Ninety-Eight Points, a Grandpa in the Press Box, and Price Gets His Job Back
Cleveland State98
Florida Atlantic3
- Game
- 2031 Week 1
- Site
- Home
- Result
- Win
- Record
- 1-0
Vikings 98, Florida Atlantic 3. At home. NINETY-EIGHT.
Folks, I’m a grandfather. Rose Bridges Marsh arrived in July, seven pounds, four ounces, with her mother’s chin and, I swear on Big Stan’s slicer, my eyebrows. I held her for the first time at the hospital in Athens and sang her the Vikings fight song, quietly, all four verses, including the one in Spanish that Sofia Reyes wrote.
And then Bridget and Eli brought her home in a onesie. A green onesie. Bobcat green. With a little Ohio paw print on the chest. I said, “Bridget.” She said, “Dad, she lives in Athens.” I said, “She’s three days old, she doesn’t live anywhere yet.” Donna took a picture of my face. It’s on her phone background now.
The football: Coach Dolan gave the starting job back to Greg Price, rated 85, over last year’s Heisman winner, Dave Shelley, rated 84. The kid who listened. The kid who held a headset all last year without a word. Price’s first game back: ninety-eight points.
Jersey thirty-eight, on the second rack. Five pierogi. One for Rose, for when she has teeth.
Ninety-five points of daylight. I have nothing to say about the football except that Florida Atlantic will be fine, eventually, emotionally.
The quarterback decision is the story. The Vikings benched a Heisman winner for the man he replaced. I can’t think of another program that would do that. I also can’t think of another program that would have two quarterbacks good enough to make it a reasonable choice. Coach Dolan is either brilliant or reckless, and he’s been Coach of the Year, so I’m leaning brilliant.
I called my father Sunday. A mixed day. He didn’t know the score. I told him. He said, “Who’s the quarterback?” I said, “Price, Dad. Price is back.” There was a pause, and then he said, very clearly: “Good. He listened.” He remembered. A year later, through everything, he remembered that the kid listened.
As for Mickey being a grandfather: he’s called me eleven times since July to describe Rose’s eyebrows. They’re very ordinary eyebrows. I’ve seen pictures. I haven’t told him.
“Lil,” since a reader asked again: a hospital nursery card. Mine said “Lil Hogmanes” because the nurse ran out of room. Rose’s says “Rose.” She’ll never have this problem.
Back and forth
She has my eyebrows, Kenny.
She has eyebrows. Everyone has eyebrows.
Your dad remembered Price!
“He listened.” A year later. I wrote it on a napkin, like he does.
Ninety-eight points, a quarterback who waited his turn, a father in Sarasota who never forgot him, and a granddaughter in Athens in exactly the wrong shade of green.
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.