Houston Held to Seven, and Sofia Commits
Cleveland State38
Houston7
- Game
- 2037 Week 4
- Site
- Home
- Result
- Win
- Record
- 4-0
Vikings 38, Houston 7, at home. Four and oh.
Thirty-one points of daylight, our sixth straight win over the Cougars. Thirty-eight points is a quiet day for this offense, folks, but the defense made it loud: seven points allowed. Four games, fifty-one points allowed total.
Big news on the porch. Sofia Reyes, seventeen, a senior, has committed. Not to play football. To study. She’s going to the university in Ohio with the sports analytics program, the one that wrote her last year. They gave her a scholarship. She told us on the porch on Sunday, in front of Marco, Jess, Donna, me, and Five, who was asleep on Ken’s shoes. Ken was there. Ken’s always there now on Sundays.
Sofia said, “Coach Mickey, I’m going to learn how to measure the things that don’t happen.” Then she looked at Ken and said, “Mr. Ken, I’m going to measure the Sofia Stat for real.” Ken said, “You’ll need a better name for it.” She said, “No, I won’t.” Ken laughed. Ken laughs now. It still surprises me.
Leo called in from Pennsylvania on a video call. He’s a sophomore now, starting at cornerback. He said, “Sof, I told you.” She said, “You told me nothing, Leo.” They’re the best brother and sister I know, and they’ve never once agreed on anything.
Four pierogi.
A thirty-one-point home win over Houston. Four and oh. The defense has allowed fifty-one points in four games, and one of the four was at Alabama.
Sofia Reyes is going to study sports analytics. I want to say something about her on the record. In 2024, she was four years old and dressed as a pierogi for Halloween. In 2034, she invented a statistic that measures the plays where nothing happens because someone was ready. In 2037, she’s been given a scholarship to learn how to measure it properly. I’ve kept stats on this program for fourteen years. The single best idea I’ve had came from a fourteen-year-old on a porch. I’d like it on my tombstone, next to “the one who saves the seat.”
Five sleeps on my shoes now. Mickey says that means I’m staying. I’ve stopped arguing with beagles.
My father, Sunday: short. “Is Kenny there?” My mother said, “You’re talking to him, Ray.” He said, “Kenny. How’s the girl?” I said Teresa’s good. He said, “Not that girl. The clipboard girl.” I told him she’s going to college. He said, “Good eye.” He said it in 2035 too. Some things stay where he put them.
Back and forth
She’s going to measure the things that don’t happen.
She already does. Now someone’s going to pay her for it.
Your dad remembered the clipboard girl.
“Good eye.” Two years apart. Same words. He keeps the good ones.
Houston held to seven, a seventeen-year-old who once dressed as a pierogi headed to college to measure what doesn’t happen, and a father who remembered her clipboard.
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.