Five Points Over Kent State, and Ken Reached for the Same Record as Somebody
Cleveland State35
Kent State30
- Game
- 2027 Week 2
- Date
- 2027-09-12
- Site
- Home
- Result
- Win
- Record
- 2-0
Vikings 35, Kent State 30. Two and oh. Five points of daylight against the neighbors down Route 43, and I’ll tell you, Kent State played like a team that had circled this one on the calendar the day the schedule came out. I respect it. I don’t enjoy it, but I respect it.
My Lakers opened their season too. Leo Reyes is nine now and has graduated from flags to pads, and he plays cornerback, which means he spends most of every play running toward the ball shouting “I GOT HIM” whether or not he has him. He usually doesn’t. He’s never been happier. Neither have I.
And here’s what I need to report, because I’m a journalist and some things are news: Kenny was in a good mood at lunch Monday. A strange one. He ordered a different sandwich. He hummed. Big Stan asked if he was sick. I’ve known this man thirteen years, and he has hummed in my presence exactly never.
Something is going on with Kenny. I intend to find out.
Three pierogi. A close win over Kent State always tastes a little like a near miss on the Turnpike.
Five points over Kent State is not what you want from a team with this offense. Kent State is a good program and a rival, I went to school there, and I’m not going to pretend they rolled over. But a thirty-point game against the neighbors in week two raises questions about the defense that I’m contractually required to ask.
Unrelated: I was at Spin Cycle Records in Lakewood on Saturday morning, before the game, in the jazz section. I reached for a record, a quiet piano trio, and so did someone else. Our hands touched the sleeve at the same time. She said, “Oh, sorry.” I said, “No, you take it.” She said, “I already have it. I just like to hold it.” Her name is Teresa. She’s an ER nurse. She works nights. She doesn’t care about football. At all. She asked me what I do, and I said, “I write about a football team,” and she said, “That sounds stressful,” and I said, “You have no idea.”
That’s not news. That’s just context.
Back and forth
You hummed, Kenny. At lunch.
I was clearing my throat melodically.
Who’s Teresa?
A person who likes to hold records. Eat your sandwich.
A close win over the neighbors, a nine-year-old cornerback who always thinks he’s got him, and one quiet piano trio that two people reached for at once.
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.