Colorado, Eleven and Oh, and Ohio Next Week
Cleveland State52
Colorado16
- Game
- 2036 Week 11
- Site
- Home
- Result
- Win
- Record
- 11-0
Vikings 52, Colorado 16, at home. Eleven and oh.
Thirty-six points of daylight, our sixth straight win over the Buffaloes. In 2024 and 2025 they beat us in Boulder and I thought Colorado was a curse. In 2036 they come to Cleveland and leave with sixteen points and a lake-effect headache. Curses break, folks. You just have to keep showing up.
Next week: Ohio. At home. Undefeated against undefeated, for the regular-season finale and, the way the standings look, for a spot in the Big 12 title game. The winner goes. The loser waits for the committee.
Sal called me Monday and said, “Come in.” I went in. He gave me a haircut. He didn’t say a word about Ohio. At the end he took off the cape and brushed my neck and said, “Mick, whatever happens next week, you’ve got the nail.” The nail he gave me last year. The empty one. It’s in a walnut box on my desk. I said, “I know, Sal.” He said, “Good.” Then he charged me full price, which, from Sal, means he’s nervous.
Rose texted from Bridget’s phone: “grandpa which flag.” I wrote back: “Both, sweetheart. Wave whichever one is sad.” She wrote: “ok.” Then: “i hope neither.”
Four pierogi.
A thirty-six-point home win over Colorado. Eleven and oh. Ohio comes to Cleveland next week, undefeated.
Let me lay out what’s at stake, plainly. Ohio leads the Big 12. If Ohio wins, it plays for the conference title. If the Vikings win, they likely do. Either way, both teams are probably playoff-bound. But this game decides who rests, who travels and who gets the easier path.
The history: these two teams have played nineteen times since 2024. The Vikings lead eleven to eight. Four of Ohio’s eight wins came in Cleveland. The Vikings have won the last three meetings, including two semifinals. Somebody in Athens is very, very tired of losing to us.
My father had a better week. My mother says he’s been awake more. On Sunday he said, without being asked, “Ohio’s coming, Kenny?” My mother had told him. I said yes. He said, “Ohio’s always tough.” Then he said, “But not forever.” Then he said, “Tougher in December.” Then he laughed. All three lines, in one breath. I’ve never heard him put them together. Notebook, underlined.
Back and forth
Rose said “i hope neither.”
Neither flag. Neither sad. She’s five and she’s already the wisest person in this rivalry.
Your dad said all three lines.
In one breath. Then he laughed. I’ve decided he knows exactly what he’s doing.
Six straight over Colorado and eleven and oh, a barber nervous enough to charge full price, a five-year-old hoping neither flag is sad, and a father reciting all three of his lines in one breath.
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.