The Three Most Surprising Coaching Moves In Modern College Sports: Part 2 (The Decisions & The Aftermath)

Last week, we explored the winding paths that led Gene Bartow, Gary Andersen, and Jeff Jagodzinski to their respective crossroads. Each coach had built a strong reputation in his own right: Bartow as the man tasked with doing the impossible by replacing John Wooden at UCLA, Andersen as the fiery program builder caught in the politics of a Big Ten powerhouse, and Jagodzinski as the rising offensive mind hungry for a different challenge. Yet, despite their accomplishments, each faced a defining decision that would alter not only their careers but also the programs they left behind.

This week, we look at those decisions, the moments that pushed them there, and the aftermath. What drove these men and what did they hope to gain? And how did their choices shape their legacies?

Gene Bartow and the Weight of the Wooden Shadow

In two short years at UCLA, Gene Bartow compiled an .852 winning percentage, made multiple deep tournament runs, and appeared poised to cement himself as one of the most successful coaches in the country. At almost any other school, that résumé would have made him a legend. Unfortunately, Bartow’s greatest accomplishment was also his greatest burden: he was the man who had to follow John Wooden.

Bartow never seemed fully comfortable under the Southern California spotlight. He was from Missouri, more reserved than glamorous, and had thrived at smaller programs like Memphis State, where his teams were gritty and well-coached but never subject to the level of scrutiny that existed at UCLA. He won 52 of his first 61 games, yet the fan base viewed him as a caretaker rather than an heir. Every loss was dissected as a betrayal of the Wooden legacy. Every substitution was questioned. The joy of the job quickly gave way to exhaustion.

At the same time, UCLA had its own discomfort. The school and its boosters were not ready to let go of the mythic era that had defined them for more than a decade. Winning was expected, not celebrated. In that environment, Bartow’s success somehow felt insufficient. The tension between coach and community grew until both sides wanted relief.

That relief came in the form of a phone call from the University of Alabama at Birmingham. The twist was that UAB did not even have an athletics program. Bartow would be both athletic director and the head basketball coach of a team that had never existed. It was a blank slate and an enormous risk.

After several weeks of internal debate, Bartow said yes. He left Los Angeles for Birmingham and traded packed arenas for empty gyms. What he built from there became one of the great success stories in college basketball history. In his 18 years at UAB, Bartow led the Blazers to multiple NCAA Tournament appearances, including a Sweet Sixteen and an Elite Eight. He established an identity for the program that still carries weight today, and the school eventually named its on-campus arena after him.

Gary Andersen and the Principle of Departure

Gary Andersen’s story is one of principle, frustration, and perhaps stubbornness. By the time he left Wisconsin in December 2014, his program had won 19 of its previous 24 games and had just appeared in the Big Ten Championship. Yet only four days after losing that game, Andersen packed up and left for Oregon State.

To outsiders, it made no sense. Wisconsin was a perennial conference contender, flush with resources, tradition, and fan support. Oregon State was none of those things. The salary was about the same, the facilities were a step down, and the path to national relevance was far steeper. Reporters were baffled. Wisconsin fans were furious.

Andersen later revealed that his breaking point came from Wisconsin’s admissions policies. The university refused to admit several of his preferred recruits, particularly junior college players, citing academic standards that were stricter than those at other Big Ten schools. Andersen felt undermined. He saw his roster ceiling limited by bureaucracy and believed he could not win the way he wanted under those constraints.

When Oregon State called, he listened. He accepted the job without even visiting the campus or meeting the athletic director in person. To Andersen, it was not about money or prestige. It was about control.

The move turned out to be disastrous. Andersen went 7–23 at Oregon State, including an 0–9 conference record in his final season. He was fired midway through year three and declined to take the remaining guaranteed money from his contract. He later returned to Utah State but lasted less than two seasons.

Looking back, it is hard to say whether Andersen’s decision was brave or impulsive. It was certainly bold. He chose autonomy over comfort, and in doing so, he may have sabotaged what could have been a long, stable career at one of the best-run programs in the country. For Andersen, it seems the principle mattered more than the result.

Jeff Jagodzinski and the Interview that Changed Everything

If Bartow’s choice was about peace and Andersen’s about control, Jeff Jagodzinski’s was about ambition. In January 2009, Jagodzinski was the 45-year-old head coach of Boston College, coming off back-to-back nine-win seasons and an ACC title appearance. His stock was soaring, and he had already earned a reputation as one of football’s brightest offensive minds.

Then the New York Jets called. They wanted to interview him for their head coaching vacancy. Boston College athletic director Gene DeFilippo warned Jagodzinski not to do it, saying the program needed stability and that interviewing would be viewed as disloyal. Jagodzinski, confident he could manage both opportunities, took the interview anyway.

The next day, Boston College fired him.

The Jets chose Rex Ryan, and Jagodzinski was suddenly without a job. His gamble for an NFL future backfired immediately. Within months, he was hired as offensive coordinator for the Tampa Bay Buccaneers under Raheem Morris, but that stint lasted less than one preseason. He was fired before the regular season even began.

His next stop came in the fledgling United Football League, where he coached the Omaha Nighthawks. He lasted one season there, too. In just three years, Jagodzinski had been dismissed from positions in college football, the NFL, and a professional startup league.

The consequences were career-ending. He never again held a major coaching job at the college or NFL level. Boston College, meanwhile, has not reached the same national relevance since his departure. His decision to chase the Jets opportunity, however understandable, remains one of the great cautionary tales of coaching overreach.

Lessons from the Fringe

In college sports, decisions are never made in a vacuum. Just look at Brian Kelly’s recent firing. They are shaped by a tangled mix of personal ambition, politics, loyalty, and the weight of public money and impatient boosters. 

The stories of Bartow, Andersen, and Jagodzinski remind us that even the most baffling choices often have emotional logic behind them, no matter how irrational they may appear from the outside. It is a good reminder as the coaching carousel spins again this year, with some of the most high-profile jobs in recent memory about to open.

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