Carlos Locklyn’s decision to forgo a reported \$2 million-plus offer from Penn State in order to remain at Ohio State in 2025 epitomizes the concept of loyalty in modern college football—a sport in which coaching decisions are as much about personal relationships and philosophical alignment as they are about pure financial gain. What makes Locklyn’s choice especially striking is not simply the sum he turned down, but the context in which he did so: less than two years into his tenure at Ohio State, having already passed up a legitimate opportunity at yet another power program—all in the name of allegiance to Ryan Day, his players, and a vision he believes in.
Locklyn joined Ohio State in April 2024 as the running backs coach after stints at Western Kentucky and Oregon, where he earned a reputation for elite relationship-building, player development, and a gritty coaching ideology built around accountability and discipline. At Oregon, he helped craft one of the nation’s most productive ground attacks, molding backs like Bucky Irving into consistent 1,000‑yard rushers. His approach caught Ryan Day’s eye, who called Locklyn “an absolute slam dunk hire”—someone who brought uncapped potential both on and off the field.
From the start, Locklyn set a tone at Ohio State that reflected his belief that running backs are often undercoached. He bluntly declared the position “the worst coached in football,” denouncing the practice of hiring mere recruiters rather than true position coaches with vision and technique. His philosophy, dubbed “soft‑batched cookies”—a Memphis‑inspired metaphor for toughness—quickly became part of his identity as he preached that players mirror whatever energy their coach brings to practice ([Eleven Warriors].
In his debut season, Locklyn coached TreVeyon Henderson and Quinshon Judkins to over 1,000 rushing yards each, making them only the third pair of Buckeyes backs ever to achieve that stat in the same season ([Eleven Warriors]. The crowning achievement came in the 2025 Rose Bowl, where Ohio State hammered No. 1‑seeded Oregon 41–21 and secured a national championship—Locklyn’s first in Columbus, further solidifying his value within the program.
Still, the coaching carousel never rests. After hearing reports that Penn State offered Locklyn a staggering \$2 million annually—a massive leap even in the high‑stakes world of Power Five assistants—some assumed Penn State had finally landed what every Big Ten foe covets: top-tier coaching talent at a critical position group. But Locklyn, according to multiple insiders and statements surrounding the offer, declined. Instead, he chose to recommit to Ohio State. While the exact wording of his public comments is sparse, the sentiment echoed what he’s said and lived since landing in Columbus: loyalty over lucrative temptation.
There are layers to his decision. First, he’s part of a program in the ascendant, having captured a national title within months of his arrival. The momentum at Ohio State, combined with the recruiting infrastructure and championship aspirations he shares with Day, offered a more compelling professional home than isn’t just flashy—it’s substantive. As Day put it when hiring him, Locklyn had unmatched knowledge of the position and impact in recruiting—skills he felt cells him as more than just a coach: a builder of relationships and culture.
Second, trusting relationships matter deeply to Locklyn. Descriptions from peers and email screens show he’s not the kind of coach who hops from gig to gig unless the fit is perfect. He’s spoken about coaching through the lens of service—a “logo” of the faith he carries every day, and a duty to pour into young men with authenticity and consistency . That mindset runs against a transactional approach to coaching, and it resonated with Ohio State fans and staff alike, who embraced him early on as more than a recruiter but a mentor and disciplinarian.
Third, context matters. In April 2025, Locklyn found himself embroiled in a legal dispute with his alma maters: Oregon sued him for alleged breach of contract, demanding nearly \$400,000 (plus interest) in buyout money after he left Eugene for Columbus in 2024, despite Ohio State paying \$200,000 on his behalf—and Locklyn personally sending the same amount—an agreement Oregon later rejected in court filings. Being in the middle of litigation may have influenced his appetite to uproot again so soon. Why risk the turbulence of yet another move while the first remains unresolved?
Whatever the legal machinations, the bottom line is clear: he’s betting on his current staff and work in Columbus. That kind of extended loyalty is rare: a coach who declines a Conference rival’s escalated offer not because he’s contractually bound, but because he feels where he is is the best place for what he wants to build.
That choice didn’t come without reaction. Views across social media display a divided fan base. Buckeyes supporters celebrated the retention, pointing to his infectious energy and recruiting prowess. One Reddit user noted optimistically, “Year one it already looks as if Locklyn is going to have his way in recruiting at OSU”. On the other side, some Oregon fans viewed Locklyn’s refusal of Penn State as a lack of follow‑through on “toughness” rhetoric—or worse, a softening of the loyalty charge he wielded while recruiting players at Oregon. Debates flared: did he really turn down a multi‑million dollar contract, or did the offer exist only in speculation? The truth is he stayed put—and that’s a talking point hard to ignore.
Locklyn’s story, ironically, mirrors the circuitous nature of modern assistant coaches. His career began at Memphis high schools, where he served as an offensive coordinator before working at Memphis, Florida State, Western Kentucky, and then Oregon. At each stop, he developed a reputation for finding under‑the‑radar talent, emphasizing accountability, and building emotional trust with players . That trust became the currency he sold—to athletes, to head coaches, and ultimately, to himself as he decided whether to chase money or legacy.
Turning down Penn State’s alleged offer wasn’t just about the dollars—it was about staying in a place where he had influence, where the staff and players knew his style, and where he had delivered immediately. Ohio State rewarded him handsomely already—\$650,000 in base salary plus \$227,500 in bonuses for the national title season—but more than that, they treated him as an extension of their ethos.
Players like Henderson and Judkins praised his regimen, his expectations, and his uncompromising standard. In spring practices of 2025, the next wave of backs—Peoples, Donaldson, and others—are already feeling the impact of his coaching: every rep intentional, every detail critical, energy reflective of their coach’s mindset. He’d built continuity: a culture he started in early‑2024, a family of backs who know who “Lock” is, what he expects, and how to respond. Penn State, in contrast, would have been new, uncharted territory—perhaps financially lucrative, but devoid of the same relational and cultural foundation he’d painstakingly built.
This decision also has broader implications. It signals to future assistants that loyalty and vision can compete with money, even in an era of rapid coaching turnover. It signals to recruits that the person teaching them the fundamentals believes in more than just a payday. And it signals to rival programs that Ohio State is not just paying for coaches—they are investing in coaches with staying power.
In refusing that \$2 million pay bump, Locklyn made a statement: his place—and his people—are where he belongs. That’s not a narrative you hear every day when assistants jump jobs with the first seven-figure contract thrown their way. Locklyn’s approach may prove to be better for his legacy: first season, first national title; first big offer, and first refusal. That kind of arc doesn’t just build résumés—it builds respect, continuity, and a foundation for sustainable excellence.
He remains under contract at Ohio State—which suits him. His buyout situation with Oregon may still play out in court, but his head is clearly buried in Columbus, not in legal drama. His direction is clear: build the running backs room, win more titles, recruit elite talent, and elevate the position among his peers. He’s not chasing money; he’s doubling down on mission.
In the cutthroat world of college football coaching, where multi‑million‑dollar offers can cause instant turnover, Carlos Locklyn’s choice to stay put at Ohio State—even as Penn State reportedly offered two million a year—stands out as an act of conviction. He put loyalty, familiarity, and belief in a program over financial self‑interest. In one sense, it’s impressive. In another, it’s simply Locklyn being Locklyn: a coach who says “I coach this position”—not because of the money, but because he cares about who he coaches, how he coaches them, and where they’re going.
