Chad Powers(2025) Series: The Dumbest Smart Football Comedy on TV

Eight years after an unforgivable mistake nukes his promising college football career, hotshot quarterback Russ Holliday tries to resurrect his dreams by disguising himself as Chad Powers - a talented oddball who walks on to the struggling South Georgia Catfish.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=idtWZdPIQhI

I went into Chad Powers expecting a goofy football sketch stretched to series length. What I didn’t expect was to laugh like an idiot alone on my couch while simultaneously thinking, “Why does this feel more honest than half the prestige TV I’ve watched this year?”

This show exists because Eli Manning once decided to weaponize dad humor and embarrass college athletes on YouTube - and honestly, that’s the most American origin story since apple pie and lawsuits. The fact that Chad Powers takes that prank DNA and turns it into a full-blown series is either a terrible idea or a stroke of genius. Shockingly, it leans hard toward genius… with a few fumbles along the way.

Let’s start with Glen Powell, because this thing lives or dies on his shoulders - and buddy, he shows up like it’s fourth-and-goal with his career on the line. Watching Powell flip the switch between Russ Holliday (fallen golden boy, walking regret factory) and Chad Powers (awkward, chaotic, oddly magnetic football goblin) is half the fun. This isn’t just a fake mustache and a limp. He fully commits. Body language, cadence, confidence levels - it’s like watching two entirely different quarterbacks sharing the same jersey.

Comedy is clearly Powell’s comfort zone, but what surprised me is how much restraint he shows. He doesn’t mug for the camera. He lets the stupidity breathe. The humor is subtle in that “wait - did they really just say that?” way, which makes the big laughs land harder. I howled more than once, the kind of laugh where you check if anyone heard you because it was undignified.

The tone of the show is aggressively stupid - but intentionally so. This isn’t dumb because the writers didn’t know better. This is dumb with a purpose. It’s football stupidity turned up to eleven: outdated coaching philosophies, macho nonsense, rituals that make no sense but are treated like sacred texts. It’s a beautiful distraction from reality, like sticking your head into a locker room where logic has never been allowed.

Steve Zahn, as Jake Hudson, is the perfect counterbalance. Zahn has built a career on playing men who seem one bad decision away from living in a van, and he brings that energy here in the best possible way. He grounds the show just enough to keep it from floating away into sketch comedy land, while still embracing the lunacy.

The supporting cast knows exactly what show they’re in, which is crucial. Nobody’s trying to win an Emmy here. They’re trying to win laughs, and they mostly succeed. The chemistry feels lived-in, like these people have been yelling at each other in the same locker room for years.

Now - let’s talk about the elephant in the locker room.

Yes, the show occasionally tiptoes into preachy, modern-message territory. You can feel it when it happens. It’s like a record scratch where the show briefly remembers it’s a 2020s series and not just a football fever dream. To its credit, it usually walks the razor’s edge and backs off before it derails the momentum. Still, you notice it. It’s the equivalent of a coach calling a time-out when the offense is rolling for no reason whatsoever.

The plots themselves? Transparent. You will see the beats coming from the parking lot. This is not a mystery box show. If you’re looking for narrative complexity, you wandered into the wrong locker room. But here’s the thing: the humor covers a multitude of sins. When the jokes land - and they often do - you forgive the predictability because you’re having too much fun to care.

The writing isn’t sophisticated, but it’s efficient. And Powell elevates it. There’s a real sense that while comedy is his bread and butter, there’s dramatic depth waiting in the wings. You can see flashes of it under the helmet. If this is him warming up, I’m curious what happens when he really uncorks one.

One nitpick that genuinely bugged me: the swearing. I enjoy mature-rated shows. I’m not clutching pearls here. But when every other word is profanity, it stops adding flavor and starts feeling like the writers are trying a little too hard to prove they’re real. Football locker rooms are crude - we get it. You don’t need to underline it in red marker.

Visually, the football elements feel legit. Filming at Sanford Stadium gives the show instant credibility, and it shows. The atmosphere is real. The crowd energy is real. You can smell the grass and bad decisions. That authenticity matters, especially for sports fans who can sniff out fake football like spoiled milk.

At its core, Chad Powers works because it understands something fundamental: football culture is absurd, and taking it seriously is half the joke. The show isn’t mocking the sport - it’s mocking the mythology around it. The idea that one mistake defines you forever. The obsession with toughness. The weird reverence for tradition that nobody remembers the origin of.

And somehow, underneath all that stupidity, there’s a surprisingly sincere story about second chances. Not in a Hallmark way. In a “life doesn’t reset, but sometimes you get another snap” kind of way.

Final Ranking

7.0 / 10

Not perfect. Not profound. But funny, self-aware, and way more enjoyable than it has any right to be. A solid win in the comedy-sports crossover league.