Should Mark Stoops Stay or Go? The Truth No One Wants to Admit

(LOUISVILLE, Ky.) – Full disclosure: I like Mark Stoops.

He’s been my neighbor for the past decade—not the stop-by-for-an-after-dinner-bourbon kind of neighbor and certainly not the borrow-each-other’s-lawnmower kind of neighbor. But still, proximity matters. You tend to root for the people you share a street with. You want them to succeed, win ball games, and not become the target of pitchforks whenever the winds shift.

But affection aside, we’ve reached a crossroads in the Bluegrass. I’m now as frustrated and exhausted as everyone else. It’s hard not to join the pitchfork parade marching down Limestone. The cries are deafening: “Fire Stoops! Burn it down! Start over!” Coming off the heels of a season that promised resurrection but ended with crucifixion, Mark Stoops’ seat is hotter than the hibachi table at Asuka.

For the last two weeks, the two pillars Stoops built his 2025 narrative on—the team getting better and the steadfast refusal to quit—have crumbled like my latest book deal. Vanderbilt carved up the defense like a Thanksgiving turkey. Louisville didn’t even wait for dessert. And a fanbase already starving for relevance swan-dived into a toxic stew of despair, crushing memes, and someone-please-just-make-it-stop hopelessness.

Let’s not forget that Stoops remains the winningest coach in UK Football history. A decade ago, that distinction would have insulated him for life—plaque on the wall, statue someday, tenure until his grandchildren graduate law school. But this is 2025. In this era, it’s “What have you done for me lately?” And the honest answer over the past two years—despite the talent, the roster overhaul, and the incessant promises of getting back to work—is: not enough.

The undeniable truth is that the program has regressed. Not catastrophically. Not scandalously. But unmistakably.

Ever since the NIL train left the station, college football has morphed into an unapologetic “buy the best players you can” arms race. This isn’t the world of developmental diamonds-in-the-rough anymore. It’s a mercenary marketplace where rosters turn over like TikTok trends, and if you aren’t adapting, you’re choking on dust. Stoops—steadfast, loyal, old-school Stoops—looks increasingly out of step with the era he’s coaching in.

But Stoops is smart. He’s learning and adjusting on the fly—albeit more slowly than we like. He certainly hasn’t forgotten how to coach. Kentucky’s biggest problem is his $37 million elephant in the room.

That buyout. Payable within 60 days. Not spread out, not amortized, not tucked away in some feel-good charitable annuity. It sits there like a neon sign blinking “FISCAL IRRESPONSIBILITY” in Mitch Barnhart’s window. It doesn’t matter who negotiated it, how they justified it, or why well-meaning people nodded along at the time. It’s a 60-day, $37 million albatross buttressed around the neck of an athletic department already sitting $140 million in debt.

Paying someone not to coach is a luxury Kentucky simply doesn’t have. That money could fund desperately needed NIL. It could fortify facilities. It could lay the groundwork for competitiveness instead of digging deeper into the financial hole that’s already swallowing athletics whole.

And yet… many now argue that the cost of keeping Stoops might be even greater.

That’s evidently the new prevailing mindset, shouted boldly from the rooftops by long-winded sports talk show radio hosts and prominently displayed on message boards. If the program is sliding, enthusiasm is waning, and recruiting is drying up, is the greater risk not pulling the trigger? After all, it’s not my money.

My personal hope—foolish or idealistic—was that Stoops might fall partially on his sword. Meet in the middle. Negotiate a reduced buyout. Do the honorable samurai thing. Walk away with dignity, protect the program he spent 13 years building, and allow both sides to breathe again.

But Saturday night’s postgame presser erased that fantasy quickly. Stoops didn’t hedge. Didn’t hint at introspection. Didn’t project accountability beyond the usual handful of coach-speak clichés. Instead, he offered a smug chuckle and a firm “I’m not walking away.”

Legally, he’s entitled to every penny. Morally, well… opinions vary.

And so here we stand. A fanbase at war with itself. A program stuck in the muck. A coach clinging to contract and history. An administration staring down the most expensive decision in school athletic history.

Here’s the heart of the matter—the truth nobody wants to hear: I’m not convinced you can get anyone significantly better right now.

Don’t curse me for saying that. You’re not choosing from a buffet of future Nick Sabans. Kentucky has become one of the toughest jobs in America, now in an SEC adding two more woodchippers to the schedule. NIL resources are middling, facilities good but not elite, and the fanbase—God bless ’em—no longer is satisfied with six wins and the Music City Bowl.

Rising-star coordinators know this. Group of Five darlings know this. Agents especially know this. You’re asking a young coach to risk his entire career in a league where eight wins is viewed as underachieving and six gets you run out of town. And while plenty of great coaches started as unknowns, plenty of “can’t-miss rising stars” flamed out spectacularly once they ran into resource gaps and unforgiving schedules. That’s the bet you’re making: not just that the next guy will be better, but that he’ll thrive in one of the most brutal ecosystems college football has ever created.

Maybe the best option—the only sensible option—is to tolerate Stoops a bit longer. Let the buyout shrink. Let the market shift. Let the landscape settle. Even if he can’t turn it around, the hope and prayer is that someone undeniably better emerges on the horizon.

What we cannot afford is a reactionary decision made out of emotion or desperation. The long-term future of Kentucky Football is too important to mortgage on such immediate whims. The solution isn’t to panic fire your most successful coach in 40 years just because the last two games stunk like a locker room full of wet socks.

I’ll concede this: Kentucky fans deserve better than what we saw against Louisville. They deserve fire, creativity, accountability, and growth. They deserve a football product that matches the passion of the people who care so deeply about it.

So yes, I like Mark Stoops. And yes, the frustrations are valid. Both those things can be true. But until the perfect exit ramp appears, Kentucky may just have to coexist with its coach, its contract, and its collective angst a little while longer.

Coaching changes are easy. Consequences aren’t. Let’s not do anything we’ll regret.

Not yet, anyway.

This article was originally written for distribution through Nolan Group Media publications.

Dr. John Huang is a retired orthodontist, military veteran, and award-winning author. Currently serving as a columnist for Nolan Group Media, he invites readers to follow him on social media @KYHuangs. Explore his latest publication, “Whining For Posterity,” and all his books on Amazon under Dr. John Huang.