Ken Is on a Beach, and Mickey Writes Both Halves

Vikings 59, Arizona 7, in Tucson. Six and oh.

Folks, you’re going to notice something different this week. Kenny’s not here. Kenny is on a beach. A real one, with sand, somewhere warm, in a wide sun hat, under orders from his wife. For the first time in the history of this column, I’m writing alone.

Fifty-two points of daylight in the desert. Our seventh straight win over the Wildcats. The defense allowed seven. That’s three straight weeks under ten, which Kenny says makes it “a personality.”

Kenny made me promise not to write his half. So I’m not going to. I’m going to tell you what happened instead. At 6:42 p.m. Eastern time, I got a text from a number I didn’t recognize. It said: “What’s the score.” No question mark. I knew it was Kenny. He’d borrowed a phone from a bartender at the hotel. I texted back: “We’re up big, third quarter. Go back to the beach.” He wrote: “Is the defense holding?” I wrote: “Kenny. Go back to the beach.” He wrote: “Teresa’s coming. Delete this.” I didn’t delete it.

Five minutes later, a second text, from the same number: “This is Teresa. He’s back on the beach. Thank you, Mickey.” Then: “He’s smiling. Don’t tell him I told you.”

Five pierogi.