LSU Held to a Field Goal in the First Round
Cleveland State37
LSU3
- Game
- 2036 CFP First Round
- Site
- Neutral site
- Result
- Win
- Record
- 12-1
VIKINGS 37, LSU 3. FIRST-ROUND PLAYOFF WIN.
LSU, folks. The Tigers. A first-time opponent and one of the most famous programs in America. And our defense, the one that gave up seventy-six to Ohio two weeks ago, held LSU to a field goal. Three points. Thirty-four points of daylight in the first round.
That’s what I’ll remember about this defense. Not the seventy-six. The answer to it.
No bye again, for the third straight year. Four games to the title if we win them all. We’ve done this twice. We’ve come one game short twice. Kenny says the definition of insanity is doing the same thing and expecting a different result. I said the definition of a Vikings fan is doing the same thing and expecting a different result, and being right eventually. He said, “When?” I said, “Next one.”
At Big Stan’s on Monday, The Ladd was sold out by eleven. Everybody wanted a sandwich named after the linebacker who held LSU to three. Stan made more. Gerald helped slice. Gerald has never been allowed behind the counter. He’s behind it now. He wore an apron. Chester voted that he could keep the apron. Five to one. Walt voted no, because Walt wanted the apron.
Five pierogi.
A thirty-four-point first-round win over LSU. Twelve and one. Texas A&M or Auburn waits next, depending on the bracket, and then, perhaps, the RedHawks.
Two weeks after allowing seventy-six to Ohio, the Vikings held a famous SEC offense to three points. Coaches will tell you that’s about adjustments. Players will tell you it’s about pride. I’ll tell you I don’t know, and that I’ve stopped needing to.
For the third straight year, the Vikings enter the playoff without a bye. For the third straight year, the RedHawks are on the other side of the bracket. Nadia’s sign over the bar now reads: “THIRD TIME?” with a question mark. I asked her what she’s hoping for. She said, “Ken, I’ve won two titles over you. I’d like the third to be against somebody else.” I said, “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said.” She said, “No, it’s not. I’d still beat you.”
My father, Sunday: asleep. My mother said he’d watched the first quarter and then nodded off in his chair with the game on. “He smiled when they scored,” she said. That’s the notebook entry: “Smiled when they scored.”
Back and forth
Gerald’s behind the counter.
With an apron. Voted in. Walt’s still bitter.
Nadia wants to beat somebody else?
She’d still beat us, she says. But she’d prefer somebody else. That’s love, in the Lantern Room dialect.
LSU held to a single field goal two weeks after the seventy-six, The Ladd sold out by eleven, and Gerald promoted to the other side of the counter in an apron Walt wanted.
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.