Utah Held to Six, and Teddy Is Speechless
Cleveland State54
Utah6
- Game
- 2029 Week 10
- Site
- Home
- Result
- Win
- Record
- 9-1
Vikings 54, Utah 6. At home. Nine and one!
SIX POINTS. A physical, disciplined Utah team held to two field goals in our building, on a raw gray November afternoon with the wind coming sideways off the lake. Forty-eight points of daylight. Our defense played like it had heard every word people said about it for five years and decided to answer all of them at once.
Saturday morning I stopped at the West Side Market and Teddy, my kielbasa oracle, wrapped my links and stood there with his mouth open like he wanted to say something and couldn’t. I said, “Teddy, what’s the number?” He said, “I don’t know, Mick. The morning was weird. It was busy and quiet at the same time.” Teddy’s never been speechless. He was speechless. The number was fifty-four to six. Nobody predicts fifty-four to six. It’s not a number. It’s a mood.
Nine and one. Two regular-season games left. Then whatever comes next. I’m trying not to think about January. Bridget’s text is still on my phone. I haven’t deleted it.
Five pierogi. Teddy gets the whole extra ring.
Six points allowed. To Utah. I double-checked the box score, then checked whether the box score software had been updated, then checked again. Six.
That’s the best defensive performance I’ve seen from the Vikings in my time covering them, and I’ve covered a national champion. When people ask me, as they do at the Lantern Room, whether this team is as good as last year’s, I usually say “different.” This week I said, “Maybe better on defense.” Nadia dropped a glass. Not on purpose. Shock.
The Doom Model, I’m told by my own laptop, has started generating something it calls “Scenarios: January.” There are several. Most of them include the word “Ohio.” I’ve closed the tab. It reopens itself.
Teresa got a Saturday off this week, her first in a month, and came to the game. She brought the book again, didn’t open it again, and in the fourth quarter, with the Vikings up forty-eight, she turned to me and said, “Is this a good time to tell you I signed us up for a ballroom dance class?” I said, “Why now?” She said, “Because you can’t say no when they’re winning.” She’s right. I said yes. Tuesdays. During trivia. I’ll have to find a substitute captain.
Back and forth
Six points, Kenny! SIX!
Maybe better on defense than last year. Nadia dropped a glass.
Ballroom dancing?
I was ambushed during a forty-eight-point lead. Strategically brilliant. I’ve been outcoached.
Utah held to two field goals, a speechless sausage oracle, and Ken talked into ballroom dancing during the one moment he couldn’t say no.
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.