I’VE LIVED ALL of my adult life in Virginia, but my heart belongs to Columbus, Ohio. Specifically, to The Ohio State Buckeyes. More specifically, to football.

I was born at Ohio State. Literally. I lived my formative childhood years in that city. My dad and I used to go running around the campus farmland, where we’d encounter Woody Hayes, long retired and recovering from a heart attack, out walking for exercise. Mr. Hayes coached the Ohio State Buckeyes for twenty-eight years and was an icon in Columbus. To me, he was just an old man who liked to joke with me (ten years old at the time) about whether my dad was slowing me down. I didn’t realize I was talking to a legend.

I have wonderful memories of going to games at The Shoe, Ohio State’s football stadium. The sea of scarlet and gray, the roar of the crowd so loud you could feel it in your teeth.

The last time I went was in November 2016. My dad and I made the trip from Virginia, through the rolling mountains of West Virginia, to the flatlands of Ohio. We trounced Nebraska, 62 to 3. It was a great game. It was a great time, because it was just my dad and me.

Ohio State Football has always been about more than good football (and it’s good; we’re national champs). It’s about family. I’m the oldest of six, and on fall Saturdays (and hopefully winter ones, too), the family group chat is busy as we watch our Buckeyes. We’re all nestled snug in our individual homes in different states, yelling at the TV, sending each other commentary over our phones. 

Yesterday was the much-anticipated matchup against our arch rivals—that team up north. Last year, we lost to them. We went on to win the national championship, but we lost. To them. 

It was ugly, devolving into a post-game brawl when that team tried to plant their flag in our end zone. Both teams received hefty $100,000 fines for their behavior. My mom and dad were at the game, and my dad likes to joke my mom was first on the field. I’ve wondered if he was really joking…

This year, the game was in Ann Arbor, and Mom and Dad watched from home. My brother, Luke, and his family, with Robbie and I in tow, joined them. 

Their downstairs TV is big enough to feel like you’re there on the field, and the surround-sound had me checking my back more than once.

The dogs were decked out in their Ohio State garb, just like the humans. They lifted their heads when we yelled at the TV, but mostly, they just chewed on their bones. 

And this year, finally, we witnessed the game we’d been longing for the past four years. But it was a slow start. 

The team up north put the first six points up on the scoreboard, and we were all on edge. We scored a field goal. Then, in the second quarter, Jeremiah Smith caught a long throw for our first touchdown. We never lost the lead after that.

We ate chili and caught up on each other’s lives during halftime. My brother is a high school English teacher. But he’s also a musician. He’s just started a new band (Rhyno Zecko) and is waiting for the final touches on their debut album. I’m a physician assistant. But I’m also a writer, trudging through the query trenches with my current novel. We commiserated on the struggles to break through as artists. We encouraged each other. Then halftime was over, and we turned our attention back to the game.

Snow piled on the field. Players slipped, lost the ball. We mused over their exposed arms, red and chapped in the twenty-degree cold. But mostly, we laughed and cheered, enjoying the win. Enjoying each other.

Games come and go, but it’s the company and the memories that matter. We measure our years in touchdowns, chili bowls, and stories told between plays.

With that, the game’s always a win.