Poetry of the IU Football Champions

    Many of us long suffering Hoosier fans are older than me

    They saw many more seasons, of futility, embarrassment.

    None of the 1945 champion fans or players are living to talk about that team anymore, right?

    Maybe someone born in 1930 or 1938 remembers them, still alive.

    I hope so. In the Hoosier heartland, or perhaps transferred to California or Florida. Or even Georgia.

    Hoosier fans. A rarer breed back in the day. 

    I was one, proudly, by 1980, at least.

    

    After the 1979 crazy Corso bowl win agains the up and coming BYU Cougars. 

    Another team to wax poetic about. For another verse.

    I am a Hoosier fan! (Sorry, Tom Bell. Former Cougar lineman.)

    They are my home and secular love. 

    Was it 1983 that I really started to track them? By radio and newspaper.

    The signal emissions on my transistor at home, my long beloved clock radion, or from whichever car that I found myself in... 

    Returning home from a campout with the Scouts.

    Maybe later that day on the way to dinner with my family.

    The occasional televised game. 

    ESPN opened up the channels ever more. Beyond the ubiquitous NBC, CBS, ABC.

    Then later Fox.

    Over time the love, the attention, the nostalgia and lore grew.

    Mallory. Cameron. Lynch. Who else? Oh yeah, Wilson! Then Allen, who lead to:

    THE. CURT. CIGNETTI. We must love Italy and Italian-Americans.

    We have Googled him.

    He is the champion of champs.

    Wow. Quite the guy.

    A legend of epic proportions, building up over his decades of lifetime into the last two years.

    Indiana is a power.

    Sold out games. Expensive tickets.

    

    Is this poetry? I am not Billy Collins.

    Even AI me from my online footprints is not good enough to capture it, it seems.

    Now we sport our national champion shirts. Hats, caps, tooks or beanies. 

    Oh, and why not candy striped pants or overalls? 

    Penn State fans and followers (as I have seen them at all games everyhwere), the magnificent former victors of national acclaim, squirm and cower when we mention

    the catch  (the Catch!) in the end zone by an inch to preserve the unblemished wonder that was last season, 2025.

    2025. Maybe two huge wins more in January of 2026. 

    We know of Oklahoma, Army, Notre Dame, Michigan, Ohio State, Alabama, Georgia, Clemson.

    Even Brigham Young, from the auspicious year of the Orwellian 1984.

    And yes, the the Florida schools, all the big three.

    We are little old southern Indiana hick IU, with the little stadium simply named Memorial, with the howitzers or some type of World War II cannons ensconced on the west side. 

    We won that war, and we win on the grid iron of the pig skin. After well over a hundred years of losing and laughter, mocking directed at us. Even by the Purdue fans! Or, especially them.

    Ha! He who laughs first...

    Hang the banners in the rafters, from roof tops, from bumper stickers and placards.

    Wear the championship status with pride!

    Indiana Hoosiers. 

    We are the best.

    We have been the worst.

    Google it.