51-46: The Run Ends, and Sal Takes One Down
Cleveland State51
Ohio46
- Game
- 2034 CFP Semifinal
- Site
- Neutral site
- Result
- Win
- Record
- 15-1
VIKINGS 51, OHIO 46. IN THE NATIONAL SEMIFINAL.
Folks, Ohio has won five straight national championships. Five! And on Saturday, in the semifinal, our guys ended it. Five points of daylight. Ninety-seven points between two teams who’ve been fighting since 2024, and at the end of it, the Vikings were still standing.
I sat down for the fourth quarter. I did. My heart was fine. My heart was great. I held Donna’s hand so hard she said, “Michael, I need that for later.” I let go a little.
Bridget sent a picture from the Ohio press box after the game: Rose, asleep in Eli’s arms, holding the Vikings flag. Bridget wrote, “she picked the sad one. it was us. she’s sorry, dad, and she’s proud of you. so am i.” Then a green heart. Then a Vikings-green heart.
And on Monday, I went to Sal’s. And there, over the mirror, were four pennants. Not five. Four. The fifth one, OHIO NATIONAL CHAMPIONS 2033, was folded on the counter. Sal said, “One week, Mick. Like I promised.” Then he cut my hair, and charged me half price, and said, “Go win the whole thing. Somebody from Ohio should.”
Five pierogi.
A five-point semifinal win over Ohio ends the longest championship run I’ve ever covered. Ohio won five straight national titles, 2029 through 2033. The Vikings ended it. Fifteen and one.
I want to pay Ohio its due. Tim Slocombe built a team that won five straight national championships in the hardest era of college football I’ve seen. The Vikings were in the way of three of those titles and couldn’t stop them. On Saturday they finally did. That’s not a Vikings achievement only. It’s a measure of how great Ohio was, that it took this long.
Next: the national championship game. Against Miami (OH). The undefeated RedHawks, who beat the Vikings for the Big 12 title. Nadia has the ribbon. Nadia has the trophy. Nadia has, I’m told, already booked a hotel.
My father, Sunday. My mother let him watch the semifinal; she said he watched the whole thing and clapped at the end. When I called, he said, “We beat Ohio?” I said, “We beat Ohio, Dad.” He was quiet. Then he said, “Ohio’s always tough.” Then he said, “But not forever.” He’s never said that. He’s added another line.
Back and forth
Sal took one down, Kenny. For a week.
“Somebody from Ohio should.” That’s the kindest thing a rival has ever said.
Your dad said “not forever.”
“Ohio’s always tough. But not forever.” Notebook. Underlined.
Ohio’s five-year title run ends in the semifinal, a granddaughter who waved the sad flag, a pennant folded on a barbershop counter for a week, and a father who added “but not forever.”
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.