By William Walsh
Fans south or north of Madison,
April swagger through September woes,
Ascend the passageway slope,
Emerge with undying hope,
Breathe the vast green expanse – repose.
A century both sides of Madison,
A city sprouts among these two lot,
Grainy black-and-white clips,
The scorecard page flips,
A ‘W’ hoisted? Sometimes – most times not.
Born north or south of Madison,
For generations, the die has been cast,
Chance cross-town diffusion,
Causes familial confusion,
Dissenters are often harassed.
The major leagues swirl about Madison,
Clubs prove fickle mates for their towns,
Trading coast for a coast,
Accepting any new host,
Yet for decades, these two stayed around.
Few champions paraded down Madison,
Ticker tape reigns in the east,
Nay, the sum of our pennants,
Counting team years as tenants,
Sadly computes as the least.
Staid north, wild south, styles grace Madison,
Wool, flannel, and synthetic frockings,
To a theme, North stayed true,
‘Cross town donned black, red, and blue,
The only constant, the color of stockings.
Many stars played on both sides of Madison,
Home town heroes and guests drew attention,
Mordecai, Gabby, Big Ed
Ernie, Hack, Luke, and Red,
My pardon, there’s too many to mention.
So it goes, straddling old Madison,
One lone curse left for correction,
Black stains now washed clean,
A mere goat stands between,
World peace, perhaps celestial perfection.
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Composed on a four-hour flight from San Diego to Chicago.
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Comments welcome.
Posted on May 22, 2012