The Cy-Hawk snoozefest

Headed into Saturday afternoon, it seemed that Iowa and Iowa State fans could universally agree on something for the first time in a long time: regardless of who wins, this was going to be a great game. Finally, folks east of Moline and west of Omaha might start paying attention to this wildly underappreciated in-state rivalry. It wouldn’t just be our little secret anymore.
           
Well, so much for that. Four hours, two missed field goals and a whole mess of punts (at least two of them shanked) later, I couldn’t help but wonder if I should’ve just watched reruns of “Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives” instead (Side note: This is the greatest food show of all time. Don’t argue with me).
 
As a Hawkeye fan, I’m always glad to see my team win—especially against our bitter rivals when my girlfriend, my sister and most of the folks around here are cheering for the other side—but man, I’m not sure if there’s a silver lining here. That was bad football.
           
Matt Campbell, Kyle Kempt and David Montgomery were supposed to have their big coming out party. Kempt threw for 126 yards, and Montgomery ran for 44. The faithful might want to halt the print order for those Heisman flyers.
           
And if there’s anything you can say for Iowa, it’s that Kirk Ferentz lives for games like this. It lived up to every stereotype, both deserved and undeserved, of Big 10 football. Boring, sloppy, run the ball, punt the ball, get a first and goal, settle for a field goal, miss a field goal, take a knee (during the game, not before it—relax) with a minute left before halftime, three yards a pop, cloud of dust, one touchdown is enough.
 
Kirk probably had two extra pints of ice cream when he got home Saturday night, and he might have even gotten cookies and cream because he was feeling a little crazy. For me, after checking off most of my major Cy-Hawk food groups—bacon, little smokies and queso dip—it was tough not to fall into a Saturday afternoon slumber at Kellie’s mom’s house with a comfortable recliner and a God awful game playing on the screen in front of me.
 
I haven’t read the Cyclone blogs or Randy Peterson’s hot take of the week on how this somehow actually helps ISU yet, but I’m really wondering if there’s any way you can polish what happened on Saturday. Kempt could be gone for a long time, and he was supposed to be the guy. Zeb Noland sounds like a member of that alien cult in “Dude, Where’s My Car,” and Montgomery is lucky that nobody in the Big 12 plays defense.
 
But Iowa shouldn’t be dancing with delight either. Despite his status as a can’t miss NFL prospect, Nate Stanley has just 274 yards, one touchdown and one interception through two games. I fully believe he can turn that around, but I’m sure that’s not how he imagined kicking off his breakout season.
 
The defense looks solid (Epenesa especially), but is it prepared to shut down Wisconsin and Penn State? Ferentz and Phil Parker deserve credit, though, because after that first drive, they adjusted something and put one heck of a tight clamp on the Cyclone offense from there on out.
 
Truth be told, it’s hard to find a lot to say about this game or provide any hard-hitting analysis. It stunk. Iowa State has to turn around and face Oklahoma, and because I was a freshman attending my first Hawkeye game as a student in 2009 when we had to block two field goals just to escape with a win over UNI, I’m always weary when I see the Panthers on the schedule. Between that ordeal and the Halloween comeback against Indiana that included Tyler Sash’s bizarre 90-some yard tip interception return, I experienced two of the wildest football moments in Iowa football history within the friendly combines of Kinnick Stadium. Memories.
 
Anyway, if I have to say anything good, the wave was once again awesome, and it’s nice to see Red Dirt songwriter Pat Green getting some much deserved attention outside of Texas as his “Wave on Wave” and the new Hawkeye tradition have become inextricably linked. It’s a simple thing, but it’s hard not to choke up anytime it’s on TV.
 
Who’s crying? Not me. You’re crying. Somebody put those onions away.