Waco, Nine and Oh, and Leo's Interception
Cleveland State63
Baylor20
- Game
- 2037 Week 9
- Site
- Away
- Result
- Win
- Record
- 9-0
Vikings 63, Baylor 20, in Waco. Nine and oh.
Forty-three points of daylight, our eighth straight win over the Bears. Nine and oh, folks, for the eighth straight year. I promised myself I’d never get used to it. I haven’t. I’ve just learned to be grateful in a quieter voice.
And on the same afternoon, in Pennsylvania, Leo Reyes, a college sophomore, intercepted a pass. His first college interception. He ran it back twenty yards before somebody pushed him out of bounds. And on the sideline, before he stood up, I’m told he looked at the stands and pointed at nobody in particular. Sofia, who was there, texted me: “He pointed at the sky. He said later it was for you, because you weren’t there.”
Folks, in 2029, when Leo was eleven and playing for my Lakers, he made his first interception, got pushed out of bounds right in front of me, and said, “Coach, did you see that?” I said, “Leo, I’ll see it every night for the rest of my life.” Eight years later he made another one, and pointed at the sky so I’d see that one too.
I saw it. On a laptop, on my porch, with Five on my lap and Donna crying next to me. I saw it.
Four pierogi.
A forty-three-point road win at Baylor. Nine and oh.
Leo Reyes intercepted his first college pass and pointed at the sky for Mickey, who was on his porch in Cleveland watching on a laptop. I’d like to note for the record that I was also on that porch, because it was Sunday-ish and I’m always on that porch now, and that I watched Mickey watch it, and that it was the best thing I saw all weekend, including the Vikings.
The Vikings have three regular-season games left: TCU, Oklahoma State and Kansas State, all at home. Then, likely, the Big 12 title game against the RedHawks, who are undefeated, scoring more than eighty points a game, and have beaten the Vikings six straight times.
Oklahoma State. I want to mark that one. In 2027 the Vikings lost at Stillwater by three, and Teresa left a note on my door: “Soup’s in the fridge. They’ll win the next one.” She’s kept being right about the next one for ten years.
My father, Sunday, a good day. I told him about Leo. He said, “The cornerback?” I said yes. He said, “He caught one?” I said yes. He said, “Good. Now he knows.” I asked, “Knows what, Dad?” He said, “That it’s worth waiting for.”
Back and forth
He pointed at the sky for me.
You were on the porch. He knew you’d see it. Everybody knows where you’ll be.
Your dad said it’s worth waiting for.
He’s been waiting for things for eighty-five years. He’d know.
Nine and oh in Waco for the eighth straight year, a college sophomore’s first interception and a point at the sky for the coach on the porch, and a father saying it’s worth waiting for.
Split Decision is fiction. Mickey Bridges, Ken Hogmanes and The Lakefront Ledger are invented; the games and scores are not.