Jersey Forty-Four, and Phil Watches Without a Pencil
Cleveland State63
Kent State21
- Game
- 2037 Week 1
- Site
- Away
- Result
- Win
- Record
- 1-0
Vikings 63, Kent State 21, in Kent. One and oh.
Forty-two points of daylight to start my forty-fourth season covering this program, folks. Jersey forty-four goes on the third rack. Donna says the third rack is full now. Sam says a fourth rack is “already in the truck.” Sam’s always one rack ahead of me.
Elijah Pashos, a fifth-year senior, is back at quarterback for his final year. He took the job last year and threw the ball like he’d been waiting his whole life for permission. This year he has it.
And here’s a little thing from Kent. Phil, who retired as Kent State’s sports information director last year, came to the game. Not in the press box. In the stands. In a Kent State sweatshirt with a hot dog. Kenny spotted him from the press box with my binoculars and said, “Mickey, look. He’s not writing anything down.” And he wasn’t. Phil sat in the sun for four quarters and watched football with nothing in his hands but a hot dog and, by the third quarter, a second hot dog.
At halftime, he looked up at the press box, found us, and gave us a thumbs-up. Then he went back to watching. That’s what retirement looks like, my people. Two hot dogs and a thumbs-up.
Four pierogi. One on the plate.
A forty-two-point road win at Kent State. One and oh. My alma mater has now lost eight straight to the Vikings.
I watched Phil watch the game. It’s the first time in my life I’ve seen a sports information director look at a football field without a stat sheet. He laughed twice. He clapped for a Kent State touchdown and then, a few minutes later, for a Vikings one. He looked like a man at a picnic.
Afterward he sent me a text: “You should try it, Ken.” I wrote back: “I can’t. I’m the numbers desk.” He wrote: “Not forever.” I’ve been thinking about that. My father says that too, about Ohio. Everybody in my life is telling me “not forever” about something.
I called my father Sunday. A tired day. My mother put him on for a moment. I told him it was the first game. He said, “Is it a good team?” I said, “I think so, Dad.” He said, “Then watch it.” I said I would. Notebook: “Then watch it.”
“Lil,” because a new intern asked: I don’t remember. That’s true this time. Fourteen years of answers, and I’ve forgotten which one was first. Mickey says that means I finally made it up.
Back and forth
Two hot dogs, Kenny.
And a thumbs-up. Phil’s retirement is going better than anyone’s career.
“Then watch it.”
My father’s advice for the season. I’m going to try. With a pencil. Baby steps.
Forty-two points to open a forty-fourth season, a retired sports information director watching football without a pencil, and a father in Sarasota telling his son to watch it.
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.