As I Was Saying …Happy Thanksgiving. And Fi On Lane Kiffin, Now Let's Turn The Page!

We are still alive in The Swamp, the world’s largest outdoor sandbox with 90,000 playmates. In Florida, not Mississippi. You talk about grateful!

Oh Lord, it's hard to be humble When you're perfect in every way I can't wait to look in the mirror I get better lookin' each day — song by Mac Davis

Making a play on those words as a Thanksgiving message for Gators fans weary of Lane Kiffin …

It’s hard to be thankful when you’ve been played in every way by Lane Kiffin, like Yo Yo Ma’s cello.

This waiting is wearisome. It’s like waiting in line at Baskin-Robbins behind 20 people for a half hour while some guy tries to decide between Chocolate Jamoca and Cherries Jubilee — and then says,“hang on, I might go vanilla.”

Several of my closest and best informed friends keep insisting it’s a done deal and it will be “leaked” Friday afternoon. I’m having a hard time buying that.

Even though it’s not officially done, I’m just about done! This ain’t Bog Holler State College in Mudcat Landing, Mississippi. This is the proud Gator Nation at the University of Florida. We would do well to remember that and be grateful of it this Thanksgiving Day 2025 and stop with the whining and coach envy.

Do you think the spirit of Notre football died when Knute Rockne was killed at 43 in the 1931 crash of his plane in Bazaar, Kansas?

We are still alive in The Swamp, the world’s largest outdoor sandbox with 90,000 playmates. In Florida, not Mississippi. You talk about grateful!

You ever notice how every time Florida swings and misses on the latest miracle-working, hair-gelled coaching savior, half the fan base acts like the university just got demoted to intramurals?

Kiffin blinks twice in the direction of Oxford and suddenly Gator fans are wandering around like it’s the end times, mumbling about “blown opportunities” and “lost destiny,” as if the school library just fell into a sinkhole.

News flash, Gators: This ain’t your first rodeo in the Almost Hired Hall of Fame. Florida’s been flirting and striking out since back when coaches wore fedoras and smoked on the sideline.

Bobby Dodd supposedly gave the Gators a wink before sending us his defensive coordinator Ray Graves, then stayed put and kept winning at Georgia Tech.

Ara Parseghian was one handshake from Gainesville before fate and Notre Dame pulled him north.

Lou Holtz was practically parked in HBC spot before he chose to try the NFL.

Florida has whiffed several times.

The program did not slide into Lake Alice.

And here’s the punchline: It turned out fine.

Florida didn’t shut down Ben Hill Griffin, and turn the place into a pickleball complex. Nobody made The Swamp into Bass Pro Shops. It’s still sacred ground. Instead, the Gators stumbled into a few decent consolation prizes. Like Steve Spurrier flinging it around the yard and Urban Meyer stacking trophies like they were Solo cups. Those weren’t exactly participation ribbons.

So now along comes another episode of “Coach Dreamboat Won’t Call Me Back,” featuring Kiffin as the one that got away.

Some Gator fans are carrying on like missing Lane is the seventh seal. Relax. If history proves anything in Gainesville, it’s that the ones you miss don’t get statues, and the ones you actually hire give you rings, headlines and a few nervous breakdowns along the way. Hang tight, Gator fans. The sky isn’t falling, it’s just another losing November.

You’ve struck out on bigger names than Lane Kiffin before and still found your way back to the top of the mountain. Missing Mr. Wonderful is not Armageddon. (He went to Shark Tank anyway.)

This is just another soap opera in the SEC. As The Gator World Turns. Florida fans, good lord, grab a glass of sweet tea and calm your collective selves.

You’d think missing out on one “golden boy” coach meant the Gators had to shutter the program, bulldoze The Swamp and hand the SEC over to Georgia in perpetuity. As in the past, when the Gators kept right on winning, losing, brawling and bragging, the show will go on. Just like we’ve been doing since leather helmets first started popping.

There is this matter of time which becomes an issue for seniors who have been hanging onto hope for a fourth natty since Urban Meyer did it in 2008.

Maybe Lane would have produced it, maybe not. Things cannot be preordained – just ask Brian Kelly. But perhaps for those generations who lived off the fumes of “Wait ‘Til Next Year,” we can just edit one word and make it “Wait ‘Til Next Generation.”

PS We’ve got until Saturday. Do you mean there’s still a chance? Guess not!