UNFINISHED BUSINESS: Urban Meyer Admits He Still Holds a Grudge Over One Painful Memory from His Ohio State Tenure — “It Still Burns”

Urban Meyer’s coaching career is one defined by brilliance, dominance, and a relentless pursuit of perfection. From his undefeated season with Utah to three national championships between Florida and Ohio State, Meyer carved a legacy few in the college football world can rival. But even in a résumé stacked with success, there remain emotional scars — wounds that time has not fully healed. In a recent candid reflection, Meyer admitted he still holds a grudge over one specific, painful moment from his tenure at Ohio State, and that grudge speaks volumes about his psyche, his competitive nature, and the weight of unmet expectations. For Meyer, the bitterness isn’t about personal accolades or missed coaching honors — it’s about the 2015 Buckeyes and what could have been.

That year, Ohio State entered the season with every advantage. They were the defending national champions, they had three capable quarterbacks, and they were stocked with NFL-ready talent. Expectations were nothing short of historic. Yet, despite finishing with a 12-1 record, the Buckeyes were left out of the College Football Playoff. And it wasn’t just the exclusion that stung — it was the how and why of that outcome that continues to haunt Meyer. During a recent interview, Meyer confessed that the one thing he’s still mad about is the way Ohio State fell short of defending its title in 2015, largely due to a narrow, controversial loss to Michigan State. That defeat, at home, by a field goal as time expired, not only cost them a shot at another national championship but also left Meyer with a bitter taste that no subsequent achievement could wash away.

To understand why this particular game continues to gnaw at Meyer, one must revisit the circumstances. The 2015 Buckeyes were arguably more talented than the team that won it all in 2014. They returned stars like Ezekiel Elliott, Joey Bosa, Michael Thomas, and a quarterback room featuring J.T. Barrett, Cardale Jones, and Braxton Miller. The preseason narrative was simple: repeat or bust. But the offense, under co-coordinators Ed Warinner and Tim Beck, lacked rhythm for much of the season. Quarterback uncertainty didn’t help, as Meyer toggled between Jones and Barrett, trying to recreate the magic of the previous postseason. Even while they kept winning, there was a sense that Ohio State was underachieving relative to their talent.

Then came the fateful night of November 21, 2015. In the cold, under the lights at Ohio Stadium, the Buckeyes faced Michigan State in a game that was meant to be a stepping stone to the Big Ten Championship and another playoff berth. But Michigan State, playing without its starting quarterback Connor Cook, stunned Ohio State with a relentless running game and a gritty defensive performance. The Buckeyes’ offense was stifled, Ezekiel Elliott had just 12 carries, and the team looked inexplicably flat. It was a game plan that left fans bewildered and Meyer questioning everything. Michigan State kicked a 41-yard field goal as time expired to win 17-14, silencing The Horseshoe and derailing Ohio State’s championship dreams.

In the immediate aftermath, Elliott made headlines by criticizing the coaching staff for their conservative playcalling. He called it the most frustrating game of his life and publicly declared he would be leaving for the NFL. It was a rare moment of visible fracture within Meyer’s otherwise tightly controlled program. Meyer, ever the disciplinarian, admitted later that Elliott had a point. The game plan had been wrong. The decisions had been off. And the result was something he couldn’t stomach. Despite crushing Michigan the following week and dismantling Notre Dame in the Fiesta Bowl, the season felt like a missed opportunity. That one loss cost Meyer a chance to defend his title and may have denied the college football world one of the most dominant back-to-back champions in history.

Now, years later, the grudge still lives. Meyer says it’s not about the loss itself, but about the responsibility he feels for letting down a team that was capable of greatness. He owns the decisions, the preparation, and the shortcomings of that night. He’s not blaming officials or luck — he’s blaming himself. That level of accountability is both admirable and revealing. It shows that for Meyer, coaching was never just about wins and losses, but about maximizing potential, living up to the standard he set for his teams, and delivering when the stakes are highest. The fact that he still dwells on that one loss speaks to how deeply he cares and how hard it is to let go of a chance missed.

For Buckeye fans, the 2015 season is a complicated memory. On paper, it was a 12-1 year, a dominant finish, and a roster filled with first-round talent. But emotionally, it felt incomplete. The team never got to show what it could truly do on the biggest stage. The playoff committee passed them over in favor of Oklahoma, Alabama, Clemson, and Michigan State. It was a snub, but one that was self-inflicted. Meyer knew that. And the fact that it happened on his watch, with arguably the most loaded roster he ever coached, is what continues to sting.

Meyer’s grudge isn’t just about a game — it’s about the legacy of that team and how it could have altered the narrative around his Ohio State tenure. While he won a national title in 2014 and retired with an impeccable record, the 2015 team had the potential to be one of the greatest in college football history. That missed opportunity still looms large in his mind. In many ways, it’s the ghost of perfection that continues to shadow an otherwise remarkable legacy.

Since stepping away from the Buckeyes in 2018 and enduring a controversial, short-lived stint in the NFL with the Jacksonville Jaguars, Meyer has transitioned into media work. He’s become a fixture on Fox’s “Big Noon Kickoff,” where he breaks down college football with insight, candor, and the perspective of someone who’s been to the mountaintop. Yet even in his media role, it’s clear that the competitor in him hasn’t retired. That grudge, that fire, that sense of unfinished business still burns. It’s what made him great, but also what prevents him from walking away clean.

There’s a lesson in Meyer’s lingering frustration. It’s a reminder that in elite sports, the pain of what might have been often outweighs the joy of what was. Coaches like Meyer don’t count trophies — they count missed chances. That Michigan State game represents the epitome of that. It’s not just a blemish on a record — it’s a scar on the soul. And for someone wired like Urban Meyer, scars don’t fade with time; they deepen.

What’s more, his admission sheds light on the internal pressure that top-tier coaches place on themselves. Success isn’t just a goal — it’s a standard. Anything less feels like failure. And when failure comes not because of an opponent’s brilliance, but because of internal missteps, it hits harder. Meyer’s 2015 grudge is born of self-inflicted disappointment, and that’s the kind that lingers the longest.

In the grand arc of Ohio State football history, Urban Meyer will always be revered. He restored the Buckeyes to national prominence, won a national title, and beat Michigan with ruthless consistency. But even legends carry burdens. For Meyer, the grudge he holds over the 2015 season is a window into the psychology of a coach who demanded the best and still wrestles with moments when he didn’t deliver it. It’s a reminder that behind every great coach is a vault of regrets — and sometimes, it’s the almosts that hurt the most.

As college football continues to evolve, with new playoff formats and NIL reshaping the landscape, the days of Meyer’s Ohio State dominance feel both recent and distant. But that Michigan State loss remains a time capsule of heartbreak — for him, for his players, and for Buckeye Nation. And in a world where coaches often deflect or bury the past, Urban Meyer’s honesty about the pain he still feels is as refreshing as it is poignant. The grudge lives on, not out of bitterness, but out of passion. Because for Meyer, greatness wasn’t optional — it was expected. And when it slipped through his fingers, it left a mark that even time can’t erase.