A Fourteen-Point Road Win and Four Hundred Boxes of Jazz
Cleveland State49
Toledo35
- Game
- 2029 Week 2
- Site
- Away
- Result
- Win
- Record
- 2-0
Vikings 49, Toledo 35, in Toledo. Two and oh.
Toledo made us earn this one. Thirty-five points allowed is more than I like, but it’s a road game against a good program from the other end of the lake, and our young quarterback walked into that building and won. That’s two starts, two wins, folks. The kid’s composed. Big Stan says he “has kind eyes,” which I don’t think is a football term, but Stan’s been right about a lot lately.
I spent Saturday morning helping Kenny move. I brought my truck and Sam, my son-in-law, the carpenter, who it turns out can carry a box of records up three flights of stairs while explaining load-bearing walls. There were so many boxes of records, friends. So many. Every box was labeled in Kenny’s tiny handwriting: “JAZZ — SAD.” “JAZZ — LESS SAD.” “JAZZ — FOR BIG WINS (RARELY USED).” That last box was very light.
Teresa met us at the new place with sandwiches from Big Stan’s and a look of quiet fear. She’d measured the living room. Twice.
Three pierogi, and a sore back I’m wearing like a medal.
A fourteen-point road win at Toledo. The defense gave up thirty-five, which, after last year’s championship defense graduated, is about what I expected and not what I wanted. Still, two and oh.
The move. Mickey, Sam and I carried four hundred and twelve boxes. I counted. The labels Mickey mentioned are accurate and I stand by the system. The “FOR BIG WINS” box was light because I’m a realist, not because I’m sad.
Teresa’s reaction to the records, verbatim: “Kenny, this is a lot of records.” I said, “It’s a curated collection.” She said, “It’s a fire hazard with liner notes.” We’ve reached a compromise: half the records live in the living room, half live in what was supposed to be her reading nook, and she gets to choose one record a week that I’m not allowed to criticize. This week she chose a polka album. I’m told it was Mickey’s suggestion.
I’ve been betrayed by my own moving crew.
Back and forth
The big-wins box was so light, Kenny.
It’s light by design. You don’t need many records for something that rarely happens.
It happened last year!
I’ve added one. A big band record. It’s lonely in there.
Two and oh, four hundred and twelve boxes carried up three flights, and a polka record smuggled into a jazz collection by a believer with a truck.
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.