The crisp autumn air hung thick with anticipation as the Ohio State Buckeyes prepared for their highly anticipated clash with Oregon. It wasn’t just another game circled on the calendar; for Jeremiah Smith, it was personal. The sophomore wide receiver, already considered one of the most electrifying players in college football, had been replaying their previous encounter in his mind for nearly two years. Oregon had embarrassed Ohio State on their home turf, shattering their early-season momentum. Smith had been a freshman spectator that day, sidelined by injury, helpless to watch as the Ducks ran rampant.
This time, things were different.
Smith sat alone in the locker room hours before kickoff, his headphones draped around his neck. The murmurs of his teammates echoed in the background, but he tuned them out. In his hands, he held a photograph—a snapshot from that fateful game. Oregon players celebrating in the Horseshoe. It wasn’t just a reminder of defeat; it was fuel.
“They took something from us,” Smith muttered under his breath. “Tonight, we take it back.”
The media had tried to get inside his head earlier in the week. Was this game personal? Was he playing for revenge? Jeremiah had been cool and composed in front of the cameras, offering the usual platitudes about teamwork and execution. But the truth burned brighter inside him. He’d been training for this moment, imagining this matchup every time he pushed through exhaustion in the weight room or stayed late after practice running routes under the dimming lights of the practice field.
The roar of the crowd was deafening as Ohio Stadium filled to capacity, a sea of scarlet and gray pulsating with energy. Smith led the team out of the tunnel, his helmet gleaming under the floodlights. The air was electric, the tension palpable. Across the field, Oregon’s players warmed up, confident, even cocky. Smith’s eyes locked on their star cornerback, a first-round prospect who had dismissed Ohio State’s receiving corps in a pregame interview.
Big mistake.
From the opening snap, Smith set the tone. On Ohio State’s second drive, quarterback Kyle McCord lofted a deep pass down the sideline. Smith, blanketed by two defenders, soared into the air, his gloved hands snatching the ball with precision. The stadium erupted as he dashed into the end zone, pointing back at Oregon’s bench as if to say, “I’m here.”
But Smith wasn’t done. Throughout the game, he torched Oregon’s secondary with a mixture of speed, strength, and surgical route-running. Every catch, every yard felt like redemption—not just for him, but for every Buckeye who’d tasted the sting of that loss two years ago. Late in the fourth quarter, with Ohio State leading by a touchdown, Smith sealed the game with an acrobatic catch in the corner of the end zone. His teammates mobbed him, and the scoreboard glowed brightly: Ohio State 38, Oregon 24.
After the game, reporters pressed Smith once more. Was this game about revenge? He smirked, wiping sweat from his brow.
“Revenge? Nah,” he said. “It’s about respect. And tonight, we earned it.”
