Houston, and the Lantern Room Has No Bet This Year
Cleveland State56
Houston17
- Game
- 2033 Week 7
- Site
- Away
- Result
- Win
- Record
- 7-0
Vikings 56, Houston 17, in Houston. Seven and oh.
Thirty-nine points of daylight in Texas. The last time we played the Cougars, in 2025, our quarterback was a freshman named Amar’e Hocker. This year we have another freshman quarterback, Kaleb DuBose, and he’s from Texas, and he went home to Texas and played like he’d been waiting his whole life to do it in front of his family. His grandmother was in the stands in a Vikings jersey with his number on it. The TV showed her three times. She waved every time.
Folks, I’m going to tell you something about grandmothers. Every one of them in this column has been a force of nature. Rosalind with her sign. Marco’s mother with her tamales. And now Mrs. DuBose, waving at a camera in Houston in a green jersey. If you want to know why football matters, look at the grandmothers.
I went to the appointment early, by the way. Not in the spring. Last Tuesday. For Sal, and for Donna, and, fine, for Kenny. The doctor listened to my heart for a long time and then said, “We’re going to run some tests.” Tests are normal, my people. Everyone gets tests.
Four pierogi.
A thirty-nine-point road win in Houston. Seven and oh. The freshman quarterback from Texas went home and played like he owned the place.
Something odd about this season: there’s no Miami (OH) game on the schedule. For the first time since I started writing this column, the Vikings and the RedHawks don’t play in the regular season. That means there’s no bet at the Lantern Room. Nadia announced it to the bar Tuesday with real sorrow: “No game, no bet. First time in ten years.” Then she looked at me and said, “So we’ll have to root for each other.” The RedHawks are undefeated too. If both teams keep winning, the playoff could put us together. Nadia says she’s “praying for the semifinal, not the quarterfinal.” I didn’t ask the difference. She explained it anyway. It’s very detailed.
Mickey went to the doctor. Early. He told me it was “tests.” He said “tests” four times. Donna called me afterward and said, “Thank you, Ken.” I said, “I didn’t do anything.” She said, “You wrote it down where he couldn’t argue.” That’s the first time my job has ever been useful to anyone in a medical sense.
Back and forth
It’s just tests, Kenny.
I know. You said so four times. Tests are good. Tests are information. I love information.
No bet this year?
No game. Nadia’s in mourning. She’s put the bobblehead in a little black scarf.
Thirty-nine points in Houston for a freshman’s homecoming, a grandmother waving at a camera, a bet suspended for lack of a game, and a believer who went to the doctor early.
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.