Cal Comes to Cleveland, and Sofia Gets a Headset Upgrade
Cleveland State49
California14
- Game
- 2035 Week 7
- Site
- Home
- Result
- Win
- Record
- 7-0
Vikings 49, Cal 14, at home. Seven and oh.
A brand-new opponent: the Golden Bears, all the way from Berkeley. Thirty-five points of daylight. I’m told Berkeley is a beautiful place with a view of the Golden Gate Bridge. I’m told our lake has a view of Canada, on a clear day, if you squint. On Saturday the Cal players saw the lake and the wind came off it sideways, and I think they understood something about Cleveland they didn’t before.
Sofia Reyes, fifteen, a sophomore, has been promoted. She’s still the statistician for her high school varsity team, but this year the head coach gave her a second job: she sits in the press box with the offensive coordinator and tracks the other team’s defense. Tendencies. Down and distance. Who lines up where. She radios down what she sees. Last Friday, the coach told Marco after the game, “Your daughter called the blitz on the last drive before it happened.” Marco called me from the parking lot. He was laughing and crying at the same time. It’s what Marco does now. It’s very efficient.
Leo’s playing his last high school season. Sofia’s calling plays from the booth. Rose is singing two fight songs at once. Folks, the next generation is here and it’s better than us.
Four pierogi. One on the plate.
A thirty-five-point home win over Cal, a first-time opponent. Seven and oh.
Sofia Reyes is now, effectively, an assistant coach at fifteen. She calls blitzes from the press box. She sent me her chart from Friday, which tracks every defensive alignment by down, distance and field position. It’s better than anything the Doom Model has ever produced. I mean that literally. I’ve compared them. Her chart is more accurate and easier to read, and it fits on one page.
I asked her, by text, how she learned to do it. She wrote back: “I watched Mr. Mickey watch. He watches the whole field, not the ball. Everybody else watches the ball.” I read that three times. I’ve sat next to Mickey for eleven years. I’ve watched the ball. He’s watched the field. I never noticed.
Phil’s advice was to watch without keeping stats. Sofia’s is to watch the whole field. I’m forty-nine years old and being taught to watch football by a retired sports information director and a fifteen-year-old. I’m grateful to both.
My father, Sunday. My mother says he’s sleeping more. When he was awake, he asked about “the girl with the clipboard.” My mother told him about the blitz. He said, “Good eye.” Notebook: “Good eye.”
Back and forth
She says I watch the whole field?
Not the ball. The field. She noticed. I sat next to you for eleven years and didn’t.
Your dad’s sleeping more.
He is. When he’s awake, he asks about the girl with the clipboard. He still has a good eye for good eyes.
Seven and oh against a first-time visitor from Berkeley, a fifteen-year-old calling blitzes from a high school press box, and a lesson in watching the whole field, not the ball.
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.