After nearly four decades of Saturday mornings spent making picks and donning mascot heads, Lee Corso — at 90 years old — stepped away from College GameDay in Columbus, Ohio, the same city where his beloved headgear tradition was born in 1996. His final prediction, a thunderous endorsement of Ohio State over Texas, arrived not with ceremony but with characteristic candor, leaked before the cameras even rolled. There is something quietly profound in the arc of a man who spent forty years not merely analyzing a sport, but becoming part of its seasonal rhythm — a reminder that the rituals we buil
Corso Picks Ohio State in Blowout Before Final 'GameDay' Appearance
Ohio State big, big, big — in a big blowout
Mark
So Corso leaked his pick before the show even started. Why would he do that?
Mimi
He was talking to Kirk Herbstreit in a pre-show clip, and Kirk asked him directly if he had a secret. Corso just answered honestly — Ohio State big, big, big, in a blowout. It wasn't some calculated leak; it was just him being himself.
Luke
But we should note that we only know about this because Herbstreit shared the clip on social media. It wasn't an official broadcast moment. The actual headgear pick still happened on air.
Mark
The headgear tradition — that's what people remember about Corso, right?
Mimi
Absolutely. He started it in 1996, almost by accident. He asked a cheerleader for the Brutus head before an Ohio State-Penn State game, put it on, and the crowd went wild. It became the thing.
Luke
And now his last pick is with the same mascot head, in the same city, nearly thirty years later. That's real symmetry, not manufactured.
Mark
Why does this moment feel so significant? It's just a retirement.
Mimi
Because Corso didn't just appear on a show for forty years. He shaped how people experience college football on Saturday mornings. GameDay became what it is partly because of him.
Luke
Though we should be careful not to overstate his individual impact. GameDay was already a major production before Corso's headgear tradition started. The tradition enhanced it, but the show was already there.
Mark
What happens to the headgear tradition after he's gone?
Mimi
That's the real question. Does someone else take it over? Does it retire with him? Nobody's said yet.
Luke
Right. The source material doesn't tell us what ESPN's plans are for the tradition going forward. That's still open.
Der Puls
- At 90, Corso arrived at his final broadcast already having given away his pick — 'Ohio State big, big, big — in a big blowout' — as if the occasion was too large to contain within the usual format.
- The weight of finality transformed a routine college football preview show into something closer to a public farewell, with the game itself almost secondary to the goodbye unfolding on set.
- The headgear tradition — born spontaneously in 1996 when Corso grabbed a Brutus Buckeye mascot head before a Penn State game — had grown into one of college football's most recognizable rituals over three decades.
- The closing symmetry was striking: Corso's final pick would be Brutus Buckeye, in Columbus, at a top-three matchup, nearly thirty years after the same mascot and the same city gave the tradition its spark.
- Millions who had built their autumn Saturdays around his voice and enthusiasm were left watching not just a prediction, but the handoff of an era to whoever comes next.
After nearly four decades of Saturday mornings spent making picks and donning mascot heads, Lee Corso — at 90 years old — stepped away from College GameDay in Columbus, Ohio, the same city where his beloved headgear tradition was born in 1996. His final prediction, a thunderous endorsement of Ohio State over Texas, arrived not with ceremony but with characteristic candor, leaked before the cameras even rolled. There is something quietly profound in the arc of a man who spent forty years not merely analyzing a sport, but becoming part of its seasonal rhythm — a reminder that the rituals we build around the games we love can outlast the games themselves.
Lee Corso arrived at his final College GameDay broadcast on a Saturday morning in Columbus with his secret already loose. Before ESPN's cameras went live for the season-opening clash between No. 1 Texas and No. 3 Ohio State, the 90-year-old analyst had already told Kirk Herbstreit his pick in a clip circulating across social media. "Ohio State big, big, big — in a big blowout," he said, the prediction spilling out before he even reached for the mascot head that had defined his career.
Course had been a fixture on College GameDay since 1987, nearly four decades of Saturday mornings spent in the middle of college football's biggest moments. But the headgear tradition that made him iconic didn't begin until 1996 — nine years into his tenure — when he quietly asked a Buckeyes cheerleader to hand him the Brutus mascot head before Ohio State faced Penn State. When he put it on, the crowd erupted. Something clicked, and a tradition was born that would shape the show for the next thirty years.
Now the circle was closing in the same place it had opened. His final headgear pick would be Brutus Buckeye, in Columbus, at a game that genuinely mattered. The symmetry felt almost scripted — the same mascot, the same city, nearly three decades later.
What set this Saturday apart wasn't the matchup, significant as it was. It was the finality. Corso had spent forty years becoming part of the seasonal fabric of college football, his enthusiasm and his picks a ritual for millions of fans. The headgear had endured not because it was a gimmick, but because it was genuine — a man unafraid to show how much he loved the game. As the broadcast prepared to go live, everyone understood they were watching something more than a preview show. They were watching a goodbye.
Lee Corso walked into his final College GameDay broadcast on Saturday morning in Columbus with a secret already out. Before ESPN's cameras went live at 9 a.m. ET for the season-opening clash between No. 1 Texas and No. 3 Ohio State, the 90-year-old analyst had already told Kirk Herbstreit exactly how he was going to pick the game. In a five-minute clip shared across social media, Herbstreit asked if Corso had anything to reveal about the matchup. Corso didn't hesitate. "Ohio State big, big, big — in a big blowout," he said, the prediction tumbling out before he could even reach for the headgear that had become his signature move.
It was a fitting way to begin the end. Corso had been the face of College GameDay since 1987, nearly four decades of Saturday mornings spent analyzing college football's biggest games. But Saturday was different. This was the last time he would stand on that set, the last time he would make a pick, the last time he would put on a mascot head and let the crowd's reaction wash over him. At 90 years old, after all those years, he was stepping away.
The headgear tradition itself had become as much a part of college football as the games themselves. It didn't start until 1996, nine years into Corso's tenure on GameDay. Before Ohio State faced Penn State that year, Corso quietly approached a Buckeyes cheerleader and asked her to hand him the Brutus mascot head. When he put it on during his pick, the crowd erupted. Something clicked. A tradition was born, and it would define the show for the next three decades.
Now, nearly thirty years later, the circle was closing in the same place it had begun. Corso's final headgear pick would be Brutus Buckeye, in Columbus, Ohio, at a game that mattered — a top-three matchup to open the season. The symmetry was almost too perfect, as if the script had been written long ago and was only now reaching its final scene. He had started with this mascot head in 1996, and he would end with it in 2025, the tradition coming full circle in the same city where it had taken root.
What made Saturday different from any other GameDay broadcast was the weight of finality. Corso wasn't just making a pick; he was closing a chapter that had shaped how millions of people watched college football. For nearly four decades, his voice had been part of the rhythm of the season, his enthusiasm infectious, his picks a ritual. The headgear had become iconic not because it was clever or gimmicky, but because it represented something genuine — a man who loved the game and wasn't afraid to show it.
The Texas-Ohio State matchup itself was significant enough to warrant the attention. Two of the nation's best teams, meeting in Week 1 with playoff implications already hanging in the air. But on this Saturday, the game was almost secondary to what was happening on the set. Everyone knew what they were really watching: the end of an era. Corso's prediction of an Ohio State blowout would be his last official pick on the show, delivered not in the usual way but leaked beforehand, as if even the format had to bend to accommodate the occasion.
As the broadcast prepared to go live, the anticipation wasn't just about which team would win or how the game would unfold. It was about witnessing a goodbye from someone who had become woven into the fabric of college football itself. Corso had spent nearly forty years building something that would outlast him, and now, on a Saturday morning in Columbus, he was preparing to hand it off to whoever came next.
Bemerkenswerte Zitate
Ohio State big, big, big — in a big blowout— Lee Corso, predicting the Texas-Ohio State game
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