Arizona State Gets the Full Cleveland Welcome
Cleveland State56
Arizona State23
- Game
- 2028 Week 10
- Site
- Home
- Result
- Win
- Record
- 9-1
Vikings 56, Arizona State 23, at home. Nine and one!
Last year we went out to Tempe and won by four in heat that made my cardigan file for divorce. This year Arizona State came to us, to a cold gray November afternoon with a wind off the lake that could peel paint, and our guys won by thirty-three. Welcome to Cleveland, gentlemen. We don’t have the sun. We have this.
Marco Reyes watched with me. He’s from Phoenix, you’ll remember, and he’s been in Cleveland four years now, and he’s finally learned to dress for November. He showed up in a coat, a hat, gloves and a Vikings scarf Jess knitted him. I said, “Marco, you look like a Clevelander.” He said, “Mickey, I am a Clevelander.” Then he cheered against the team from his home state for three straight hours and didn’t feel a bit bad about it. That’s conversion, folks. That’s the porch ministry working.
Nine and one. Two regular-season games left. Then, God willing, a conference title game. Then, God willing, more.
Four pierogi. One for Marco, who has earned his scarf.
A thirty-three-point home win over Arizona State. The Vikings are nine and one, and the offense has scored forty or more in seven of ten games. I’ve stopped writing “the offense is good.” I’m starting to write “the offense is historically unusual,” which is the highest compliment the numbers desk can pay.
The Doom Model, I’m told, has been quietly running playoff scenarios. I didn’t ask it to. It’s been doing it at night, when I’m not looking. I found the file this morning. It’s titled “just in case.” It’s very thorough. Every scenario has an asterisk. The asterisks are all in bold.
My father called on Sunday, or rather, my mother dialed and handed him the phone. A good day. He asked, “What’s the record?” I said nine and one. He said, “That’s playoff, Kenny.” I said, “Dad, don’t say that.” He laughed and said, “I’m seventy-six. I’ll say what I want.” He’s right. He’s earned the right to say the word nobody else will.
Back and forth
Nine and one!
My father said the P-word. I couldn’t stop him.
Your dad’s a believer!
He’s seventy-six. He’s allowed. I’m forty-two. I’m still on probation.
A thirty-three-point welcome to Cleveland, a Phoenix native in a hand-knit scarf, and Ray Hogmanes saying the word the whole city’s whispering.
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.