Six and Oh, and the Record Negotiation Reaches a Ceasefire
Cleveland State59
SMU13
- Game
- 2029 Week 6
- Site
- Home
- Result
- Win
- Record
- 6-0
Vikings 59, SMU 13, at home. Six and oh!
Forty-six points of daylight against a team that gave us a six-point battle in Dallas five years ago, back when I wrote things like “character with a little margin for error.” Now we just have character with a lot of margin.
Sofia Reyes is nine now, and she’s started keeping her own stat sheet during games. On a clipboard. In pencil. She sits on my porch steps with the radio and writes down every play, and at halftime she gives me a “report.” Her halftime report on Saturday was: “The Vikings are winning by a lot, the other team looks sad, and Coach Mickey has yelled eleven times.” I asked how she knew it was eleven. She showed me the tally marks. Eleven. I said, “Sofia, that’s journalism.” She said, “No, Coach Mickey, that’s math.” She’s right. She’s going to replace Kenny someday.
Six and oh. Miami (OH) next week, at our place. Nadia’s RedHawks are undefeated too. Kenny says Nadia is “calm.” I’ve never seen Kenny scared of a calm person before.
Four pierogi. One for Sofia, who has earned a press pass.
A forty-six-point home win. Six and oh. The Vikings have won their six games by an average of almost forty points. Next week, the undefeated RedHawks come to Cleveland, and I’ve stopped pretending I’m thinking about anything else.
But first, an update from the home front, since Mickey’s porch has a nine-year-old statistician and I’d like equal time. The record negotiation has reached a ceasefire. The terms: the jazz stays in the living room; Teresa gets the reading nook back; the overflow records go in the hall closet, “where coats used to be.” I asked where the coats would go. She said, “On you, Kenny. You’ll wear them.” That’s the deal. I wear my coats indoors now. It’s fine. It’s a new apartment. Everything’s an adjustment.
Her weekly pick this time was a record of whale songs. I’m not allowed to criticize it. I’ve listened to it twice. It’s actually very calming. Please don’t tell her.
Nadia texted me Saturday night: “Next Saturday, Ken.” That’s it. Just that. I’ve been sleeping with the light on again.
Back and forth
Sofia counted me yelling eleven times!
That’s a low count for you. She must’ve stepped away.
You’re wearing your coats indoors?
It’s a treaty. Treaties have costs. Mine is warmth.
Six and oh, a nine-year-old with a clipboard and a future, a records treaty signed in a hallway, and a text from Nadia that reads like a weather warning.
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.