Ten and Oh, and Utah Finally Doesn't Scare Anyone
Cleveland State56
Utah28
- Game
- 2034 Week 10
- Site
- Home
- Result
- Win
- Record
- 10-0
Vikings 56, Utah 28, at home. TEN AND OH.
Twenty-eight points of daylight against Utah. Folks, you’ll remember: three times in recent years, Utah came to Cleveland and won the “scare Mickey half to death” award. Five points in 2027. Six in 2031. Seven in 2032. I had to call Big Stan from the parking lot in 2031 just to remind him to breathe. This year, finally, a comfortable one. My cardiologist sent me a text after the game: “Thank you, Utah.”
Ten and oh. Our eighth straight win over the Utes, folks. And the fourth time in five years we’ve started ten and oh.
Now, a heart update. My six-month checkup was Tuesday. The doctor listened for a long time and then said, “Mr. Bridges, whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.” I said, “I’m walking to a deli with a man who doesn’t talk.” He said, “Keep doing that.” I said, “And I’m eating one pierogi at a time.” He said, “Keep doing that too.” I said, “Can I have two?” He said, “No.”
Donna came with me. On the way out she held my hand in the parking garage and didn’t say anything, and that was the best part of the appointment.
Four pierogi. One on the plate. The doctor said no.
A twenty-eight-point home win over Utah. Ten and oh. In each of their last two trips here, Utah lost by a touchdown or less. This year the Vikings simply didn’t allow it to be close.
Mickey’s six-month checkup was good. “Keep doing it,” the doctor said. Mickey has asked me to report that his cardiologist told him he “has the heart of a man of sixty-five.” Mickey is sixty-six. I asked the doctor’s office to confirm this quote. They declined. I’m reporting it anyway, with an asterisk, as is our tradition here.
Two games left in the regular season, both at home: Houston and Iowa State. Then the Big 12 title game, likely against the RedHawks, who are undefeated and scoring more than seventy points a game. Then the playoff, where Ohio may be waiting.
Teresa and I ran eleven miles Saturday morning. Mile eleven went past the stadium. She stopped, pointed at it, and said, “You’re going to be up there in six hours, worrying.” I said, “I don’t worry, I notice.” She said, “Then notice that you just ran eleven miles.” I noticed.
Back and forth
The heart of a sixty-five-year-old, Kenny.
You’re sixty-six. That’s one year of improvement. Asterisk applied.
Thank you, Utah.
Thank you, Utah. This time, you didn’t try to kill anyone.
Ten and oh and a comfortable win over the team that kept scaring us, a six-month checkup that says keep doing it, and eleven miles past the stadium on a Saturday morning.
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.