Auburn, Fifty-Three Points, and Leo Comes Home for Break
Cleveland State53
Auburn21
- Game
- 2036 CFP Quarterfinal
- Site
- Neutral site
- Result
- Win
- Record
- 13-1
VIKINGS 53, AUBURN 21. INTO THE NATIONAL SEMIFINAL.
Thirty-two points of daylight against another SEC giant, another first-time opponent. Auburn! Two weeks, two SEC teams, two blowouts. Folks, our guys have been told for years that they play in the wrong part of the country to be taken seriously. They’re taking the SEC seriously, one at a time.
Into the semifinal for the third straight year, and the seventh time in nine years.
Leo came home from college for winter break this week. Eighteen now, taller than Marco, with a beard he says is “for warmth” and Kenny says is “for gravitas.” He walked over to our porch the first night home, sat down in Sam’s walnut rocking chair without asking, and picked up Five, who licked his beard. Then he said, “Coach Mickey, I watched every game on my laptop in the dorm.” I said, “Every game?” He said, “My roommate’s from Columbus. He’s an Ohio State fan. I explained the whole rivalry to him.” I said, “What did he say?” Leo said, “He said it sounds exhausting.” I said, “It is.” Leo said, “That’s what I told him. Then I told him it’s the best thing in the world.”
Five pierogi.
A thirty-two-point quarterfinal win over Auburn. Thirteen and one. Florida State waits in the semifinal. The RedHawks are on the other side.
Leo is home. He’s eighteen. He has a beard, which he credits to “warmth” and which I’m told he grew after reading my 2030 column about mine. I’ve decided to take that as a compliment and not as an accusation.
He came to the Lantern Room with Mickey and me on Tuesday, his first time there as an adult. Nadia carded him. He handed her his ID. She looked at it, looked at him, and said, “You’re the cornerback.” He said, “Yes, ma’am.” She said, “Ken talks about you more than he talks about the Vikings.” That’s not true. It’s close. She poured him a root beer anyway, on the house, “until you’re legal and after.”
My father, Sunday, a good day. I told him Leo was home. He said, “The cornerback.” I said, “He’s in college now, Dad.” He said, “Is it less lonely?” I asked Leo. Leo said, “Tell him yes.” I told my father. He said, “Good. Told you.” He did. In 2032.
Back and forth
His roommate says it sounds exhausting.
It is. And it’s the best thing in the world. Leo’s right about both.
Your dad remembered telling him.
“Told you.” Four years later. Some things stay where he put them.
Auburn handled by thirty-two, a college freshman home for break with a beard for warmth, a root beer on the house at the Lantern Room, and a father who remembered telling a cornerback it gets less lonely.
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.