Montana Tech LOSING 28 Seniors?! Coach Samson Calls It “Fun” As Team Faces Full-On Football Crisis!

Well, well, well.

Just when you thought college football was all about consistency, grit, and building dynasties, along comes Montana Tech to remind us that sometimes a program looks more like a clearance rack at a yard sale than a polished powerhouse.

With 28 seniors from last season’s roster gone, poof, vanished, probably off to start real jobs or just brag about their “glory days” at barbecues, Coach Kyle Samson is staring down the barrel of one of the biggest roster overhauls in college football history.

And his reaction? Pure denial dressed as optimism.

“I think it’s awesome,” Samson gushed, with the same forced enthusiasm most people reserve for being told their in-laws are moving in permanently.

Yes, nothing screams “awesome” like realizing nearly your entire team just left and you’re about to open the season on August 28 with more question marks than a middle school math test.

Fans, of course, are panicking, because the Orediggers don’t exactly have the reputation of being the Alabama of the Frontier Conference.

They’ve been scrappy, sure, but this situation has “dumpster fire” written all over it.

A whopping 28 seniors? That’s not just a graduation ceremony.

That’s a mass exodus.

It’s like the football team ran off to join the circus or took jobs as extras on “Yellowstone. ”

Whatever the reason, Montana Tech is basically left holding the clipboard with no one around to use it.

“We’ve got plenty of job openings,” Samson said proudly, as if he were hiring at a fast-food chain rather than trying to cobble together a Division I-caliber squad.

One local fan summed it up perfectly on social media: “This isn’t a football team.

It’s an open casting call. ”

But let’s give Samson some credit.

The man is spinning harder than a politician at a press conference.

He’s painting this disaster as “fun,” which is the same way gym teachers describe dodgeball right before a kid takes a rubber ball to the face and cries.

He insists it’s a “great challenge” for coaches, which is adorable, because nothing says “great challenge” like trying to explain to boosters why your offensive line looks like a collection of borrowed mannequins from JCPenney.

“We want to put guys in a position to be successful,” Samson said, which is coach-speak for “we’re duct-taping this thing together and praying.”

Meanwhile, the Frontier Conference rivals are already licking their chops.

Imagine being Carroll College or Montana Western right now.

You’re looking at Montana Tech like a wounded gazelle hobbling through the Serengeti.

The Orediggers’ depth chart is thinner than Whoopi Goldberg’s patience on live TV.

Opponents are already drawing up plays that look less like football and more like feeding time at the zoo.

And let’s not forget the date: August 28.

That’s basically tomorrow in football terms.

It’s like planning a wedding when you don’t even have a fiancé yet.

The most brutal part? Even the fans can’t decide whether to laugh, cry, or just start rooting for Montana Western.

Message boards are full of hot takes, with one commenter writing, “This is the Hunger Games of football camps.

May the odds be ever in your favor, gentlemen. ”

Another compared it to American Idol: “At this point, Samson should just hold auditions with Simon Cowell at the 50-yard line. ”

And honestly, they’re not wrong.

With that many spots open, any warm body with cleats could probably snag a role.

Got decent cardio? Congrats, you’re starting cornerback.

Own a helmet? Boom, offensive tackle.

And let’s talk about the psychology here.

What kind of coach calls a crisis “fun”? Either Samson is delusionally optimistic, or he’s one motivational speech away from launching his second career as a TED Talk guru.

Some insiders suggest he’s putting on a brave face for recruits, trying to sell them on the idea that playing for Montana Tech is less about tradition and more about being part of a chaotic startup.

“This is like Silicon Valley, but for football,” joked one former alum.

“You don’t join for stability.

You join because you’re either crazy or desperate.”

Of course, there’s also the rumor mill, and it’s churning faster than Samson can say “awesome. ”

Whispers are swirling that the Orediggers might have to rely on freshman walk-ons to fill nearly half the roster.

One unverified source claims the team is scouting intramural flag football players, while another swears they’ve been eyeing the marching band for “athletic potential. ”

Imagine a tuba player lining up at defensive end.

It sounds absurd, but at this point, would anyone be shocked?

Meanwhile, boosters are nervously clutching their checkbooks.

Last year’s seniors—the golden class, the backbone of the squad—were supposed to pave the way for stability.

Instead, their absence feels like a college football version of the Titanic.

And Samson? He’s out here with a bucket, telling everyone it’s “fun” while the iceberg has already done its damage.

“We’re confident in our process,” he added, in what might go down as the biggest understatement since someone called the moon landing “a neat achievement.”

But here’s the kicker.

Despite all this chaos, Montana Tech fans are weirdly excited.

Why? Because this mess guarantees drama.

It guarantees unpredictability.

And in the soap opera that is small-conference college football, unpredictability is basically currency.

Nobody tunes in to watch a perfectly polished dynasty steamroll everyone.

They tune in to watch fumbles, busted plays, and the occasional miracle upset.

If Montana Tech pulls off even a halfway decent season, it’ll be legendary.

If they crash and burn? Even better—because nothing brings people together like a shared catastrophe.

And let’s be honest: this storyline is basically begging for Netflix to swoop in.

“Last Chance U: Orediggers Edition” practically writes itself.

Picture it: gritty shots of Butte, Montana, Coach Samson giving tearful pep talks in empty locker rooms, players introducing themselves like it’s a reality show audition.

One fan even pitched a title: “28 Seniors Gone: The Day the Orediggers Died. ”

Harsh? Maybe.

Accurate? Absolutely.

But hey, let’s not count Samson out entirely.

The man does have a point.

A wide-open roster means opportunity.

Somewhere in this chaos might be the next breakout star, the guy who steps up when everyone else doubted him.

It’s the stuff football movies are made of—though, admittedly, most football movies don’t begin with losing almost three dozen players in one offseason.

Still, crazier things have happened.

(Okay, not much crazier, but you get the idea.)

So where does this leave us? Montana Tech is either on the brink of a miracle season or a spectacular implosion, and honestly, both outcomes sound entertaining.

Coach Samson is clinging to his “fun” narrative like it’s a life raft, while fans are already drafting memes for the inevitable losses.

The season opener on August 28 is shaping up to be less of a football game and more of a live-action stress test.

And the Orediggers? They’re about to find out if you can rebuild Rome in a single fall camp.

Spoiler: probably not.

But it’ll be a hell of a show watching them try.

One thing is certain: if you’re looking for polished perfection, look elsewhere.

If you want drama, chaos, and the sports equivalent of reality TV, Montana Tech is your team this year.

So grab your popcorn, folks.

Because whether the Orediggers rise from the ashes or collapse in spectacular fashion, it’s going to be the kind of season people will talk about for decades.

And for Samson? Well, if he pulls it off, he’ll look like a genius.

If he doesn’t, he’ll still have a career waiting for him—probably as a motivational speaker, selling the idea that losing 28 seniors is “awesome.”

Now that’s what I call a rebuilding year.