Colorado Comes Back to the Lake, and Sal Is Worried About Me
Cleveland State45
Colorado17
- Game
- 2033 Week 6
- Site
- Home
- Result
- Win
- Record
- 6-0
Vikings 45, Colorado 17, at home. Six and oh.
Twenty-eight points of daylight against the Buffaloes, the second straight year they’ve had to come to us. I used to dread this game. Three columns from Boulder, all of them sad, two of them frostbitten. Now Colorado comes to Cleveland and leaves cold. Revenge is a dish best served at sea level.
I went to Sal’s on Monday, and Sal did something I didn’t expect. He turned off the clippers in the middle of my haircut, put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Mick, how are you feeling?” I said, “Great, Sal, six and oh.” He said, “No. How are you feeling?” I said, “I’m fine.” He said, “You were out of breath walking in from the car.” I said, “It’s cold, Sal.” He said, “It’s sixty degrees.”
Folks, I’m sixty-five. I get out of breath sometimes. It’s nothing. I told Sal it’s nothing. Sal gave me a look over my head in the mirror, under his four Ohio pennants, and said, “Go see somebody, Mick. For me.” Then he finished the haircut and didn’t charge me. Sal has never not charged me.
I’m fine. I made an appointment anyway, for Sal. In the spring. There’s no rush.
Four pierogi.
A twenty-eight-point home win over Colorado. Six and oh. The Vikings have scored at least forty-two in every game and have won by an average of nearly forty points.
Mickey has made a doctor’s appointment, which he’s told me about three times, each time adding “for Sal.” He’s told me it’s in the spring. I asked why the spring. He said, “Because it’s football season, Kenny.” I’ve known Mickey nineteen years. I’ve watched him climb bleachers, sprint across parking lots and stand for entire fourth quarters. I’ve never seen him sit down on the bench outside the press box to catch his breath, which he did on Saturday, twice. I didn’t say anything. I’m saying it now, in the paper, where he can’t interrupt me: Mickey, move the appointment up.
Donna called me Sunday night, which she’s never done. She said, “Ken, did you see him on the bench?” I said yes. She said, “Thank you for saying something.” I said I hadn’t said anything yet. She said, “You will.” I’m saying it.
Back and forth
I’m fine, Kenny.
Move the appointment up.
It’s football season!
It’s football season every year. You only have one heart. Move it up. For Sal. For Donna. For me, if you have to.
Colorado leaves the lake cold for the second straight year, a barber who notices what matters, and a doubter putting it in print: move the appointment up.
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.