Texas Comes to Cleveland, and Leo Plays His First College Game
Cleveland State35
Texas31
- Game
- 2036 Week 2
- Site
- Home
- Result
- Win
- Record
- 2-0
VIKINGS 35, TEXAS 31. AT HOME.
Texas, folks. The Longhorns. A first-time opponent, a giant, a school with more history than most countries. They came to Cleveland on a warm September afternoon, and they made it a real game for four quarters. Four points. Our guys made one more play than they did. Two and oh.
I sat down for the fourth quarter, per doctor’s orders. I lasted until the last drive. Then I stood up. Donna stood up with me. My doctor reads this column. Doctor, I’m sorry. It was Texas.
And on the same Saturday, four hundred miles east, Leo Reyes played his first college football game. Cornerback, for the small college in Pennsylvania. Marco, Jess and Sofia drove out and watched from the bleachers. Sofia live-texted me every play. “LEO IN.” “LEO BROKE UP A PASS.” “LEO MISSED A TACKLE, HE’S MAD.” “LEO MADE THE NEXT TACKLE, HE’S FINE.” At the end she wrote, “THEY WON. LEO SAYS TELL COACH MICKEY.”
So I’m telling you, folks: they won. Leo says tell Coach Mickey. Coach Mickey has been told.
Five pierogi. One on the plate. One sent to Pennsylvania by mail, frozen, by Donna, who says it’ll arrive “close enough.”
A four-point home win over Texas. Two and oh. The closest game of the season so far, against the best opponent the Vikings have faced on their home field in years.
Leo’s first college game and the Vikings’ game against Texas happened at the same time. Mickey read Sofia’s texts to me in the press box. Every time she wrote “LEO,” he read it out loud. Reporters from other papers looked over. One asked who Leo was. Mickey said, “My cornerback.” The reporter checked the Vikings roster. I didn’t explain.
Leo texted me himself, after. “Mr. Ken. We won. I missed a tackle. I’m mad. I made the next one. I’m fine. Is that a good stat?” I wrote back: “That’s the only stat that matters. My father told me that in 2032. He calls it bouncing back.” Leo wrote: “Tell Mr. Ray I bounced back.” I did. My mother read it to him. He said, “The cornerback?” She said yes. He said, “Good.” Notebook: “The cornerback. Good.”
Back and forth
Leo says tell Coach Mickey.
You told the entire press box. Twice.
Your dad knew who he was.
“The cornerback.” He’s never forgotten. Of everything he’s forgotten, he kept the cornerback.
Texas held off by four in a first-ever meeting, a frozen pierogi mailed to Pennsylvania, and a college freshman who missed one tackle and made the next.
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.