Tulsa? TULSA? Ken Has Never Been Happier to Be Miserable
Cleveland State14
Tulsa41
- Game
- 2026 Week 2
- Date
- 2026-09-12
- Site
- Home
- Result
- Loss
- Record
- 1-1
Tulsa 41, Vikings 14. At home.
I don’t have an explanation. I’ve looked. I looked under the porch. I looked in the jersey closet. I checked the cardigan for inside-out-ness, and it was right side out, which means the universe did this on purpose.
Twenty-seven points. To Tulsa. A week after we beat UMass by thirty-five. Leo Reyes, eight years old now and a full Little Laker, came over Sunday morning in his helmet and asked me, very seriously, “Coach Mickey, did the Vikings forget how?” And I said, “No, buddy. Sometimes you trip on the stairs. You don’t stop using stairs.”
He thought about it and said, “Stairs are dumb.” Out of the mouths of babes, folks.
One and one. It’s September. A month ago you all wanted to know if this was the year. It still might be. One bad Saturday doesn’t decide anything.
Zero pierogi. I’m making Donna’s stuffed cabbage tonight, which is what you eat when the stairs win.
I want to state for the record that I didn’t predict this. The Doom Model didn’t predict this. Nobody predicted this. The Doom Model had Tulsa as a comfortable win, and after the game it froze, displayed a single cell that said “?”, and restarted on its own. I didn’t know spreadsheets could be shocked.
A twenty-seven-point home loss to Tulsa is the kind of result that tells you something is broken, or at least rattling. The offense that put up fifty-two a week ago managed fourteen. The new defense gave up forty-one. Six transfers and a 90-rated cornerback, and Tulsa walked in like they owned the lease.
I called my father Sunday. My mother said it was a foggy day; he thought I was calling about a fishing trip. I told him the fishing was bad. He said, “Bad fishing happens, Kenny. You go back out.” I’ve decided that’s the correct take on Tulsa.
Back and forth
Stairs, Kenny. We tripped on the stairs.
We fell down an entire staircase. Into Tulsa.
It’s one game.
My dad says go back out. I’m going with my dad.
A loss nobody saw coming, a spreadsheet in shock, a child’s case against stairs, and the right advice from a man who thought it was about fishing.
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.