Colorado Seven Straight, and Rose Turns Six
Cleveland State63
Colorado24
- Game
- 2037 Week 6
- Site
- Home
- Result
- Win
- Record
- 6-0
Vikings 63, Colorado 24, at home. Six and oh.
Thirty-nine points of daylight, our seventh straight win over the Buffaloes. In 2024 I thought Colorado was a curse. Now I think of Colorado as an old friend who visits every fall and loses. A very good old friend. I hope they’re well.
Rose turned six in July. She’s in first grade now, in Athens. She reads chapter books. She’s very serious about them. On our Sunday call she read me a chapter of a book about a girl detective, all the way through, with voices, and then she said, “Grandpa, now you read me the box score.” So I did. I read her the box score from the Colorado game: every number, every name. She listened like it was a chapter book. At the end she said, “Which one is the best player?” I said, “Sweetheart, that’s hard to say.” She said, “Then who’s the one you’d want if it was close?” I told her. She said, “Okay. He’s my favorite now.”
Then Bridget got on and said, “Dad, she’s been asking about the Vikings all week.” I said, “Why?” Bridget said, “Because I told her it might be a big year.” Folks, my daughter, who works for Ohio, told my granddaughter it might be a big year for the Vikings. I didn’t ask her why. I’m afraid to know.
Four pierogi.
A thirty-nine-point home win over Colorado. Six and oh.
Bridget Bridges, Ohio’s longtime communications staffer and the most reliable forecaster in this column after Teddy, told her daughter that this “might be a big year” for the Vikings. I’ve learned to treat Bridget’s predictions the way Mickey treats Sal’s pennants: as information from someone who knows things.
The Vikings have scored at least thirty-four points in every game and allowed more than twenty-four only once, in Lawrence. The offense is led by Pashos and a sophomore tight end named Paul Flannigan who, I’m told by Sofia’s charts, is the most efficient receiver she’s ever tracked. Sofia now sends me her charts every Monday, unprompted. They’re better than mine. She knows. I know. We don’t discuss it.
My father, Sunday: a very good day. My mother said he’d been awake all morning watching the birds. When I called, he said, “Kenny! How’s the team?” I said, “Six and oh, Dad.” He said, “Six! Who’s the quarterback?” I said, “Pashos.” He said, “Pashos. Does he listen?” I said, “He does, Dad.” He said, “Good. That’s all that matters.” It’s the question he’s asked about every quarterback for fourteen years. Does he listen.
Back and forth
Bridget said it might be a big year.
I heard. She’s the best forecaster we have left. I’ve updated the Doom Model accordingly.
Your dad asked if Pashos listens.
Fourteen years. Every quarterback. “Does he listen.” It’s the only scouting report he’s ever needed.
Seven straight over Colorado, a six-year-old who wants the box score read like a chapter book, a daughter from Athens predicting a big year, and a father’s only scouting question: does he listen.
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.