Forty-Nine to Nothing in Tucson
Cleveland State49
Arizona0
- Game
- 2034 Week 3
- Site
- Away
- Result
- Win
- Record
- 3-0
VIKINGS 49, ARIZONA 0. IN TUCSON.
ZERO, folks. Zero points. A shutout. On the road. In the desert. Against a Big 12 team. The only other time we’ve held anyone to zero under Coach Dolan was FCS Southeast in 2031, and with respect to the people of the southeast, that was a region. This was Arizona. A real program with real players. And our defense held them to nothing.
I remember 2025. Arizona came to our house and beat us by twenty-one and Big Stan’s whole counter went silent. I remember 2026, when we won by one in Tucson and Stan lifted me off the ground. Nine years later: forty-nine to nothing. The circle’s closed, my people. The circle’s a zero.
I watched at home, on the couch, as the doctor prefers. Donna sat next to me. Viking, our old beagle, fifteen now, slept on my feet. When the clock hit zero, with the zero still on the scoreboard, I didn’t jump up. I’m not allowed to jump up. I just raised both arms, very slowly, like a man signaling a touchdown underwater. Donna said, “That’s very dignified, Michael.” Viking didn’t wake up.
Five pierogi. On the plate: one, and it was a celebratory one.
A forty-nine-point road shutout of Arizona. Three and oh. It’s the first shutout of an FBS opponent in the Dolan era. The defense has allowed twenty-eight points in three games.
Let me say something about this defense, because nobody else will. The offense has the Heisman winner, the returning quarterback and the headlines. The defense has a coordinator, Larry Trufant, in his third year, and a group of players whose names I’ve had to look up. On Saturday they held a Big 12 team to zero. In Tucson. That’s a group that doesn’t care whose name is in the paper.
At the Lantern Room, Nadia was quiet. Miami (OH) is undefeated and scoring at a rate that doesn’t look like football; it looks like a misprint. The RedHawks aren’t on the Vikings’ regular-season schedule again this year, which means there’s no bet again, which Nadia says is “a cosmic insult.” She’s hung a sign: “SEE YOU IN THE TITLE GAME, KEN.” She knows the Big 12 title game exists. So do I.
Teresa and I have started running on Saturday mornings. Before the games. Slowly. She says I’m “getting there.” I don’t know where “there” is. I’m told I’ll know.
Back and forth
I raised my arms very slowly.
Like a touchdown underwater. Donna described it to me. It’s the most heart-healthy celebration in history.
Nadia says see you in the title game.
Nadia’s been right before. I’m running on Saturdays now, to prepare.
A forty-nine-point shutout in the desert, a circle that closes at zero, a believer celebrating in slow motion for his heart, and a sign at the Lantern Room pointing at the title game.
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.