Seventy-Seven to Twenty-Four, and Big Stan Changes the Menu
Cleveland State77
Iowa State24
- Game
- 2033 Week 9
- Site
- Home
- Result
- Win
- Record
- 9-0
VIKINGS 77, IOWA STATE 24. NINE AND OH.
Fifty-three points of daylight, at home, on a cold clear afternoon with the whole stadium wearing gloves. And Titus Reece, our freshman from Iowa, playing against the team from his home state, did things that made the Iowa State fans in the visitors’ section stand up and clap for him. For him! The other team’s fans! I’ve never seen that.
Now, Big Stan. Big Stan heard about my heart. Big Stan heard about “fewer pierogi.” And on Monday, folks, I walked into the deli and there was a new board. Not a sandwich. A salad. Painted in Vikings green. It’s called The Mickey: grilled chicken, spinach, roasted beets, a little goat cheese, and, on the side, in a tiny paper cup, one pierogi. “One,” Stan said. “Doctor’s orders. I called him.”
He called my doctor. I don’t know how he got the number. I didn’t ask.
The counter council voted on whether I’m allowed to order anything else. It was six to nothing, no. Chester did not abstain. Chester voted. First time in nine years. He voted no. Then he patted my hand.
Five pierogi. In spirit. One in the tiny paper cup.
A fifty-three-point home win over Iowa State. Nine and oh. The freshman receiver from Iowa beat Iowa State so thoroughly that their own fans applauded him, which I’ve never seen in nineteen years of covering this sport, and which tells you something about both Titus Reece and the good people of Ames.
Next week, the Vikings go to Orlando. Then Ohio comes to Cleveland. Ohio is undefeated, the four-time defending national champion, and so far this season has looked like the best team in the country. The Vikings are undefeated too. Nobody is talking about anything else.
Big Stan called Mickey’s cardiologist. I want that on the record. A deli owner in Slavic Village called a cardiologist at the Clinic, introduced himself as “Mickey’s brother,” which he isn’t, and asked what Mickey’s allowed to eat. The cardiologist, I’m told, gave him a list. Stan built a salad from the list and named it after Mickey and put one pierogi on the side “for morale.” Chester voted. Chester. That’s how serious it is. That’s how loved he is.
Back and forth
A salad, Kenny. Named after me.
With one pierogi in a paper cup. It’s the most loving thing I’ve ever seen on a menu.
Chester voted.
First time in nine years. Against you. Because he loves you. That’s Cleveland.
Seventy-seven points and a freshman applauded by the other team’s fans, a salad board at Big Stan’s with one pierogi on the side, and Chester’s first vote in nine years, cast out of love.
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.