Nine and Oh in Ames, and Chester Takes the Drive Again
Cleveland State56
Iowa State31
- Game
- 2032 Week 9
- Site
- Away
- Result
- Win
- Record
- 9-0
Vikings 56, Iowa State 31, in Ames. NINE AND OH.
Twenty-five points of daylight in the cornfields. And folks, I went, and I didn’t go alone. In 2025, Chester, Walt and I drove to Ames together, and somewhere in Indiana Chester said his first full sentence of that year: “I think this team is the one, Mick.” I bought him a corn dog for it.
This year Chester asked to go again. He didn’t say it. He just showed up on my porch at five in the morning with a thermos and a bag of Big Stan’s pierogi, and stood there until I got my keys. Walt came too. Eight hours there. Eight hours back. Chester said nothing for sixteen hours.
Until the fourth quarter. We were up big. And Chester leaned over to me in the stands, and said, “Athens next week.” I said, “I know, Chester.” He said, “Be ready, Mick.” Then he went back to his corn dog.
That’s two sentences, folks. In one day. From Chester. I’ve known Chester forty years, and I’ve never heard him warn anybody about anything.
I’m ready. I think. Four pierogi.
A twenty-five-point road win at Iowa State. Nine and oh, with the hardest game of the season next.
Ohio. In Athens. Undefeated, three-time defending national champion, against the undefeated Vikings. It’s the biggest regular-season game in this rivalry since 38-37, and maybe ever. Both teams are good enough to win it. Both teams have the history to fear it.
I’ll be in the press box. Bridget will be there too, working. She texted Mickey this week, and Mickey showed me: “dad, rose has a new outfit for saturday. i’m sorry in advance.” Mickey asked what that means. She didn’t answer. That’s the most frightening text message I’ve ever read, and I’ve read my sister’s.
Teddy still hasn’t given his number. He’s told Mickey he’ll give it on Saturday morning, “in person, to both of you.” I’ve never met Teddy in person. Apparently I’m required to. Teresa says she’ll come. She says she wants to “meet the man who’s better at your job than you.”
Back and forth
Chester said, “Be ready, Mick.”
Two sentences in one day. That’s a warning. Chester doesn’t spend words on anything but warnings.
Rose has a new outfit?
“I’m sorry in advance.” I’ve read that text twelve times. It doesn’t get better.
Nine and oh in the cornfields, Chester spending two whole sentences on a warning, a granddaughter’s mysterious new outfit, and a summons to meet the oracle in person.
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.