Ohio Wins It All, and Mickey Hugs the Enemy
Cleveland State36
Ohio52
- Game
- 2029 National Championship
- Site
- Neutral site
- Result
- Loss
- Record
- 13-4
Ohio 52, Vikings 36. Ohio are the national champions.
I’m going to tell you exactly what I did when the clock hit zero, because you deserve it. I walked down to the field level, past security, who know me by now, and waited outside the Ohio press room door. And when Bridget came out, with her lanyard and her laptop and her eyes full, I hugged my daughter, the national champion. I said, “I’m so proud of you, kiddo.” She said, “Dad, I’m sorry.” I said, “Don’t be. Not today.”
Monday, at Sal’s, the pennant was out of the tube. Bigger than the old one, green and white, hanging over the mirror. It says OHIO NATIONAL CHAMPIONS 2029. Sal didn’t gloat. He cut my hair in silence, and at the end he said, “Thirteen and four is a great season, Mick.” He’s right.
Thirteen and four. Second in the final AP poll, 7-2 in the Big 12, three playoff wins. Baraka Nwangwu ran for 2,536 yards, more than his own record-setting season a year ago, won his second straight Doak Walker and made All-American. He leaves as the school’s career rushing leader with 6,074 yards. The good Kenny, Kenny Tongues, caught for 1,771 and leaves early for the draft with school career records of 4,901 receiving yards and 71 touchdown catches. Greg Price, a redshirt freshman, threw for 5,121. Stephen Everett made All-American. Randy Andrews, a freshman, picked off seven.
Zero pierogi. But a lot of pride.
Sixteen points, for the national championship, to Ohio.
I sat in the press box six feet from Bridget Bridges for the entire game. Neither of us spoke. In the fourth quarter, when it was over but not over, she slid a granola bar across the table toward me without looking. I ate it. It was the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me in a press box.
The honest summary: the Vikings won three playoff games, beat the Big 12 champion in a rubber match and beat Georgia in the semifinal, and lost the title game to an Ohio team that had been building toward this all year. That’s not a failure. That’s the second-best team in the country, with a redshirt freshman at quarterback.
I called my father after. My mother said he’d watched the whole thing. When he got on, he said, “Ohio’s always tough, Kenny.” I said, “I know, Dad.” He said, “But you were tougher than last time.” I said, “We were.” He said, “Then next year.” Then he asked about the plant. It’s alive. Teresa waters it now too. It’s thriving. It’s the only thing in my life I haven’t doubted.
Back and forth
I hugged the national champion, Kenny. She’s my kid.
I ate her granola bar. We’re even.
Next year?
My father said next year. I’m not arguing with him.
Ohio’s first national title in a run nobody saw coming, a father hugging his daughter outside the winners’ press room, and a granola bar slid across a press-box table without a word.
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.