Lubbock Remembers, and the Trend Line Takes a Detour
Cleveland State20
Texas Tech34
- Game
- 2029 Week 11
- Site
- Away
- Result
- Loss
- Record
- 9-2
Texas Tech 34, Vikings 20. In Lubbock.
You’ll remember I’ve been writing about Lubbock for five years like it was a growth chart: a four-point loss in 2024, a fourteen-point win in 2026, a twenty-nine-point win in 2027. I had a whole theory about Lubbock, folks. I was going to frame it. And on Saturday, Lubbock looked at my theory and said, “Not this year, Mickey.”
Fourteen points. On the road. The offense that scored seventy-six in Provo couldn’t find the end zone very often, and the defense that held Utah to six got worn down in the second half. It happens. Teams have bad nights. Even good teams. Even teams that hold Utah to six.
I watched at Big Stan’s. Afterward, Stan came over, put a plate in front of me (a Baraka, the double-pierogi one) and said, “Eat, Mick. Tomorrow you’ll feel better.” He’s been saying that to people in my family for forty years. He said it to my father when the mill closed. It works every time.
Nine and two. Zero pierogi. One Baraka, eaten slowly.
The trend line takes a detour. Lubbock went from a loss to a win to a blowout to, this year, a fourteen-point loss. I told Mickey for years that trends aren’t destiny. I didn’t enjoy being right.
Here’s what I’m actually thinking about. The Vikings have two losses, one to a Miami (OH) team that’s undefeated and one in a hostile building on a bad night. Both are forgivable. Neither changes the big picture: this is a playoff team. But it’s no longer a team that steamrolls everyone. It’s a team that has to play well. That’s a different kind of December.
I skipped trivia for our first ballroom class. Teresa and I learned a box step. It’s a box. You step in a box. I stepped on her foot nine times. She’s an ER nurse; she says she’s “seen worse injuries walk in under their own power.” At the end, the instructor said I had “a natural sense of rhythm, once you stop thinking.” Teresa said, “So, never.” I’ve been practicing the box in the kitchen. Coats on. It’s a whole look.
Back and forth
Stan fed me a Baraka.
That’s Stan’s grief protocol. He did it to me after Tulsa.
How’s ballroom?
Nine stepped-on toes. One natural sense of rhythm, pending. A box is harder than it looks.
Lubbock’s trend line takes a detour, Big Stan’s grief protocol is activated, and Ken learns that a box step is the hardest shape in the world.
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.