Bold claim: after nineteen years, Mike Tomlin’s era in Pittsburgh isn’t just aging—it’s prompting a real conversation about whether a change is due. Tomlin took over the Steelers in 2007, and he’s still at the helm today. He’s famous for never having a losing season, yet he hasn’t coached a playoff win since 2016. If no postseason victory happens this year, he’ll have gone nine seasons without a playoff win after his first decade on the job.
With the team currently 6-6 after a 4-1 start, this situation raises a fair question: is it time for a fresh start for both the team and the coach? A shakeup could theoretically benefit either side.
But Tomlin doesn’t appear as unsettled by the current state as one might expect. Perhaps it’s because he knows the Steelers won’t part ways with him. Steelers coaching changes are uncommon—three coaches since 1969—and the franchise tends to be financially and commercially steady regardless of on-field results. Fans fill the stands, pay for parking, buy food and drinks, and snag merch. The business side remains robust even when seasons fall short.
That dynamic invites a certain complacency. Tomlin earns $16 million annually, a level of security that can make enduring tougher seasons feel more tolerable. He has a Super Bowl championship from his second year, which reinforces the perception that short-term struggles don’t threaten his position. Why let a difficult season become more painful when continued employment at a high salary is largely guaranteed?
Tomlin’s outlook on the current state seems pragmatic, even amid fan frustration—think of the Renegade moment and the ensuing booing. He recently said, through the Associated Press, that football is part entertainment business: if fans root for the Steelers, entertaining them counts as winning. When results slip, entertainment declines, and with it, perceived value.
That stance mirrors a broader reality: the team has built a system that banked on stability rather than urgency. The vast majority of NFL head coaches live with the possibility of being fired, yet Tomlin’s success and Steelers’ love of stability cushion him from that common fate.
All of this creates a stagnation stew. The bar is high enough that “pretty good” results keep everyone content, especially financially. Absent a catastrophic season, Art Rooney II isn’t likely to pull the plug on Tomlin, and the business side will carry on.
If Rooney’s calculations stand, the question shifts to the fans: is this merely a temporary dip, or a sign of a deeper, ongoing problem? After nearly two decades together in an industry known for turnover, the Steelers and Tomlin may have settled into a routine that’s comfortable but limits growth. They know how to win enough to avoid a mutiny and to keep the revenue flowing, but that may also mute the hunger for something more transformative.
That could be the heart of the issue: a team and a coach who have grown comfortable. The longer the fan base keeps showing up, the longer the current trend may persist, leaving a lingering sense that something bolder is needed to re-ignite the franchise’s edge.
