There was a time when Chicago Fire burned bright — when Station 51 wasn’t just a team but a family, when every call meant something, and when every loss hit like a punch in t

But somewhere between the revolving door of exits and the increasingly nonsensical plots, that flame has dimmed.

Right now, the show that once defined network drama feels like it’s barely smoldering. The irony isn’t lost on me — a show about fire is now struggling to find its spark.

 

 

For years, Chicago Fire thrived because of emotional investment. We cared deeply — not just about the fires, but the people running into them.

Boden’s steady leadership anchored it all; he wasn’t overly emotional, but his presence was felt. When he spoke, everyone listened. Now? Boden’s gone, and with him, that quiet strength that held 51 together.

In his place, we’ve got Chief Pascal. He’s fine, I guess — occasionally charming, mostly absent. Kelly Severide seems to be filling the void, but let’s be honest, Kelly’s never been the most emotionally available guy. He’s all action, little reflection.

 

 

And while Stella Kidd is the emotional glue the show desperately needs, her biggest storyline right now revolves around yet another kid. I know she’s got a big heart, but really? In the middle of CFD’s constant staffing crises, how does she have time to become everyone’s part-time parent?

This isn’t just about a few missing faces. It’s a mass exodus, and it’s gutted the soul of the series. The years have been hard on Chicago Fire, but the changes from Chicago Fire Season 13 to 14 are too much, especially without resolution.

Carver’s departure? Don’t even get me started. The man finally found his footing — a great arc, real chemistry with Violet, emotional growth — and boom. Shipped off to Denver. It made no sense narratively or emotionally. Real life isn’t that clean.

Then we lost Ritter, who was part of the show’s moral center. His goodbye wasn’t even a moment. It was a blip. Fans deserved more, and so did he.

Chief Robinson? Gone. Flynn Calhoun? Gone. Severide’s brother Damon, who had potential (and a tangled romantic subplot with Novak)? Gone. That assistant-turned-firefighter who was suddenly full-time at another house? You guessed it — gone.

Even Herrmann’s storyline — a tragic, true-to-life fire that destroyed his home — felt bizarrely placed. It was emotional, yes, but it clashed hard with the rest of the season’s disjointed tone.

And in their wake, we get Vasquez — basically Carver 2.0 without the soul.

He’s dealing with some heavy family drama, sure, but there’s no there there. He’s stoic to a fault, walled off from everyone, and because he’s not connecting with the others, his stories land with a dull thud.

It’s like watching a cover band perform your favorite song — all the notes are technically right, but it’s missing what made it special in the first place.

The Stories Don’t Add Up
Remember when Chicago Fire used to feel urgent? That spark of danger, that adrenaline of teamwork, that blend of heart and heroism? It’s nowhere to be found.

The writing used to be tight. Even the smaller episodes packed in heart, humor, and tension. Now it’s all over the place.

Take Violet. Last season she was juggling love interests and raw grief.

On Chicago Fire Season 14, she and Novak are the ones actually holding this show together — two medics who still seem to care about the lives they’re saving. And yet, even their storylines are getting buried under bureaucratic nonsense.

This new firefighter-medic crossover program? Sure, it’s a noble idea, but from what I can tell, it’s been dragging on forever.

These are life-and-death jobs, and we’ve been watching meetings instead of rescues. Robinson, who was heading up the medics, has gone MIA mid-storyline, and the urgency that once defined Chicago Fire is MIA.

Honestly, at this point, they should just lean into it and call it Chicago Ambo. At least then, we’d know we were guaranteed to see someone actually saving a life.

Big Ideas, Messy Execution
Here’s the thing — it’s not like Chicago Fire doesn’t have stories worth telling. It does. In fact, buried underneath the muck are threads that could be powerful.

Annette Davis, the new mayor’s chief of staff, is a great example. Annabeth Gish doesn’t come cheap, so clearly there’s a plan for her. And she could serve as a fascinating bridge between city politics and the real-world bureaucracy strangling emergency services. The problem? None of it connects.

Stella’s been fighting tooth and nail for Isaiah’s mom, only to discover how impossible it is for ordinary people to navigate hospital transfers, rehab placement, and medical bureaucracy.

That’s real, and it’s a story that deserves attention. But let’s be honest — it also feels like a convenient way to send her off canvas for a few episodes and keep the budget in check.

These stories matter. They show the systemic hurdles that make first responders’ jobs harder and expose how government often forgets the people doing the actual saving.

But are they being told in the right place? I’m not sure anymore. Chicago Fire used to be about brotherhood, sacrifice, and community — now it’s starting to feel like a city council meeting with occasional flames.

Fragmented to the Point of Confusion
Part of what made this show special was the interconnectedness — the way every member of 51 had a story that weaved naturally into the others. Now it’s splintered.

Every episode feels like a different show with a rotating cast. You barely see the same people twice in a row, and because most are paired off, it’s rare to get the group energy that once made the series shine.

There’s no emotional continuity — no sense that these people share the same firehouse, let alone the same heartbeat.

And when you lose that, you lose everything.

The Fans Are Feeling It
Scroll through social media, and the sentiment’s clear: Chicago Fire isn’t what it used to be. People are frustrated, nostalgic, even a little heartbroken.

This was once the crown jewel of the Chicago franchise — the one that could still make you tear up after a decade on air. Now? It’s hanging on by a thread.

We’ve stood by through heartbreaks, cliffhangers, and cast changes. But this season feels different. It feels tired, safe, predictable, and worse — disconnected.

It’s Not Too Late… Yet
I don’t believe Chicago Fire is beyond saving. The bones are still there — strong characters, a loyal fan base, and a rich world that’s only ever needed a little more care. But the writers need to remember what made this show burn bright in the first place.

It wasn’t the fires. It was the family.

The rescues, the shared meals, the quiet moments between calls — those were the embers that kept 51 alive. Somewhere along the way, the show forgot that.

So here’s my plea: slow down. Focus up. Give these characters their humanity back. Stop replacing them like trading cards and start giving them stories that make us feel again.

Because right now, Chicago Fire is turning to ash — and if it doesn’t find its spark soon, this might be one blaze even Station 51 can’t save.

he gut.