A message from Frank Howard

Sep 21, 2025, 7:39 AM

Keep Your Filthy Hands Off My Rock

I sat there Saturday and I couldn’t believe what I was watchin. Clemson football? Don’t fool yourself. That wasn’t Clemson football. That was a bunch of boys lettin Syracuse walk right into Death Valley and whip your tails in front of a packed house. Syracuse. First time they’ve ever left this place with a win. And you handed it to ‘em like a gift basket. You ought to be ashamed to look in the mirror.

Defense. Lord have mercy. You looked like a wet paper bag out there. Holes everywhere. Couldn’t tackle a scarecrow if it was standing still. Couldn’t stop the run. Couldn’t stop third down. Couldn’t stop nothin. You stood around like traffic cones while their backs ran circles around you. Don’t talk to me about schemes and new coaches. Football ain’t about schemes. Football’s about hittin somebody harder than he hits you. You ain’t doin that. You’re weak.

Recruiting? You used to bring in boys meaner than a rattlesnake in a mailbox. Now I see kids who look like they’re more worried about Instagram likes than knockin somebody’s teeth out. Depth is gone. Fire is gone. One lineman gets hurt and the whole team falls apart like a cheap suit. You don’t have killers anymore. You’ve got spectators in pads.

And your seniors? Your so-called leaders? Where are they? I don’t see one man takin charge. Not one man grabbin his teammates and draggin them through the mud to win a ballgame. Leaders don’t pout. Leaders don’t point fingers. Leaders bleed, crawl, claw, and fight. I don’t see any of that. I see a team full of ghosts wearin numbers.

And this offense — I don’t care if your quarterback throws for 500 yards. Who cares? You still lost. That’s pretty-boy football. Pretty stats. Empty yards. Doesn’t mean a #### thing if you can’t run the ball on third and one. Doesn’t mean a #### thing if your line can’t block long enough to let a play develop. Offense folds the second somebody actually punches them in the mouth.

Now let me remind you about that rock on the hill. That rock is sacred. That rock is the soul of this program. I said it before and I’ll say it again: If you’re not gonna give me 110 percent, keep your filthy hands off my rock. If you’re not gonna bleed for this team, if you’re not gonna leave every ounce of sweat on that field, don’t you dare touch it. Don’t even look at it. Right now, none of you boys have earned the right to lay a finger on it.

This ain’t Clemson football. Clemson football is mean. Clemson football is nasty. Clemson football is knockin a man down and daring him to get back up. Clemson football is discipline, toughness, and pride. Right now, you got none of it. You’re weak. You’re timid. And the whole d@ mn country sees it. Nobody fears you anymore. They circle you on the schedule because they know you won’t punch back.

So here’s your choice. You either wake the he££ up, or you keep gettin embarrassed. Stop talkin about tradition. Stop talkin about history. History don’t win games. Tough men do. You want to call yourselves Tigers? Then start playin like it. Or keep walking out of that tunnel with your heads down while teams like Syracuse laugh at you on your own field