In the second excerpt from my upcoming novel, Who is America’s Quarterback, Partner? I dive into the events leading up to the Ohio State–Penn State game. College football broadcasting is more than just commentary; it’s about influence. One comment, rivalry, or random moment can rewrite history.
This satirical alternate historical lens imagines Joel Klatt battling Kirk Herbstreit’s College Football dominance—whose opinions reshape narratives, make and break seasons with ruthless authority. What if there is a small shift in the game’s ecosystem creating a ripple effects, changing football’s story forever?
Read it or don’t read it. I just don’t care.- Jay Cutler. 2014
Flying High. November 2024. On a ‘Wheels Up’ Cessna Citation Latitude, Joel Klatt and Gus Johnson were headed to State College for the Ohio State–Penn State game. These flights had become part of their pregame routine—syncing up analysis and sharpening their dynamic on-air chemistry. This looming B1G showdown wasn’t just a broadcast; it was their National coming-out party.
This matchup marked the second time this season that ESPN’s GameDay and Fox’s Big Noon had broadcast from the same venue. The first time, in Ann Arbor, hadn’t gone smoothly, especially for the Big Noon crew. Tensions flared after Nick Saban and Urban Meyer clashed—hard stares and even harder words were fired between them, old slights and simmering grudges from their SEC wars still fresh. For a moment, it seemed like things could go sideways. Cooler heads eventually prevailed.
The fallout from that Ann Arbor clash still ached in Joel’s washboard abs. He could feel the rage smoldering as he stared out the jet window, he had to clear his mind. Dabbing Preparation H under his eyes to reduce any swelling, he exhaled. Maybe it was time for a chemical peel. Or maybe he should really pamper himself with a new haircut.
Three Bags Full. A random thought hits Joel: Is Herbstreit bringing his dog to Penn State? The dog gimmick had been cute at first, but lately, even ESPN staff had started whispering complaints. Social media was NOT being very kind.
“Hey Gus,” Klatt broke the silence. “Didn’t Kirk’s dog die recently?”
Gus looked up from his notes, slightly tilting his head, “Yeah, partner. Cancer, I think. Big deal on Twitter. Weird thing though? A few days later, he shows up with a full-grown dog that looks just like the old one. I think people are getting tired of the dog though. He takes it EVERYWHERE.”
Joel raised an eyebrow. “Knowing Kirk, he probably got the Koreans to clone it.”
According to Bear Fallica’s insider gossip, Kirk’s dog was quickly turning into a unmitigated PR disaster for ESPN. The rude-ass beast had earned a reputation for its lack of training—leash pulling, shedding, whining, and being notoriously ‘bitey.’ Worse, it wasn’t housebroken, leaving huge piles of #2 all over the set, thanks to Kirk’s overpriced dog food.
Herbstreit fed the dog some boutique nonsense ‘word salad’ product called Farmer’s Table Pork with Ancient Grains—only available through a special website Kirk endorsed. The staff was forced to lug around multiple bags of food—an absolute logistical nightmare.
The real kicker? Kirk didn’t even feed the damn dog or clean up after it, this task was for his long-suffering staff. Just one dookie pile was so large that several environmentally friendly poop bags (again, an Kirk-endorsed product), were needed for clean-up.
Then, the unthinkable happened: Nick Saban inadvertently stepped in a steaming pile of dog shit during GameDay prep. It happened just outside the set entrance, after Kirk’s dog, fueled by another lightning-fast gastro shot of Farmer’s Table Pork, ripped right out of the animals ass wreaking horror and havoc.
Saban, a traditionalist who didn’t buy into the “cool kids” trend of wearing tennis shoes with suits, was not remotely amused. His polished Oxfords—shoes that screamed, “I don’t whistle when I walk by graveyards”—were now ruined.
The sight of Coach Saban angrily scraping dog shit off his shoe with a GameDay script sent the staff into full-blown panic. Desmond Howard was frozen in horror, Rece Davis looked like he’d seen a ghost, while Herbstreit? He barely blinked. To him, this was just another day at the office. If anything, he allegedly quipped later, “Coach should watch where he’s putting his lil’ bitty feet.”
Saban muttered, “This isn’t what I signed up for,” and stormed off, leaving a trail of smeared dog shit behind him with each step. Everyone (not Kirk) feared he’d quit over this indignity.
The Save. Ironically, it was Pat McAfee—Saban’s unlikely best partner on set—who saved the day. McAfee, always the loudmouth Yin to Nick’s controlled discipline Yang, grinned and said, “Coach, these aren’t just shoes—they’re a full-ride ticket to the cool kids’ table. Slip these on, and you’re one of us. Comfort’s in, tradition’s out. Be like us, Coach”.
More here: https://www.outkick.com/sports/ohio-state-fans-unload-kirk-herbstreit-his-dog
Talking Ball. As the airplane seat-belt signs blinked on, the plane’s nose gently pitched downward for their arrival into Happy Valley, Joel couldn’t help but remember the 2022 season when Kirk casually declared, “Tennessee’s out,” crushing the Vols’ playoff hopes with a single sentence.
By 2023, Kirk had solidified his reputation for ruthless decision-making, even sparking outrage when he dismissed FSU’s undefeated record: “No starting QB? Sorry, you don’t play an SEC schedule and going undefeated and conference champs doesn’t do it for me.”
Joel clenched his jaw. It’s this easy? This fucking guy just decides who’s in and who’s out? And the media runs with it?, he said to no one in particular.
So there it was. When Kirk Herbstreit spoke, college football didn’t just listen—it obeyed. Coaches, national columnists, pollsters, NCAA investigators, referees , and athletic directors all treated his words like gospel. His opinions weren’t just commentary—they were final verdicts, delivered with the finality of judge, jury, and executioner.
Everyone thought Kirk was a “nice guy”—the type who posed for photos and signed autographs. But Joel saw the truth: Behind the charming smile and tailored suits was someone who thrived on control, manipulating outcomes and narratives with calculating ease.
Maybe he was just a dude talking ball?
Building Yellowstone. In Kirk’s world, Joel barely existed. The only time they met—ironically was in Ann Arbor—Kirk asked how Joel liked being a sideline reporter. Joel nearly lost his ever-loving mind. That slight still burned like a leather ‘belt to ass’.
Then there was Kirk’s maddening ability to stay relevant. His social media was a machine—dog videos, viral moments, and fashion misfires that always seemed accidentally deliberate. Like the faux-cowboy hat he wore for Montana GameDay in 2023, designed to fit the rugged Big Sky vibe, all while keeping him hot on social media.
His social media exploded. Hat sales surged. One tweet summed it all up: “Kirk Herbstreit is the reason John Dutton hates tourists. Taylor Sheridan didn’t create Yellowstone—he saw Herbie in Bozeman and thought, Yeah, I can make a show out of this.”
Predictably, Yellowstone surged to #1 on the Nielsen Ratings. Thanks, Kirk.
“Un-fucking-real,” Klatt muttered to Gus after a live TV stunt in Bozeman where Kirk had staff rub his cold feet while on-air. “If I had smoking hot interns rubbing my feet on set, I’d be roasted alive.”
Gus shrugged. “Maybe you need prettier feet, partner.”
Joel chewed on this for a minute, not realizing that Gus was fucking with him, and added a pedicure to his to-do list.
Joel’s Resolve. Klatt wasn’t just jealous. He was uber-competitive. He’d spent years crafting his own image: Italian suits, crisp pocket squares, textbook Full Windsor knots, and those special 1985 vintage Air Jordans. Even GQ magazine and Cali governor Gavin Newsome had called Joel the epitome of modern college football style. Yet Kirk always dominated the conversation.
As their plane descended into the University Park Airport, Joel watched another of Kirk’s viral GameDay videos—with the dog, no less. Polished. Effortless. Maddening.
“He can be beaten,” Klatt muttered. “He’s just… safe. Plays for field goals. Me? I will take the shot. Shooters shoot. Plus, I’m proud to work for a network that is about America, not some Disney mouthpiece cutting away form commercial during a B-2 flyover.”
Gus glanced up. “You’re obsessed, man.”
Joel smiled, flashing those oh-so perfect teeth. “Maybe. But I’m a winner. Kirk and his dog might have the spotlight for now, but as Coach Prime says, ‘We coming.’ Buffs, baby.”
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