Adam Loewy is one of the top personal injury lawyers in Austin. Adam is a proud graduate of the University of Texas School of Law and started his law firm in 2005. Adam helps people who have been injured in car crashes, slip and falls, dog bites, and other assorted ways. He is actively involved in every case he handles and is always available to talk or text. If you or a loved one has been injured, call the Loewy Law Firm today at (512) 280-0800.
Everyone reading this column has followed sports long enough to recognize the smell of a hot seat. It does not begin with that initial press conference and a podium. You know, when a new coach stands in front of a rolls out a stack of campaign promises that would make seasoned politicians blush.
Culture change.
Discipline.
Championships.
The fan base devours every word like a college kid demolishing Whataburger at 1 a.m.
This is the guy.
This is the hire.
This is the savior.
The hot seat arrives a few seasons later when everyone realizes they accidentally hired the Andy Bernard of coaches.
The underachieving piles up. The excuses multiply. Every Saturday starts feeling like an elimination round of Survivor. That’s when you know: do-or-die season.
Remember when Charlie Strong promised to put the “T Back in Texas,” but instead put the “L Back in Losing”? Longhorn Nation bought in hard. The Florida Five were supposed to change everything. Instead, they delivered a Category Five of disappointment. There was the UCLA game where Texas gave up the ball to start both halves like it was a friendly gesture. Things got so sideways that @Ketchum once labeled Strong the Michael Scott of coaches — which, frankly, was generous considering the Scranton branch was actually profitable and moving paper. After 6–7 and 5–7 seasons, everyone knew what was at stake. By the time Kansas happened in 2016, staffers were packing their desks before the season finale because they knew what was coming.
Then came Tom Herman, who entered Austin like a bat out of hell. “Sit the F— up.” The infamous pee chart. Winners eat steak, losers eat burnt hot dogs. Middle fingers at cameras. A baseball bat walk-off from the bus. For a minute, it felt like Texas had hired a football coach and Vince McMahon. The Sugar Bowl win convinced everyone that the chaos equaled progress. It didn’t. One uneven 2020 later, Herman was gone, steak dinners and all.
Which brings us to Steve Sarkisian.
Sark isn’t entering this season on the hot seat. Not even close. His chair is colder than a metal folding seat left outside during a February ice storm. It would take a full-scale football apocalypse for Texas to even consider moving on. Short of hoisting a national championship trophy and deciding he’d rather coach on Sundays after this season, Sarkisian isn’t going anywhere.
So let’s be clear: Sarkisian isn’t on the hot seat.
But there is a pressure-cooker seat inside the building.
And it has nothing to do with job security — and everything to do with expectations.
Let’s be very clear — 2026 needs to be the year when Texas stops playing with its food and devours the competition like a steak from III Forks.
Sarkisian is about to enter his fifth season at Texas, and he is about to encounter more expectations than ever before. That does not mean if this team fails to live up to expectations, Sarkisian could be your Uber driver in 2027. It just means if Sarkisian falls short, he’ll be driving himself straight into a real hot seat next year.
Right now, Sarkisian has to deal with expectations, and we need to discuss what those expectations look like this year.
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