By Mike Bianchi | mbianchi@orlandosentinel.com | Orlando Sentinel
PUBLISHED: May 6, 2026 at 11:08 AM EDT | UPDATED: May 6, 2026 at 8:06 PM EDTOn a warm Central Florida morning a few days ago, I sat on the back patio of Lee Corso’s home, drinking coffee and eating donuts while gazing out over the small lake behind his swimming pool. At 90 years old, Corso moves a little slower these days. The walk to the patio takes longer. The famous voice occasionally softens into a murmur.
His body may be showing its age, but his mind still hums like the Big House before kickoff.
On the table beside him sat the morning edition of the Orlando Sentinel, folded neatly the way only longtime newspaper readers fold a newspaper. Corso tapped it proudly.
“I still like having that newspaper in my hands,” he says with a smile splashed across his face.
This is the real Lee Corso — not the cartoon character America came to know from ESPN’s “College GameDay.” Not the guy in mascot headgear. Not the entertainer who made generations of college football fans laugh every Saturday morning.
Just Coach.
Just Coach Corso.
That’s the thing many people still misunderstand about this amazing man. We know the television icon. We know the catchphrases. We know “Not so fast, my friend!” We know the giant mascot heads and the childlike grin and the joy he brought to a sport that too often takes itself too seriously.
