Two Points in Lawrence
Cleveland State34
Kansas32
- Game
- 2037 Week 5
- Site
- Away
- Result
- Win
- Record
- 5-0
Vikings 34, Kansas 32, in Lawrence. Five and oh.
Two points, folks. TWO. Kansas, a team we beat by sixty-three three years ago, had us on the ropes in their building for four quarters. The offense that put fifty-two on Alabama put thirty-four on Kansas, and that was just barely enough.
I sat down for the fourth quarter. I’d like the record to show that I sat down. I’d also like the record to show that I sat down on Donna’s hand by accident in the last minute and she didn’t say a word about it. She just took it back when the game was over and shook it out and said, “Five and oh, Michael.” Then she shook it out again.
Here’s what I learned. Every great team has a game like this. The 2028 team had the 41-38 loss to Ohio. The 2031 team had Utah, 35-29. You don’t find out who you are against Alabama. You find out who you are in Lawrence, Kansas, when nobody expects you to struggle and you do, and you win anyway.
Big Stan, Monday: “Three pierogi, Mick. Not four. A two-point win in Lawrence is a three-pierogi win.” I said, “Stan, you’re not the pierogi authority.” He said, “Mick, I make the pierogi.”
Three pierogi.
A two-point road win at Kansas. Five and oh. The narrowest margin of the season by a lot.
I’ll offer the numbers desk’s view: it doesn’t matter. The Vikings are five and oh. Close wins count the same in the standings as blowouts. What they’re worth is something the standings don’t measure: a team learning it can be uncomfortable and still win. Mickey’s right about Lawrence. I don’t say that often in print. I’m saying it more this year. I don’t know why.
Teresa asked me after the game, while I paced the kitchen, “Kenny, are you nervous?” I said, “I’m noticing.” She said, “You’re pacing.” I said, “I’m noticing while walking.” She handed me a cup of tea and a record from the big compartment, the one labeled “Kenny After Ohio,” and said, “This isn’t Ohio, but it’s close enough.” It was a slow piano trio. The same kind I was reaching for when I met her. I sat down. I stopped noticing.
The cardinal flower on the fire escape bloomed this week. Red. I sent my mother a picture to show my father. She wrote back: “He said ‘Cardinal.’ Then he said ‘Good.’”
Back and forth
You said I’m right about Lawrence.
I did. Don’t frame it.
I’m framing it.
Of course you are. Put it next to the nail. Sam can make another box.
Two points in Lawrence, a three-pierogi win as ruled by the man who makes the pierogi, and a cardinal flower blooming red on a fire escape for a father in Sarasota who said “Good.”
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.