Past Ohio Again, and the RedHawks Wait
Cleveland State48
Ohio40
- Game
- 2035 CFP Semifinal
- Site
- Neutral site
- Result
- Win
- Record
- 14-1
VIKINGS 48, OHIO 40. INTO THE NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP GAME.
Eight points. Our second straight semifinal win over Ohio. Our third win over them in twelve months. And our sixth trip to the national championship game, folks: 2028, 2029, 2031, 2034 and now 2035. That’s five. Kenny’s correcting me. Five. Five trips. I’m emotional. I miscounted.
Rose waved the sad flag again. Bridget sent a picture: Rose asleep on Eli’s shoulder, holding the Ohio flag this time, because Ohio was sad. Bridget wrote, “she waved it for us, dad. she’s proud of you anyway. so am i. go win it.” Then she wrote, “for somebody from ohio.”
And now it’s the RedHawks. The defending champions. Undefeated. The team that beat us twice last year, including the title game, and beat us at home three weeks ago by twenty-eight. Nadia’s team.
Donna is going to the game. She’s sitting with Nadia. She’s bringing the cape. She said, “Michael, it’s a neutral site. The cape works on neutral sites.” I said, “Donna, the cape lost to the RedHawks in last year’s title game.” She said, “The cape has never been to a game like this one.” I don’t know what she means. I believe her anyway.
Five pierogi.
An eight-point semifinal win over Ohio. Fourteen and one. Fifth trip to the national championship game in eight years.
Since 2024, I’ve been keeping a list I didn’t tell Mickey about. It’s titled “Things That Don’t Happen.” The first entry was “The Vikings beat Ohio in Cleveland.” It happened in 2030. The second was “Ohio stops winning titles.” It happened in 2034. The third was “The Vikings win a national championship.” It happened in 2028. The list has one entry left. I added it in 2029. It says, “Mickey Bridges stops believing.” It hasn’t happened. I’ve decided to stop waiting for it.
The RedHawks. Undefeated. Defending champions. They’ve beaten the Vikings three straight times. Nadia, Tuesday, poured me a beer I didn’t win and said, “That’s not a bet, Ken. That’s just a beer.” Then she said, “Whatever happens, come back next Tuesday.” I said I would.
My father, Sunday. Awake for a few minutes. “Is it the big one?” “It’s the big one, Dad.” “Good.” Then: “Is Mickey there?” He hasn’t said Mickey’s name in months. I told him Mickey would be in the seat next to me. He said, “Good. Two of you.” Notebook.
Back and forth
Five trips in eight years.
Five. You said six. I counted. Sofia confirmed.
Your dad said my name.
First time in months. “Two of you.” He knows. He’s always known.
A second straight semifinal win over Ohio, a granddaughter who waved the sad flag for her mother’s team, a list called “Things That Don’t Happen” with one entry left, and a father who remembered Mickey’s name.
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.