Waco, Six Points Allowed, and a Defense With a Personality
Cleveland State49
Baylor6
- Game
- 2036 Week 8
- Site
- Away
- Result
- Win
- Record
- 8-0
Vikings 49, Baylor 6, in Waco. Eight and oh.
Forty-three points of daylight, our seventh straight win over the Bears. And the defense held them to six. Folks, in the last five games our defense has allowed nine, nine, seven, twenty-four and six. Kenny says that’s not a trend or a pattern anymore. Kenny says it’s “a personality.” I asked what kind. He said, “Mean, but fair.”
Vonn Ladd, our fifth-year linebacker, is the heart of it. I’m not allowed to give you his numbers until the end. I’ll give you this instead: at Big Stan’s on Monday, Gerald, the ham man, who’s sat at that counter for eleven years and never said a word about any player, raised his hand and said, “Can we get a sandwich for the linebacker?” The whole deli went quiet. Stan said, “Gerald, are you making a motion?” Gerald said, “I think I am.” It was the first motion Gerald ever made.
It passed, six to nothing. Chester voted yes. Then Chester raised his hand and said, “Amendment: make it spicy.” That passed too.
Stan’s working on it. He says it’ll be called The Ladd and it’ll “hit you from the blind side.”
Four pierogi. One on the plate.
A forty-three-point road win at Baylor. Eight and oh. The Vikings’ defense has allowed fifty-five points in the last five games, and twenty-four of those came against a good Arizona State offense.
I want to note that Gerald made a motion. In the twelve years I’ve been eating at Big Stan’s, Gerald has sat when told, ordered ham and been the subject of affectionate jokes, including some of mine. On Monday he stood up and proposed honoring a linebacker. Chester amended it. The council passed it. I’ve covered city council meetings with less democracy than that counter.
I called my father Sunday. My mother said he’d had a hard week, sleeping a lot, eating a little. She put him on for a minute. He said, “Kenny.” Just my name. I said, “Hi, Dad.” He said, “You went somewhere warm.” My mother had told him about the beach. I said yes. He said, “Good. Your mother and I went to Key West in 1977. Best week.” I didn’t know that either. My mother, on the extension, said, “Ray, it was 1978.” He said, “Best week either way.” Notebook: “Key West. Best week either way.”
Back and forth
Gerald made a motion, Kenny.
First in eleven years. And Chester amended it. That counter is a functioning democracy.
Your parents went to Key West?
1977 or 1978. Best week either way. I’ve decided that’s the right way to remember everything.
Eight and oh with a defense whose personality is mean but fair, Gerald’s first motion and Chester’s spicy amendment, and a father remembering the best week of 1977, or 1978, either way.
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.