Marcus Freeman, the head coach of Notre Dame football, is more than just a tactician on the sidelines or a recruiter in living rooms—he’s a teacher, a guardian of legacy, and a man who understands that winning on the field is only part of the battle. In a moment of candor that surprised many but resonated deeply with those tied to the tradition-rich program, Freeman recently voiced a concern that went beyond X’s and O’s or national rankings. His message was blunt and heartfelt: today’s youth don’t know enough about Irish history. And in Freeman’s world, that isn’t just a footnote—it’s a fundamental problem.
Freeman’s statement, made during a press availability following a spring practice, caught immediate attention. In a world where conversations about NIL deals, conference realignments, and draft stock dominate the headlines, it was jarring to hear a coach speak about institutional memory. Yet for those who truly understand what Notre Dame football represents, Freeman’s comments were anything but off-topic. In fact, they may have struck at the core of the program’s identity. “When I talk to some of our players, some recruits, even fans,” Freeman said, “I realize there’s a real lack of awareness of what this program was built on—of the people, the moments, the sacrifices that shaped this place. That’s something we can’t afford to lose.”
His concern is not about nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake. For Freeman, history is instructive. Notre Dame’s legacy isn’t just something to be honored; it’s something to be learned from and carried forward. At a time when the college football landscape is shifting rapidly—fueled by television contracts, player mobility, and the professionalization of the amateur ranks—Freeman sees the story of Notre Dame as a stabilizing force, a compass that can guide his team through turbulent waters.
The story of Notre Dame football is indeed one of the richest in sports. From the “Four Horsemen” of the 1920s to Knute Rockne’s legendary halftime speeches, from Ara Parseghian’s golden years to Lou Holtz’s revival in the late 1980s, the program has never just been about wins—it’s been about mythology, resilience, and character. It has stood, often defiantly, at the intersection of faith, academics, and athletic excellence. Yet, as Freeman points out, many of the players putting on the gold helmets today don’t fully grasp the depth of that heritage. “We show them highlights,” Freeman said. “We talk about tradition. But it’s surface-level. They might know the Gipper speech, but do they know who George Gipp was? Do they understand what it meant to play for Rockne? Or the cultural battles this program has fought throughout its history?”
It’s a fair question. Today’s college athlete is often thrust into the spotlight before stepping on campus. With recruiting videos, media attention, and NIL opportunities, many come to South Bend with a platform already built. But a platform without foundation can collapse. Freeman’s point is that for a program like Notre Dame, rooted in faith, discipline, and mission, history isn’t an accessory—it’s the bedrock. His role, as he sees it, is to reinforce that truth in an era where so much feels transient.
To that end, Freeman has begun making tangible changes. Players are now given curated reading material about Notre Dame’s past. Visits to the campus library and the Basilica of the Sacred Heart are encouraged. Films like Wake Up the Echoes and documentaries about the program’s early years have become required viewing during summer conditioning. Freeman even invites former players and legendary figures to speak to the team—not just about football, but about legacy, identity, and responsibility. “We’re not just developing athletes,” Freeman explained. “We’re developing men who need to know what jersey they’re wearing and why it matters.”
His efforts have started to bear fruit. Junior linebacker Nolan Ziegler, when asked about Freeman’s push for historical awareness, admitted he hadn’t known much about Notre Dame’s early years until recently. “Honestly, I came here for the academics and the football,” Ziegler said. “But hearing Coach Freeman talk, and learning about the stories, about the role this school played even during the civil rights era or in World War II… it’s deeper than I thought. It makes you want to play harder. For something bigger than just yourself.”
The broader community has taken notice as well. Alumni groups have applauded Freeman’s emphasis on education and preservation. The Notre Dame Monogram Club has reportedly begun compiling a historical mentorship program that pairs current players with alumni who can offer insight not only into professional life but also the significance of what it means to be a Notre Dame athlete. For a school so steeped in Catholic tradition and academic rigor, this renaissance of remembrance feels perfectly timed.
Still, Freeman’s approach is not without its critics. Some argue that the modern game leaves little room for history lessons. Between class schedules, practice, and the ever-growing expectations surrounding NIL branding, time is a luxury. Others feel that focusing too much on the past can distract from the urgency of the present. But Freeman sees no conflict. To him, understanding history is a means of enhancing performance, not hindering it. “If you don’t know where you come from,” he said, “how do you know where you’re going?”
That mindset aligns closely with the very philosophy that made Notre Dame a national icon in the first place. When Father Edward Sorin founded the university in 1842, it was with a vision of greatness—a place where faith and intellect, strength and character, would coexist. That same spirit animated Rockne, Parseghian, Holtz, and now Freeman. But the burden of preserving that vision cannot rest solely on administrators or plaques in the stadium. It must live in the players themselves.
Freeman knows that legacy is a fragile thing. It doesn’t pass from one generation to the next by accident. It must be tended to, spoken aloud, embodied. For a program like Notre Dame, which has never simply measured success in national championships but in the character of its graduates and the impact of its presence, history is not an optional course—it’s a prerequisite for greatness. As the Irish prepare for yet another season under Freeman’s guidance, the usual questions abound: How strong is the quarterback play? Can the defense hold up against top-tier offenses? But there’s a deeper question that Freeman is asking within his locker room: Do you know who came before you? And do you care enough to honor them every time you wear that jersey?
It’s a bold challenge. And one that speaks to Freeman’s unique blend of old-school values and modern sensibility. He’s not trying to make his players into historians. He’s trying to remind them that being part of Notre Dame isn’t a transaction—it’s a tradition. One built over nearly 150 years, with blood, grit, and unshakable purpose. If his players can understand that, Freeman believes, the wins will follow. But more importantly, they’ll leave South Bend as better men—men who know not just how to play the game, but why it matters.
In an era where college football is constantly evolving—becoming more commercial, more individualistic—Marcus Freeman is pulling his program in the opposite direction. He’s going deeper, not wider. He’s building not just a roster, but a brotherhood. And he’s betting that a team grounded in knowledge, respect, and legacy will be the kind of team that can truly endure.
So when Freeman says today’s youth don’t know enough about Irish history, he’s not wagging a finger—he’s issuing an invitation. An invitation to learn, to listen, to become part of something far greater than oneself. Because at Notre Dame, football isn’t just a sport. It’s a story. And Freeman is determined to make sure that story continues to be told—with clarity, with purpose, and with pride.
