Kansas State Twice in a Row, and Fourteen and Oh Again
Cleveland State63
Kansas State35
- Game
- 2031 CFP Quarterfinal
- Site
- Neutral site
- Result
- Win
- Record
- 14-0
Vikings 63, Kansas State 35. FOURTEEN AND OH. ON TO THE SEMIFINAL.
Two games in a row against Kansas State, and two wins. Twenty-eight points of daylight in the quarterfinal. Folks, in 2024 Kansas State came into our house and beat us, and in 2025 they beat us so badly in Manhattan that I couldn’t eat a pierogi for two days. Since then: sixty-three to three, fifty-two to thirty, sixty-three to thirty-five. That’s a debt paid with interest. With compound interest.
Fourteen and oh. For the second straight year. And now the semifinal, where Ohio ended our season last year. This year it’s Oklahoma. Ohio’s on the other side.
I took Rose to see Teddy at the West Side Market. She’s five months old. Bridget and Eli were up for the weekend, and I carried Rose in the front-pack thing through the Market, and Teddy came out from behind the counter, which he never does, and looked at her for a long time, and said, “She’s going to be a good luck baby, Mick.” Then he said, “Fifty-two.” He was talking about the semifinal. I didn’t ask how he knew. I’m going to remember it, though.
Five pierogi.
A twenty-eight-point quarterfinal win over Kansas State, the second straight win over the Wildcats in a span of weeks. Fourteen and oh. The Vikings are in the national semifinal for the third straight year.
One thing I’ve learned covering this team: winning streaks don’t feel like streaks from the inside. They feel like a series of Tuesdays. You go to work. You do the job. The next week you do it again. Then one day somebody tells you it’s been fourteen weeks.
Ohio is on the other side of the bracket. Bridget, through Mickey: “see you in January.” The same text. Two years later.
Teddy’s prediction for the semifinal, which Mickey wrote down: fifty-two. I put it in the Doom Model, in a new tab called “Teddy.” The Doom Model, which has never once predicted an exact score, accepted the number without protest. It might be learning. It might be giving up. I can’t tell the difference anymore.
Teresa asked if I’d like to go to Spin Cycle with her this weekend, “where we met.” I said yes. She said, “Bring the record.” I asked, “What record?” She said, “Kenny. The one on the shelf.” She means “Undefeated.” I haven’t played it. It’s been on the shelf for over a year.
Back and forth
Teddy said Rose is a good luck baby.
And then he said fifty-two. Teddy’s the only forecaster I trust now. Including me.
Teresa said bring the record?
She said bring the record. She said it like she knew. She always knows.
Kansas State paid in full with compound interest, a five-month-old blessed by a sausage oracle, and Teresa asking Ken to bring the record he’s never played.
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.