College football fans are legendary for their raw passion, but back in the late 1990s, that energy turned dangerous on the set of College GameDay. ESPN sportscaster Kirk Herbstreit recently shared how he and co-analyst Lee Corso faced flying objects from hostile crowds at two major SEC and Big Ten stops. These incidents were so alarming that network producers had to completely change how they set up the live show.
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Herbstreit shared the details on The Press Box podcast, with host Bryan Curtis, ahead of his 31st season on College GameDay, about some of the most memorable and dangerous fan moments from his time on the show.
“Before we put up a protective net. I remember two different occasions,” Herbstreit said. “We were at LSU doing an LSU-Alabama game, and Corso picked Alabama, and he put on an elephant hat.”
“This is before he did the helmets, and he had a massive Alabama red or crimson red flag with an A on it, and he’s picking Alabama right in the heart of Baton Rouge. And here comes a golf ball flying from, I don’t know, 30 yards out, and it just happened to hit the flag that he was waving, and it landed right on the desk.”
Herbstreit’s story was an early example of how quickly fan frustration can turn violent, and similar incidents have continued to surface across college football games.
Hostility toward the College GameDay set was not an isolated trend; it was an occupational hazard built into the show’s early DNA. In its initial road trips during the mid-1990s, the set operated with minimal security right in the center of rival fan bases.
When Lee Corso started his signature mascot head picks, extreme fan rivalries, combined with alcohol-fueled Saturday morning crowds, frequently led to aggressive chants, flying food, and dangerous debris aimed directly at the desk before security barriers were standardized.
The near-miss ultimately changed the way College GameDay handled fan interference. During a 1997 broadcast in East Lansing, a fan threw a full beer can that flew between Herbstreit and Corso before exploding on the set. Herbstreit recalled that the incident was serious enough to prompt ESPN to bring in protective nets around the set from that point.
“Another time, this is a scary one, we were in East Lansing,” Herbstreit said. “I think this was what brought the net on. We were in East Lansing, I think, in ’97, when Michigan won the national title. And we both picked Michigan in East Lansing to beat Michigan State. And somebody threw a full beer can from way back, and it came; it just whizzed right between Lee and I. And when it landed, it exploded on the floor of the set.”
“That one, if it would have hit me in the back of the head or Corso in the back of the head, that would have been national news,” Herbstreit further stated. “We would have been probably knocked out. I mean, or very least, probably had a concussion. And so, literally from that week on, that was it. They started to bring the nets.”
To protect broadcasters from fans, ESPN, besides using a protective net, now manages crowd safety through controlled access zones, front-of-stage barricades, strict sign policies, and an elevated stage design. Besides those two harrowing incidents, Herbstreit recalled another instance where he faced similar aggression from the fans during an Ohio State-Michigan game.
“Another time, we were in Ann Arbor doing Ohio State-Michigan. I think it was also ’97,” Herbstreit said. “Somebody threw an ice ball while I was live on a single, hit me right in the chest with an ice ball. And it was hard enough to.”
Recently, Texas Tech fans also threw tortillas and other items onto the field during a loss to Colorado, prompting their coach to ask students to stop. The trend has drawn criticism from Herbstreit himself, with the incident largely aimed at influencing officials rather than targeting specific analysts.
Decades later, College GameDay remains a Saturday morning tradition, attracting thousands of fans waving wild signs and cheering behind the set. But behind the fun and energy, the signature netting behind the hosts stands as a quiet reminder of the chaotic early days when Lee Corso’s picks nearly cost him more than just bragging rights.