Utah Makes It Close Again, and Ohio Gets a Rematch
Cleveland State36
Utah29
- Game
- 2032 Week 12
- Site
- Home
- Result
- Win
- Record
- 11-1
Vikings 36, Utah 29, at home. ELEVEN AND ONE.
Seven points, folks. Last year Utah came here and lost by six. This year they lost by seven. Utah has decided that Cleveland is a place where they come to scare us half to death, and I’d like them to stop. But eleven and one, eight and one in the Big 12, and we’re in the conference title game.
Against Ohio. Again.
Two weeks ago Ohio beat us by forty-two in Athens. And now we get them on a neutral field, for the Big 12 championship. Bridget texted: “see you soon, dad.” No “sorry.” I’ve learned to read her texts like Teddy reads pierogi sales.
Thanksgiving was at Ken and Teresa’s this year, their first as a married couple. Teresa made the turkey. Ken made one dish, a green bean casserole, which he described as “a recipe I’ve tested empirically.” It was fine. It was very fine. Rose, sixteen months, ate the crispy onions off the top and nothing else. Bridget said, “She’s a critic, Ken.” Ken said, “She’s correct.”
Sam carved a fourth chair. This one has an R on the back. For Rose. Donna cried. I cried. Ken blamed the horseradish again.
Four pierogi.
A seven-point home win over Utah. Eleven and one. Big 12 title game against Ohio, a rematch of a forty-two-point loss.
Let me be honest about the rematch. The last time these two teams met, it wasn’t close. Ohio was better in every phase. If that’s the true gap, the Vikings lose again. But I’ve covered this rivalry for nine years, and in all that time neither team has won three straight against the other. That’s not analysis. That’s history being stubborn.
Thanksgiving at our apartment. Teresa hosted. I made a green bean casserole. I followed the recipe exactly. A sixteen-month-old ate only the onions. I’ve accepted the verdict.
Sam brought a fourth chair. An R. For Rose. Then he looked at me and Teresa and said, “I have wood left over. Whenever you need it.” Teresa turned the color of cranberry sauce. I did too. Mickey said, “What does that mean, Sam?” Sam said, “I’m a carpenter, Mickey,” and went to get more pie.
Back and forth
Sam has wood left over, Kenny.
I heard him. Everybody heard him. Teresa’s still blushing.
Ohio again!
Nobody’s won three straight in this rivalry. I’m counting on it.
A seven-point scare against Utah, a Big 12 title rematch two weeks after the worst day, a fourth chair carved with an R, and a carpenter with wood left over.
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.