Boulder Again, and Sal Lets the Sixth Nail Go
Cleveland State56
Colorado16
- Game
- 2035 Week 9
- Site
- Away
- Result
- Win
- Record
- 9-0
Vikings 56, Colorado 16, in Boulder. Nine and oh.
Forty points of daylight in the mountains, our second straight trip to Boulder and our second straight win there. Five wins in a row over the Buffaloes now, after those two bad years at the start. I still can’t go to altitude; my doctor says no. But I watched at Sal’s, and Sal watched with me, and when the game ended, Sal didn’t take anything extra off the sides. He said, “No sympathy needed this time, Mick. You’re good at Boulder now.”
And then he did something. He climbed up on his little step stool, reached over the five Ohio pennants, and took the sixth nail out of the wall. The empty one. The one he put up last year for Ohio’s sixth title, the one Ohio didn’t win last year because we beat them in the semifinal. He pulled it out with his pliers and handed it to me.
He said, “Keep it, Mick. You earned it.” I said, “Sal, it’s a nail.” He said, “It’s the nail you kept empty.”
Folks, I’ve got a lot of things framed. A nail isn’t something you frame. I’m going to frame it anyway. Sam’s making a little box for it. Walnut. Of course.
Four pierogi. One on the plate.
A forty-point road win at Colorado. Nine and oh.
Sal gave Mickey a nail. I want to explain to readers outside Cleveland why that matters. Since 2029, Sal has hung a green Ohio pennant over his barber mirror for every Ohio national title, and put up an empty nail for the next one. Five pennants. Five nails, filled. Then a sixth nail, empty, waiting. The Vikings beat Ohio in the semifinal last year, and the sixth nail stayed empty all year. On Saturday, Sal pulled it out and gave it to Mickey.
That’s the most sportsmanlike thing I’ve seen in eleven years of this rivalry, and I’ve seen Nadia hug me.
Ohio is next week. In Athens. The Vikings are nine and oh. Ohio has lost this year, and isn’t the team it was. The Vikings have won in Athens four times in five trips. Sal says, “Go anyway, Mick.” Teddy said that once too. I’m noticing that the wisest people in this city all say the same thing.
My father: sleeping. My mother said Sunday wasn’t a day for the phone. I said I’d call next week. She said, “He asked if it’s still the season.” I said, “Tell him it is.” She said she would.
Back and forth
Sal gave me the empty nail.
The nail you kept empty. That’s what he said. It’s the best thing anyone’s said to you in a barbershop.
Your dad asked if it’s still the season.
It is. Tell him it is, every week, until it isn’t.
A second straight win in Boulder, a barber pulling the empty sixth nail out of his wall and handing it over, and a father in Sarasota asking if it’s still the season.
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.