Eighty Points, and Phil Comes to Cleveland
Cleveland State80
Kent State14
- Game
- 2035 Week 2
- Site
- Home
- Result
- Win
- Record
- 2-0
Vikings 80, Kent State 14, at home. Two and oh.
Sixty-six points of daylight. That’s seven straight wins over Kent State, folks, and Kenny looks a little more pained every year. It’s the first time the Golden Flashes have come to our house since 2027, and our guys were not good hosts. Three pierogi, because I’m a gentleman, and because Kenny asked me nicely.
And here’s the story. Phil came. Phil is Kent State’s sports information director, and has been forever, and Kenny has been apologizing to him in print since 2028. This year, for the first time, Phil came to Cleveland. He sat in the visitors’ press box, and at halftime, with the score already a mess, he walked over to our side and introduced himself to me. A small, neat man with a Kent State tie and a very firm handshake. He said, “You’re the believer.” I said, “You’re Phil.” He said, “I’m Phil.”
Then he said, “Mickey, I want you to know something. Ken writes about you like you’re a pain. He’s never once written about you like you’re not his best friend.” Then he went back to his side. I didn’t know what to say. I still don’t.
Three pierogi. One on the plate, which I gave to Phil.
A sixty-six-point home win over my alma mater. I’d like to formally retire from apologizing to Phil. It’s been eight years. Phil came to Cleveland. Phil met Mickey. Phil, I’m told, said something to Mickey that Mickey won’t repeat and that I’m not going to ask about. Phil and I had dinner afterward at the Lantern Room. He ordered a club soda. Nadia asked him who he was. He said, “I’m the one Ken apologizes to.” She said, “There’s a lot of you.” He said, “I’m the main one.”
At dinner Phil told me he’s retiring after this season. Twenty-seven years at Kent State. I asked what he’ll do. He said, “Watch football without keeping stats.” I said that sounded impossible. He said, “Ken, it’s the only way to actually see it.” I’ve been thinking about that. I’ve kept stats on this program for twenty years. I’m not sure I’ve seen it.
My father, Sunday. Short. “Is it the season?” “It’s the season, Dad.” “Good.” Notebook: “Good.”
Back and forth
Phil’s retiring?
After this season. He says he’s going to watch without keeping stats.
Are you going to try that?
No. But I’m going to think about it. Which, for me, is basically the same as trying.
Eighty points against Kent State, Phil in Cleveland at last with a firm handshake and a truth for Mickey, and an old sports information director’s advice: watch without keeping stats.
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.