TAMPA, Fla.
The Tampa Bay Buccaneers keep insisting the window is still open. The problem is the view looks nothing like it used to, and the breeze coming through is starting to feel like a draft.
What was once a proud, ruthless operation built around Tom Brady’s relentless standards has drifted into something far less intimidating — a team clinging to echoes, standings luck and the generosity of the NFC South. The Buccaneers’ 2025 season hasn’t just disappointed. It has collapsed, slowly and publicly, revealing a franchise caught between nostalgia and necessity.
In most divisions, this team would already be planning vacations. In the NFC South, mediocrity still earns relevance, and Tampa Bay has taken full advantage of that reality. The standings have propped them up long enough to delay the obvious: this roster and coaching staff are out of runway.
The Buccaneers are not bad enough to bottom out and not good enough to scare anyone. That’s the most dangerous place to live in the NFL.
The fingerprints of the Brady era remain everywhere. Tampa Bay still markets itself like a contender. It still talks like a contender. It still makes decisions like a team one tweak away from January football. But Brady is gone, the margins are thinner, and the organizational edge that once separated the Buccaneers from the pack has dulled.
That starts at the top of the sideline.
Todd Bowles has earned respect in this league, but this version of the Buccaneers has grown stale under his watch. The defense, once his calling card, has been inconsistent and overly reliant on veteran names rather than disruptive results. The offense has oscillated between conservative and confused, rarely finding rhythm and often failing to capitalize on favorable field position.
And then there’s the one decision that may haunt Tampa Bay the longest.
Letting Liam Coen walk out the door.
Coen, one of the league’s brightest offensive minds, represented modern football thinking — adaptable, quarterback-friendly and unafraid to evolve. Tampa Bay had him in the building. Then it didn’t. In a league where offensive innovation is currency, the Buccaneers watched a football intellect leave while keeping a structure that feels increasingly outdated.
That’s not just a miss. That’s malpractice.
The result is an offense that struggles to dictate terms, a defense that bends too often and a team that relies on division weakness rather than internal strength. Tampa Bay has won games this season not because it dominated, but because someone else failed harder.
That’s not sustainable.
The Buccaneers’ roster reflects the same problem. Too many aging veterans. Too few ascending difference-makers. Too much money allocated to yesterday’s production and not enough invested in tomorrow’s core. The Brady years were worth every dollar and every gamble — a Super Bowl banner makes all of it legitimate — but that credit line has been maxed out.
You can’t keep paying for memories.
The NFC South has acted like life support, keeping Tampa Bay relevant longer than logic would suggest. But that safety net has also delayed the reckoning. Rebuilds don’t announce themselves politely. They arrive whether a team is ready or not.
The Buccaneers are past the point of tweaking. This isn’t a retool. It’s a teardown.
They need younger voices on the coaching staff. They need new ideas offensively. They need to modernize how they develop quarterbacks and skill players. And they need to stop pretending that proximity to past glory equals future contention.
The irony is that Tampa Bay did this right once before. The franchise took bold swings, embraced change and built something special. Now it’s stuck trying to squeeze one more drop from a bottle that’s already empty.
The NFL doesn’t reward sentimentality. It punishes hesitation.
The Buccaneers can continue hovering in the NFC South’s murky middle, sneaking into relevance because someone has to win the division. Or they can accept reality, tear it down and start over with clarity and conviction.
The Brady era was real. It was historic. It was earned.
But it’s over.
And until Tampa Bay stops living in it, the future will keep slipping further out of reach.








