Still Not Enough: Ohio State Buckeyes Grapple With Identity Crisis Amid Roster Questions
There’s a growing sentiment within Ohio State’s program—and among its fans—that something feels just a little off. The wins are still coming. The recruiting rankings remain impressive. The Buckeyes are perennial playoff contenders. But in recent seasons, an unshakable feeling has lingered that the Ohio State football program doesn’t quite feel like Ohio State. Whether it’s the culture, the edge, or the embodiment of the school’s tradition, many close to the program believe there just aren’t enough Buckeyes on the Buckeyes.
The phrase has been circulating more frequently behind closed doors and in fan forums alike. “We don’t have enough Buckeyes” isn’t just about geography or recruiting pipelines. It’s about mentality, about toughness, about the values that defined Ohio State through its greatest eras. From Woody Hayes to Jim Tressel to Urban Meyer, the program has been known for a blue-collar work ethic, a punishing brand of football, and players who embraced the scarlet and gray like it was armor. Some of that has slipped away—not entirely, but noticeably enough to raise concerns.
Take a look at recent rosters. They’re full of five-star talent, future first-round picks, and elite speed. But how many of those players truly embody the “BIA” (Best in America) mindset the secondary once wore with pride? How many linebackers are playing like a new version of James Laurinaitis or A.J. Hawk? And how many offensive linemen are playing with the grit of a Nick Mangold or Orlando Pace? Too often, the Buckeyes have looked like a team that relies on finesse, flash, and hope rather than force, execution, and conviction. That’s not Ohio State football—not as most remember it.
Some of this identity issue is traced back to recruiting strategies. Ohio State has become a national program. That’s a good thing—until it isn’t. The Buckeyes are landing elite talent from California, Texas, Florida, and Georgia. But as the net has widened, the ties to the heart of the program have thinned. Fewer players hail from Ohio. Fewer understand what it means to play Michigan. Fewer have grown up dreaming of playing in the Horseshoe. That creates a gap. It’s not a talent gap—it’s a passion gap. And that’s harder to measure, harder to coach, and harder to fix.
Even Ryan Day, who has gone 56-8 as Ohio State’s head coach, has felt the weight of those expectations. After three straight losses to Michigan, he’s heard the rumblings that he isn’t “Ohio State enough.” It’s a criticism that’s probably unfair in some ways—Day has poured himself into the program and elevated the offensive identity in modern ways. But it’s also a reflection of the hunger for leadership that doesn’t just chase wins but upholds tradition. The losses to Michigan weren’t just defeats; they were cultural gut punches. It wasn’t just that Ohio State lost—it’s how they lost. Physically. Emotionally. At the line of scrimmage. They looked like the softer team. That is unacceptable in Columbus.
The offseason has brought a few attempts to course-correct. Ohio State loaded up in the transfer portal, bringing in veteran pieces with physicality and experience. Chip Kelly was hired to revamp the offense, giving the team a fresh schematic voice and freeing up Day to focus more on culture and the big picture. The defense, once a liability, has taken a noticeable step forward under Jim Knowles and is starting to regain some of that snarling identity the Silver Bullets were known for. But there’s still something missing—something foundational.
The problem is that toughness isn’t a drill. Passion isn’t taught in film study. Identity can’t be downloaded from a playbook. It has to be lived. It has to be passed down from player to player, class to class. And that only happens when there’s continuity—when enough Buckeyes are in the building who remember what it means to wear the jersey. There used to be a strong pipeline from schools like Glenville, St. Edward, Massillon, and Cincinnati Moeller. Those weren’t just recruits—they were lifeblood. They brought pride and intensity to every rep. There was a time when playing for Ohio State meant something deeper than NIL money or draft stock.
And that’s why some of the recent moves are encouraging. Bringing back Laurinaitis as linebackers coach was one. He’s a true Buckeye—a guy who played with grit and heart and knows exactly what the standard should be. Keeping Brian Hartline in-house despite outside interest was another. He’s built the best receiver room in the country and is another homegrown Buckeye who leads with authenticity. But they need more. They need former Buckeyes not just as figureheads, but as hands-on leaders in the building. They need to recruit Ohio harder. They need to remind the world that you don’t have to be a national brand to play national championship football. Sometimes, you just need a bunch of guys from Ohio who hate to lose and are willing to fight for every inch.
It’s also about how the program carries itself in the small things. When players transfer out, do they still speak highly of their time in Columbus? When they’re drafted, do they represent the program the way a Buckeye should? Are they proud to say they came from Ohio State—or is it just another stop on a professional journey? There’s a reason why programs like Georgia and Alabama maintain an aura. It’s not just because they win—it’s because they’ve built something that lasts. Ohio State has the infrastructure to be that and more. But it has to believe in itself again. It has to choose that identity, not just hope it materializes.
Perhaps no single decision will define that effort more than the quarterback competition. The Buckeyes have loaded the room with talent—Will Howard from Kansas State, Devin Brown, Lincoln Kienholz, and true freshman Julian Sayin. But whoever wins the job won’t just be expected to make throws; he’ll be expected to lead. And leadership has to come from a place of belief, not entitlement. The best quarterbacks in Ohio State history—Troy Smith, J.T. Barrett, even C.J. Stroud in his later years—weren’t just good players. They were tone-setters. They lifted the locker room. They became Buckeyes, regardless of where they started. That’s what this team needs.
It’s easy to point fingers. Maybe NIL and the transfer portal have made it harder to build culture. Maybe modern football is just different. Maybe. But there are still programs that get it right. And there’s no reason Ohio State can’t be one of them. In fact, it should be the standard. The facilities are elite. The fan base is unmatched. The brand is bulletproof. All that’s missing is the soul—the reminder that playing here means more. That’s the part that has to be reinstalled, like a software patch for a glitching machine. The machine still works, sure—but not quite like it used to. Not quite like it should.
The good news is that the pieces are still there. This 2025 roster is loaded. The defense has teeth. The skill positions are top-tier. The offensive line, long a source of concern, has veteran experience now. If they can rediscover the toughness that made them great—if they can play like Buckeyes again—there’s no reason they can’t beat Michigan, win the Big Ten, and make a real push for a national title. But it’s going to take more than talent. It’s going to take a mindset. A refusal to be anything other than elite. A collective decision that second place isn’t acceptable, no matter how much praise comes from the outside world.
This team doesn’t need to be full of Ohio-born players to feel like Ohio State. But it does need more players who carry themselves like Buckeyes. It needs more guys who care deeply, who lead loudly, and who leave everything on the field—not because it’s expected, but because it’s who they are. Until that happens, the unease will remain. The questions will linger. Because the truth is, you can wear the jersey, attend the meetings, and win the games—but unless you bleed scarlet and gray, it’s never going to be enough.
