reality begins to assert itself. Dreams start to collide with the grind. And the game—the real game—finally starts to reenter the spotlight.
Because, for all the noise and headlines media days generate, they don’t move the football a single yard. You can’t outtalk your way to a championship. You can’t charm your way through a blitz pickup or press coverage. You can say all the right things—about culture, toughness, team chemistry, offseason focus—but it won’t mean a thing once helmets start cracking in August.
Talking season has become its own industry within college football. Networks broadcast it live. Writers treat every quote like gospel. Fans dissect every phrase on social media, interpreting vague coachspeak like it’s scripture. “He said the quarterback battle is wide open!” “He mentioned the new nutritionist twice—huge!” “Did you hear how he described the freshman linebacker?” It’s all fun. It’s all part of the lead-up. But it’s also all fluff.
The truth is, football is a game played in sweat, not soundbites. It’s a game of reps, not rhetoric. What matters now isn’t what was said in a ballroom over roast beef sandwiches and conference-branded bottled water. What matters is what happens when the cleats hit the grass, when the pads go on, and when players are asked to do it again, and again, and again until they get it right—or don’t.
This is the time where teams begin to separate themselves. Fall camp isn’t glamorous. It’s not televised like media days. There’s no applause for well-delivered clichés. It’s hot. It’s grueling. It’s repetitive. And it’s where games are won before they’re ever played. Conditioning, attention to detail, mental toughness—these things can’t be faked. And they certainly can’t be talked into existence.
Some coaches understand this better than others. They treat media days like what they are: a brief PR obligation. They smile, say what they need to say, and then immediately turn the page. For them, the focus is already on the practice schedule, the installation periods, the position battles that need clarity. For others, talking season becomes a trap. They start believing in their own narratives. They fall in love with the sound of their own optimism. They lose track of the grind—and their teams suffer for it.
Players, too, must make that transition. It’s easy to talk about leadership and accountability in a conference room. It’s a lot harder to live it on a Tuesday morning after four straight days of two-a-days. Talking about competing is easy. Competing is hard. You can’t fake the latter.
This time of year separates the contenders from the pretenders. Not on a scoreboard, not yet—but in the locker room, in the weight room, and in the quiet moments when no one’s watching. The margin between a 10-2 season and a 7-5 disaster often comes down to the choices made in these next few weeks. Will players push through fatigue or coast on comfort? Will coaches demand precision or settle for almost? Will everyone stay aligned when the temperature rises and tempers flare?
Talking season is done. The slogans have been unveiled. The hype videos have been posted. The preseason polls are out. None of it matters anymore. Because once the helmets go on, all that really matters is who’s ready to play—and who just thought they were.
There’s also something refreshing about the silence that follows media days. The noise quiets. The spotlight dims. It’s a reset button for programs. Now, away from the microphones and press conferences, teams can focus on themselves. The distractions are gone. The attention shifts inward. Coaches can coach. Players can grind. Chemistry can be built the hard way—in the heat, through repetition, with sweat equity.
This is the moment when culture stops being a word and becomes a behavior. When leadership isn’t spoken—it’s shown. When expectations are no longer talked about—they’re met or missed. The next few weeks, as boring as they may seem to the outside world, are sacred inside a football facility. They are foundational.
Of course, talking season will always have its place. It’s part of the pageantry of college football. It stokes the flames of rivalry. It gives fans something to argue about. It offers coaches a platform to control narratives, settle scores, or light subtle fires under their teams. And it can be genuinely entertaining—some coaches are masters of the stage, delivering zingers or emotional speeches that go viral before they even leave the podium.
But we must remember it for what it is: a sideshow. Not the main event. Not even close.
The game still belongs to those who prepare the hardest, who care the most, and who execute under pressure. It belongs to the lineman who wins his rep on 3rd-and-1. The cornerback who stays disciplined on a double move. The walk-on who becomes a special teams ace through sheer effort. That’s where championships are made. Not in media guides or interview clips, but in the crucible of camp and the chaos of competition.
There’s an old saying in football circles: “You don’t rise to the occasion; you fall to the level of your training.” That’s the ethos of this season. Not the quotes or predictions or puff pieces. Training. Execution. Toughness. All the things that can’t be said into existence, only earned.
So now, as teams head back to their campuses, weight rooms, and practice fields, the conversation shifts. Or rather, it stops. And the focus sharpens. What lies ahead isn’t easy. It never is. But it’s real. It’s football. And for those who love this sport, that’s more than enough.
Talking season is over. Let the work begin.
