Stephen A. Smith Throws Shade on DeBoer, Declares Tide’s First Year “Considerably Softer” Than Saban Era

When Stephen A. Smith speaks, people listen—especially when he’s taking aim at a football powerhouse like Alabama. And this time, his target wasn’t a quarterback, a fanbase, or even the SEC. It was Kalen DeBoer, the man tasked with the impossible: following Nick Saban. The first-year Alabama head coach has drawn both praise and skepticism since stepping into the biggest coaching shoes in college football, but Stephen A. didn’t mince words. “They’re considerably softer,” he said of DeBoer’s Alabama. And just like that, the temperature in Tuscaloosa spiked.

Let’s be clear—this isn’t just about whether Alabama wins or loses a few games. This is about culture, identity, legacy. Alabama isn’t just any program. It’s the program. Under Nick Saban, they became the standard—mean, disciplined, relentless. It wasn’t just about results; it was about how they got them. Practices were brutal. Players were molded into professionals before they ever shook hands with an NFL agent. Under Saban, Alabama didn’t just beat you—they broke you.

Enter DeBoer, fresh off a strong run at Washington, where he was heralded for his offensive innovation and ability to win quickly. He wasn’t unknown. He was respected. But stepping into Alabama after Saban isn’t about being respected—it’s about being immortal. That’s the level of expectation. So when the cracks started to show during his first year, the critiques didn’t take long to surface.

The season actually started well. Alabama jumped out of the gate with some dominant performances and even took down Georgia in a thrilling matchup, ending their 42-game regular-season winning streak. That felt like the old Alabama again—confident, physical, dominant. But then came the stumble. A shocking loss to Vanderbilt of all teams—a team Alabama hadn’t lost to in 40 years. Then came the collapse against Tennessee. Suddenly, things felt… off.

That’s when Stephen A. pounced. He didn’t hesitate. He called the team “soft.” He said DeBoer “ain’t Saban” and suggested Alabama had made the wrong hire. You could feel the collective gasp from Tide Nation. To outsiders, it might have sounded like hyperbole. But for those who know Alabama football, those words stung.

And it wasn’t just about losing. Plenty of coaches lose. It was how they lost. Missed tackles, sloppy penalties, a lack of urgency on both sides of the ball. Things that rarely happened under Saban started happening more often. The discipline was missing. The fear—the fear that Alabama used to instill in opponents—was fading. Teams were no longer afraid to walk into Bryant-Denny. They weren’t intimidated by the logo.

DeBoer, to his credit, didn’t panic. He stood by his process. He insisted the team was still playing with the same standard. He said the culture was still rooted in accountability and preparation. But culture isn’t something you announce. It’s something you prove. And when the results start to tilt in the wrong direction, the culture gets questioned—loudly.

Stephen A. wasn’t alone in his criticism, but he was the loudest. And that matters. Because when someone with his platform says Alabama looks soft, it doesn’t just land as an opinion—it becomes a national conversation. Sports radio lit up. Former players chimed in. Fans split into camps: some defending DeBoer, others already longing for the Saban days.

And maybe that’s the most difficult part of this whole transition. It’s not just about DeBoer proving he can win. It’s about him convincing an entire fanbase that the Saban era is over, and that doesn’t mean Alabama’s dominance has to be. But every misstep invites comparisons. Every loss feels heavier than it would at another school. DeBoer could go 10–2, and still the whispers would grow: “Saban wouldn’t have lost that one.”

Now, to be fair to DeBoer, the man didn’t inherit an empty cupboard, but he didn’t inherit a perfect situation either. The roster was in flux, transfers were moving in and out, and several assistants from Saban’s staff left for other jobs. DeBoer had to install his offense, build trust with new players, and unify a locker room that had been run like a military base for the past 15 years. That’s not easy. And even though he brought in a solid recruiting class and made some smart hires, chemistry doesn’t happen overnight.

Players did seem to respond to him. Quarterback Jalen Milroe publicly backed DeBoer’s leadership and praised the team’s mindset. Several veterans spoke about how the new culture emphasized player empowerment, personal accountability, and communication. Practices reportedly had more music, more energy, and a different rhythm than under Saban. That can work—it has worked elsewhere—but it’s also a gamble when the previous formula was nearly flawless.

Stephen A. wasn’t buying it. To him, that “softer” label wasn’t just about physicality—it was about mentality. Alabama had gone from terrifying to merely talented. From hunters to hopefuls. And in college football, where attitude often matters as much as scheme, that’s a dangerous shift.

But let’s not pretend this is all doom and gloom. DeBoer is no amateur. His offensive mind is sharp. His win percentage is among the best of active coaches. He knows how to build a program and adapt to different environments. He’s not trying to be Saban—and maybe that’s a good thing. Because no one can be. Trying to mimic that legacy is a path to burnout. What DeBoer needs is time. What he deserves is patience.

Unfortunately, patience isn’t something Alabama is known for. They expect greatness now. They’ve tasted it for a decade and a half, and anything less than a national title run feels like a failure. That’s why Stephen A.’s comments hit so hard. They weren’t just hot takes. They reflected a very real fear among the Bama faithful: what if the dynasty ends here?

That’s the pressure DeBoer is facing every day. One bad quarter and the wolves come out. One mismanaged game and the media questions your fit. One lackluster season and the boosters start whispering. That’s Alabama. That’s the weight of replacing a legend.

Stephen A. thrives in this environment. He’s not here to comfort. He’s here to challenge. And his assessment, however harsh, lit a fire under the conversation. It forced fans and analysts to stop romanticizing and start scrutinizing. Is Alabama really still Alabama? Or are they just a very good team wearing legendary uniforms?

DeBoer’s journey is far from over. In fact, it’s just beginning. Year two is where the real judgment starts. The grace period is fading. The comparisons will only get louder. If he wants to shake the “soft” label, it’ll take more than words. It’ll take blood-and-sweat wins. It’ll take fourth-quarter stops. It’ll take dominating the SEC like Alabama used to. Because in Tuscaloosa, style points matter. Identity matters.

Stephen A. wasn’t wrong to question it. Alabama looked different. The edge wasn’t as sharp. The fire wasn’t as fierce. But that doesn’t mean DeBoer can’t bring it back. It just means he has to decide what kind of program he’s building—and whether it can stand in the shadow of Saban and still shine.

If DeBoer can turn last season’s growing pains into growth, if he can silence critics with results, not just responses, he’ll earn the respect that Saban commanded. If not, well, Stephen A. will be there—mic on, voice raised—ready to remind everyone what Alabama used to be.

And in college football, memories are short. But legends? Legends last forever.

DeBoer’s got a shot. But the margin for error? Paper thin.