Fifty-Two, Like Teddy Said, and Ohio One More Time
Cleveland State52
Oklahoma31
- Game
- 2031 CFP Semifinal
- Site
- Neutral site
- Result
- Win
- Record
- 15-0
VIKINGS 52, OKLAHOMA 31. FIFTEEN AND OH. BACK TO THE NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP GAME.
FIFTY-TWO. Teddy said fifty-two. Teddy said it while holding my granddaughter’s tiny hand in the West Side Market, and our guys scored fifty-two in the national semifinal against Oklahoma. I’ve written to the Market again about the plaque. I’ve written to the Pope. I’m waiting to hear back from both.
Twenty-one points of daylight against Oklahoma, a giant, in the semifinal. Fifteen and oh. Our third national championship game in four years.
And it’s Ohio. Of course it’s Ohio. It’s always Ohio. Bridget said “see you in January” two years ago, and she was right, and she said it again this year, and she’s right again. My daughter, the prophet.
This time is different, folks. This time Rose will be at the game. Bridget’s working the press box, so Eli is bringing Rose, and Rose is sitting with Donna. Eli asked me on the phone, “Sir, what should Rose wear?” I said, “Eli, I’m going to tell you something, and I want you to take it seriously.” He said, “Yes, sir.” I said, “Gray.” He said, “Neutral?” I said, “Neutral. For the baby. The rest of us will take sides.”
Five pierogi.
A twenty-one-point semifinal win over Oklahoma. Fifteen and oh. The Vikings will play Ohio for the national championship, two years after Ohio beat them in the 2029 title game.
Teddy predicted fifty-two. The Vikings scored fifty-two. The “Teddy” tab in the Doom Model now has a little green check mark. The rest of the Doom Model has nothing. I’ve been outperformed by a man who sells kielbasa, and I’ve never been less upset about anything.
Teresa and I went to Spin Cycle on Sunday. I brought the record. “Undefeated,” the 1961 jazz trio record the owner set aside for me in 2030 with a note: “Don’t play it yet.” Teresa held it up and said, “Is it time?” I said, “Not yet. One more game.” She said, “Okay.” She put it back in my bag. Then she said, “Kenny, whatever happens next week, you can play it anyway.” I didn’t understand what she meant. I’m beginning to.
My father, Sunday, very clear: “Ohio for the whole thing?” I said yes. He said, “Ohio’s always tough, Kenny.” I said, “I know, Dad.” He said, “So are you.”
Back and forth
Rose is wearing gray, Kenny. Neutral.
That’s the most diplomatic decision you’ve ever made. I’m proud of you.
Your dad said “so are you.”
He did. I’ve never heard him say that. I’m going to need a minute.
Fifty-two, exactly like Teddy said, a third title game in four years, Ohio again, a baby in neutral gray, and a father who finally said “so are you.”
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.