Utah Scares Everyone, and Eleven and Oh Comes the Hard Way
Cleveland State35
Utah29
- Game
- 2031 Week 11
- Site
- Home
- Result
- Win
- Record
- 11-0
Vikings 35, Utah 29. At home. ELEVEN AND OH.
Six points, folks. SIX. After ten weeks of daylight, Utah came to Cleveland on a cold gray day with wind off the lake and made it a fight. They were tough, they were physical, and they kept coming until the final whistle. Eleven and oh.
I didn’t sit down for the entire fourth quarter. Donna didn’t either. In the last minute, a woman behind us, a stranger, grabbed my shoulder and said, “Is it always like this?” I said, “No, ma’am, it’s usually seventy to seven.” She said, “Then why are you so nervous?” I said, “Because I’m from here.”
Afterward, I called Big Stan from the parking lot. He said, “Mick, I’ve been holding my breath since the third quarter.” I said, “Stan, you can breathe.” He said, “I’m going to have a pierogi first.” Then he hung up. He called back two minutes later and said, “Okay. Now I’m breathing.” That’s Stan.
Four pierogi. A close win is still a win. Ask Utah how it feels on the other side.
A six-point home win over Utah, the closest game of the season by twelve points. The Vikings are eleven and oh, and for the first time this year they looked beatable for a full quarter. I’m not saying that to worry anyone. I’m saying it because it’s true, and because Ohio was watching.
Big wins teach you how good a team is. Close wins teach you what it’s made of. In the fourth quarter, Greg Price stood on the sideline with his helmet on, not sitting, not talking, just watching his defense. The camera caught him twice. The second time, Dave Shelley was standing next to him in exactly the same posture. Two quarterbacks who’ve both been the starter and both been the backup, standing together. I don’t know what that means. I know it means something.
I called my father on Sunday. A good day. I told him it was close. He said, “Close is good for you, Kenny. Makes you remember.” Then he asked, “How’s the girl?” I said, “Teresa’s good, Dad.” He said, “Did you ask her yet?” I said, “Ask her what?” He said, “Kenny.” Even my father knows. In Sarasota. My mother, it turns out, is in the trivia pool.
Back and forth
Stan called back to say he was breathing.
That’s the most honest postgame report of the year.
Your mother is in the pool?
She took “Christmas.” By phone. From Florida. Nadia accepted the entry.
A six-point scare that taught the Vikings what they’re made of, two quarterbacks standing side by side, and a betting pool that now reaches all the way to Sarasota.
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.