At 33 years old, Lane Kiffin was fired by late Oakland Raiders owner Al Davis in a fiery press conference, where Davis described Kiffin as a “flat-out liar” and “manipulator”, saying he brought “disgrace” to the organization.

In 2010, Kiffin left the University of Tennessee via a midnight exit from Knoxville. The Tennessee campus descended into chaos, with students burning mattresses in protest.

While at USC, Kiffin was pulled off the team bus at LAX in the middle of the night and fired on the airport tarmac.

After serving as Nick Saban’s offensive coordinator at Alabama, Kiffin—who had already accepted the head coaching job at Florida Atlantic—was fired by the greatest college football coach of all time before the 2016 national championship game.

And yet, last weekend, Kiffin had perhaps his most brazen and bizarre exit yet when he left behind an 11-1, College Football Playoff-bound Ole Miss team to take a job with conference rival LSU. According to reports, Kiffin gave Ole Miss an ultimatum, demanding that he coach through the end of the season or he would poach offensive staff and players before the CFP started. He later reportedly told his offensive coaches that they wouldn’t have spots on his LSU staff if they didn’t get on the plane to Baton Rouge.

For Kiffin, this wasn’t just a career move. It was his Hernán Cortés moment. Once he sees a better path, he doesn’t look back, and he doesn’t give you the option to talk him out of it.

Hernán Cortés was the Spanish conquistador responsible for conquering the Aztec Empire and building Mexico City, which secured Spain’s position in the New World. Cortés was known for his many conquests, but perhaps his most well-known act was the “burning of the boats.”

Around 1519, Cortés took a small army to the shores of Verecruz to take treasure from the Aztec Empire. The treasure had been defended for hundreds of years, despite various attempts from stronger armies. Before landing at shore, he explained to his men that what they would find would be greater than one person or group of people.

When the boats arrived at shore, and the men stood ready to fight for the treasure, Cortés made an unexpected move. Worried that his men might retreat or shrink when the fight got tough, legend has it that Cortés instructed his men to “burn the boats”, eliminating any chance at mutiny or turning back. Some historians refute the claims that Cortés and his men actually burned the boats, and instead stripped the boats, making them unseaworthy.

Cortés “burned the boats” so no one could turn back. Kiffin didn’t need fire, but his exit from Ole Miss accomplished the same goal. By leaving Ole Miss before a playoff run, issuing ultimatums, and demanding his staff leave or be left behind, he eliminated any goodwill or way back in one fell swoop.

With Kiffin, there’s no retreat. No half-measures. No maybes. Kiffin forces everyone to get on board with him or get lost. And he doesn’t seem to care about the mess he leaves behind. Kiffin’s Ole Miss exit was college football’s purest Hernán Cortés moment.

The circumstances surrounding LSU are unlike anything we have in college football.

There’s a primal energy that hums when night falls over Death Valley. Tailgates turn into full-blown celebrations. Home white jerseys gleam under the lights. And pure, uncut chaos never feels too far behind. It’s part Mardi Gras, part voodoo, and it’s all stitched into the very fabric of LSU Tiger football. It’s a spectacle—a bit like Broadway.

Like white rice in the middle of a bowl of gumbo, with that pageantry comes a heaping pile of expectations. Win, or they’ll find someone who can.

Kiffin, for better or worse, lives for the big moment. The heart-racing. The spectacular. The improbable and downright unbelievable. He’s both a football coach and a yogi. An offensive mastermind and a shit-stirrer. He’s also an A+ Internet troll. From rat poison to quote tweets, he’s never one to shy away from attention.

All of Kiffin’s characteristics make him a perfect fit for a place like Death Valley.

LSU recklessly spends money despite being one of the poorest states in the country. LSU doesn’t just win and lose; they do both spectacularly. Les Miles ate grass and called trick plays nobody else would dare call. Ed Orgeron was a caricature of Fred Flintstone and coached perhaps the greatest college football team of all-time. There was the JaMarcus Russell Hail Mary against Kentucky. The fake field goal against Florida. There’s Joe Burrow, Jayden Daniels, and the Honeybadger, just to name a few.

Everything about LSU football is a show. And Lane Kiffin is the sport’s greatest showman.

There’s a good chance this marriage ends in flames. With Kiffin, there are no amicable breakups. But maybe that’s the point.

LSU doesn’t want safe. They don’t want polite. Or predictable. That’s not what LSU is or what it ever will be. They want a coach with reckless abandon, one who will win at all costs. Because in The Bayou, that’s all that matters. Win, or they’ll find someone who can.

Kiffin burned the boats on his way out of Oxford. LSU brought the matches. Now, we get to find out if his next conquest will be the stuff of legend or go up in smoke.

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