73-31: Athens Takes It All Back
Cleveland State31
Ohio73
- Game
- 2032 Week 10
- Site
- Away
- Result
- Loss
- Record
- 9-1
Ohio 73, Vikings 31. In Athens.
Folks, I’m not going to dress this up. It’s the worst loss of the Dolan era. Forty-two points. Four straight trips to Athens, four straight wins, and on Saturday Ohio took every one of them back in a single afternoon.
Here’s what happened before the game. Saturday morning, Ken, Teresa and I went to the West Side Market, and Teddy came out from behind the counter and shook Ken’s hand, and looked at him for a long time, and then took the folded butcher paper out of his apron and handed it to me. It said: “Bad day, Mick. Go anyway.” He didn’t give a number. He gave a sentence.
And then Rose’s outfit. Bridget sent a picture from the stadium. Rose, sixteen months old, was wearing a little Ohio cheerleader uniform. Green and white. With pom-poms. Tiny pom-poms. I’m told she waved them every time Ohio scored. Folks, she waved them a lot.
On the drive home I called Bridget. She answered on the first ring and said, “Dad, I’m sorry.” I said, “Kiddo, your team was great.” She said, “I know. I’m still sorry.” Then she put Rose on, and Rose said, “GO.” I’m still claiming that one.
Zero pierogi.
A forty-two-point loss in Athens. The Vikings are nine and one, and they’ll have to beat Miami (OH) and Utah to get another shot at Ohio in the Big 12 title game.
I want to say something about Teddy. I met him Saturday morning. He’s smaller than I expected, about seventy, with enormous forearms and kind eyes. He shook my hand and said, “You’re the doubter.” I said, “I’m the doubter.” He said, “Good. Somebody has to be.” Then he gave Mickey a piece of paper that said “Bad day, Mick. Go anyway.” Teddy didn’t predict the score. He predicted the feeling. That’s the difference between a model and a man. I’ve spent twenty years building a model. Teddy’s spent forty years selling kielbasa and watching people. He wins.
I put on a record from Teresa’s shelf, “Kenny After Ohio.” She’d labeled it in advance. She’d chosen well: a slow piano trio, the same kind I was reaching for at Spin Cycle the day I met her. She sat next to me on the couch. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.
I called my father. Foggy day. He didn’t know there’d been a game. I told him. He said, “Ohio’s always tough, Kenny.” Some things stay where you put them.
Back and forth
Teddy said, “Go anyway.”
We went. It was the right advice. It was a terrible day. Both things are true.
Rose had pom-poms, Kenny.
I saw. She’s very talented. That’s the worst part.
The worst loss of the Dolan era, four Athens wins taken back in a single afternoon, a sausage vendor who predicted the feeling instead of the score, and a sixteen-month-old waving tiny pom-poms.
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.