For most of its 138-year history, Indiana football didn’t just lose — it specialized in it. With the most losses in Division I history and the worst Big Ten winning percentage on record, being a Hoosier football fan was an exercise in endurance.
In 1997, Indiana student Galen Clavio received six free football tickets in his dorm mailbox — a common incentive because few cared enough to show up. “Being an Indiana football fan felt like being in a small club that no one wanted to join,” he recalls.
This is basketball country, after all. In a state where high school gyms seat 9,000 and “Hoosiers” is cinematic gospel, football always played second fiddle. The program’s lone brush with glory came in 1967’s Rose Bowl loss to USC.
That’s why what’s happening in Bloomington in 2025 feels almost surreal. Under head coach Curt Cignetti, the Hoosiers have gone from forgotten to formidable — rising to No. 2 in the AP Poll, winning 18 games in 18 months, and packing Memorial Stadium for eight straight sellouts.
Cignetti’s journey is as improbable as Indiana’s. A career builder who climbed from Division II to James Madison before taking over in Bloomington, he came armed with one message: “I win. Google me.” And he wasn’t bluffing.
From day one, he imposed structure, recruited hungry transfers — players with something to prove — and turned IU into one of college football’s most efficient, balanced teams. His quarterback, Fernando Mendoza, a transfer once overlooked by major programs, now finds himself in the Heisman race.
Athletic director Scott Dolson, a lifelong Hoosier who grew up under Bob Knight’s basketball empire, deserves quiet credit for seeing what others missed. Rather than chasing big names, he studied what worked elsewhere and hired a proven winner. When Cignetti delivered, Dolson didn’t wait — locking him down with an eight-year, $93 million extension.
Now, in a twist decades in the making, Indiana isn’t hoping to win — it expects to. With a favorable schedule ahead and a potential Big Ten Championship showdown looming, even the faithful can barely believe it.
As fans flood Nick’s English Hut singing victory anthems that once belonged to basketball season, one truth stands out: Indiana football no longer needs to borrow joy from the hardwood.
Energy. Belief. Hope.
For the first time in living memory, Bloomington has all three — and they’re wearing helmets instead of sneakers.
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