Jedd Fisch -- Deny Today, Depart Tomorrow?

By Stalin

Ah, Jedd Fisch. The man with the suitcase always half-packed, the coach who’s chased the horizon from Gainesville to Seattle, collecting playbooks and paychecks like some gridiron nomad. You look at him now, prowling the sidelines at Husky Stadium, that sharp jaw set against the Lake Washington mist, and you think: Here’s a guy who’s maybe and finally found his spot.

But don’t kid yourself. In the brutal ballet of college football, where loyalty’s just another word for leverage, Fisch is plotting his next act. And take all the screenshots you need —he’ll be gone after the 2026 season, leaving the Washington Huskies to wonder if they've become a stepping stone for aspiring coaches.

Fisch's foray into Washington started with some promise, didn’t it? Plucked from Arizona in January 2024 after turning a desert dumpster fire into a 10-win blaze, Fisch signed on for seven years at $7.75 million a pop. The ink was barely dry when the whispers began. His buyout? A hefty $12 million cliff that’s tumbled to $10 million now, set to plummet to $6 million come January 9, 2026—like a door cracking open just wide enough for ambition to slip through.

He’s rebuilt the roster, sure, navigating the Big Ten with a 9-4 mark in ’25 — a record that perhaps seems impressive before digging beneath the surface of a soft schedule. But Fisch isn’t wired for the long haul. His resume reads like a roadmap of restlessness: grad assistant at Florida under Spurrier, NFL stints with the Broncos, Ravens, Texans, Seahawks—even a Michigan detour as Harbaugh’s quarterback whisperer from 2015-16. Fourteen jobs in as many spots since ’97. This ain’t a settler; this is a climber.

And oh, the temptations. Michigan’s job opened like a wound this fall, oozing blue blood, with rumors swirling that Fisch’s family never quite unpacked in Seattle. He swatted it away on KJR radio—“I’ll be coaching Washington in 2026”—but that’s the dance, isn’t it? Deny today, depart tomorrow. The Wolverines’ NIL war chest, the maize-and-blue legacy—it’s the siren call for a Jersey boy like Fisch, who cut his teeth in the pros (Be a Pro!) and craves that elite gleam.

Washington’s fine, a solid gig with Montlake views and a successful past. But in the NIL era, where rosters flip like pancakes and coaches chase the next fat extension, stability’s a sucker’s bet.

Come December 2026, after another bowl grind, Fisch will eye the exits. Maybe Florida calls, echoing his Gator roots. Or an NFL whisper pulls him back. He’ll leave graciously, of course—handshakes, platitudes, a trail of what-ifs. The Huskies? They’ll rebuild again, because that’s the game. Fisch isn’t a hero staying put; he’s the archetype, forever chasing the bigger field. In football’s cold calculus, heroes don’t linger. They move.