Ohio State Football’s Roster Cuts: The End of the Walk-On Dream as Team Trims Down to 105 Players
The Ohio State football program has long been a beacon of opportunity for walk-ons—players who sacrifice scholarships for a chance to wear the scarlet and gray. But in a move that has sent shockwaves through the college football world, the Buckeyes are reducing their roster size to 105 players, leaving dozens of walk-ons without a spot on the team. For many, this decision doesn’t just mean the end of a dream—it’s the abrupt halt of years of hard work, dedication, and unwavering belief in the possibility of earning a place among college football’s elite.
Walk-ons have been a cornerstone of Ohio State football for decades. These players, often overlooked by recruiters, bet on themselves, paying their own way through school while grinding through early-morning workouts, scout team duties, and the constant uncertainty of whether they’ll ever see the field. Some, like former walk-on turned NFL star Chris Hogan, have beaten the odds and carved out legendary careers. Others, like receiver Joe Ramstetter, became fan favorites for their relentless effort despite limited playing time.
The walk-on program wasn’t just about filling roster spots—it was a culture builder. Coaches like Urban Meyer and Jim Tressel frequently praised walk-ons for setting the tone in practice, pushing scholarship players, and embodying the underdog spirit that defines football at its core. For many Buckeye fans, walk-ons were the heart of the team, proving that success wasn’t just about stars and rankings but about grit and perseverance.
The decision to cut the roster down to 105 players isn’t arbitrary. The NCAA doesn’t impose a strict roster limit for football, but many programs self-regulate to maintain efficiency in practice reps, locker room space, and coaching bandwidth. Ohio State’s move aligns with a growing trend among elite programs to streamline operations, ensuring that every player on the roster has a clear path to contributing.
But the cost is steep. Walk-ons who once filled out scout teams, provided depth in practice, and occasionally earned scholarships are now being told their services are no longer needed. Some were informed in private meetings, while others found out through abrupt roster updates. For players who had spent years grinding in anonymity, the news was devastating.
Behind every roster cut is a human story. Take, for example, a player like Jack Smith (name changed for privacy), a third-year walk-on linebacker from a small Ohio town. He turned down Division II scholarships for a shot at Ohio State, working as a student assistant to stay close to the program while paying his own tuition. He woke up at 5 a.m. for workouts, stayed late to study film, and never complained about his role. Now, with the roster cuts, he’s left without a team—and without the chance to ever prove himself in a game.
“I didn’t come here to quit,” Smith said. “I came here because I believed I could earn my way. Now, I don’t even get that chance.”
Stories like his are playing out across the roster. Some players will transfer to smaller schools, hoping to revive their careers. Others will hang up their cleats for good, forced to reconcile the end of a dream they’ve held since childhood.
Ohio State’s decision reflects a broader shift in college football. As the sport becomes more professionalized—with NIL deals, expanded playoffs, and skyrocketing coaching salaries—the focus has narrowed to maximizing efficiency and winning at all costs. Walk-ons, once celebrated as symbols of perseverance, are increasingly seen as expendable.
Critics argue that this move undermines what makes college football special. The walk-on tradition was a reminder that the sport wasn’t just about five-star recruits and TV deals—it was about opportunity, about proving people wrong, about the love of the game. By shrinking rosters, programs risk losing that intangible spirit.
For the players cut, the road ahead is uncertain. Some may latch on at FCS or Division II schools, where roster spots are more plentiful. Others may pivot to student coaching roles, staying involved in the game in a different capacity. A few might even try their luck at other Power 5 programs, though the odds are long.
Ohio State has stated that it will honor any academic aid previously promised to walk-ons, ensuring they can continue their education. But for many, the sting of losing their football identity is what hurts most.
Ohio State’s roster cuts mark the end of an era. The walk-on dream—the idea that sheer determination could overcome a lack of stars next to your name—is fading in modern college football. As programs prioritize roster optimization over opportunity, the sport risks losing one of its most inspiring narratives.
For the Buckeyes, the hope is that a leaner roster will translate to sharper practices and better player development. But for the walk-ons who gave everything only to be told it wasn’t enough, the message is clear: The game they love is changing, and there may no longer be a place for stories like theirs.
In the end, Ohio State football will march on, with or without them. But something intangible—something deeply connected to the heart of the sport—has been lost along the way.
