Ten and Oh in Salt Lake City, and Nobody Believes Mickey
Cleveland State38
Utah10
- Game
- 2030 Week 10
- Site
- Away
- Result
- Win
- Record
- 10-0
Vikings 38, Utah 10, in Salt Lake City. TEN AND OH.
A twenty-eight-point win in the mountains, at altitude, in the cold, one week after the biggest home win of my life. That’s a team that doesn’t let down, folks. That’s coaching. Last time I went out there, in 2026, I sang the fight song in the street with forty strangers. This year I stayed home, because I’m retiring and I need to start learning how to watch football on a couch like a regular person.
It’s not going well. I stood up eleven times. Sofia counted. She’s got a clipboard.
Here’s the thing about announcing your retirement in a newspaper: nobody believes you. Big Stan said, “Sure, Mick,” and painted nothing on the empty wall. Sal said, “Sure, Mick,” and charged me full price. Kate called and said, “Dad, Sam wants to know if you’re serious, because he started building you a retirement rocking chair and he needs to know whether to stain it.” I said, “Tell him to stain it!” She said, “He says he’ll wait.”
Even Viking, the beagle, looked at me skeptically. Beagles know things.
The only person who believes me is Leo Reyes, who’s been practicing with my whistle.
Four pierogi.
Twenty-eight points in Salt Lake City. Ten and oh. The Vikings are two regular-season wins from their first unbeaten regular season under Coach Dolan, and one of those two is in Oxford.
The retirement. I’ve now received seven messages from readers asking whether Mickey Bridges is really retiring. I’ve answered all of them the same way: “He believes he is.” That’s the most accurate statement I can make. Mickey has covered this team for thirty-seven years. He has a closet of thirty-seven jerseys, two racks now. A man doesn’t build a second rack to retire.
But I’ll say this, and I’ll only say it once: if he does retire, I’m going to miss him in the press box. Not the yelling. The other part.
At the Lantern Room, Nadia has hung a countdown sign over the bar: “DAYS UNTIL OXFORD.” She changes the number every morning. Under it she’s written, “Bring the ribbon.” The Vikings have no losses. Nadia says that’s “a number, Ken, not a promise.” The bet is on.
The record “Undefeated” is still on the shelf. Teresa dusts around it.
Back and forth
Sam’s waiting to stain the rocking chair!
Sam is a very wise man. He’s waiting for evidence.
You’d miss me?
I said it once. That was the once. Don’t make me say it twice.
Ten and oh at altitude, a rocking chair waiting for its stain, a countdown over a bar in Ohio City, and Ken saying the quiet part once.
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.