Seven and Oh, and Ohio Is Coming to Cleveland
Cleveland State69
UCF20
- Game
- 2030 Week 7
- Site
- Home
- Result
- Win
- Record
- 7-0
Vikings 69, UCF 20, at home. Seven and oh.
Forty-nine points of daylight against UCF, the team that beat us fifty-nine to twenty-seven in Orlando three years ago. Folks, I’ve stopped writing revenge columns. Every week is a revenge column now. Kansas State, Baylor, BYU, UCF. Somewhere in the program there’s a list, and somebody’s crossing things off.
And two weeks from now, Ohio comes to Cleveland.
You know the history, my people. Ohio has come to our building three times under Coach Dolan: 2024, 2026, 2028. Ohio has won all three. We beat them in Athens. We beat them in the Big 12 title game. We’ve never beaten them at home. And Ohio’s the defending national champion, and Sal’s pennant is still over the mirror, and Bridget texted me this week. All it said was “see you soon.” Not “sorry.” Not “I hate you.” Just “soon.”
I went to Sal’s on Monday. He gave me a perfect haircut and didn’t say a word about Ohio. At the end he said, “You want a towel for your neck, Mick?” I said, “Why?” He said, “You’re sweating.” I was.
Four pierogi. A full jar of antacid.
Forty-nine points over UCF. Seven and oh. The Vikings have scored at least forty-one in every game. And for the first time this season, I’ll say it: the Doom Model’s “Perfect?” tab has stopped blinking. It’s just sitting there, with its question mark, like it’s waiting for one specific game.
Ohio.
Here’s the history in one sentence: the Vikings have played Ohio eight times since 2024, they’ve split them four and four, three of the losses came in Cleveland, and the fourth was last January’s national championship game, by sixteen. Ohio is undefeated. The Vikings are undefeated. Somebody isn’t going to be.
My father called this week, on his own, on a Wednesday, which he almost never does. He said, “Kenny, when do we play Ohio?” I said, “Two weeks, Dad.” He said, “Good. I’ve been practicing.” I said, “Practicing what?” He said, “Not saying it.” Then he said, “Ohio’s always tough, Kenny,” and laughed, and said, “Damn it.” Then my mother took the phone and said he’d been practicing for a week. He’s seventy-eight. He’s never going to stop saying it.
Back and forth
Bridget said “see you soon.”
“Soon” from Athens is never good. Last year it was “January.”
Your dad practiced not saying it?
For a week. He lasted about four seconds. I’ve never been prouder of anyone.
Seven and oh with a list being crossed off, Ohio two weeks away, and a seventy-eight-year-old man in Sarasota practicing, unsuccessfully, not to say the truest thing he knows.
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.