Black is the new orange? So retro. What about purple? Colorful language. Said when you semi-officially, and make that woefully, enter Badgerland from far afield Minnesota via bus? Will they make you bleed red? As thus-colored fall leaves approach, as does the start of school. Green transfers into gold, as words play.

The Flixbus driver ruled the four-or-more lanes, like their German autobahn, duly noting all the four- or-five-year, some of them new, college students who were ready to board, and asked the crew increduously for a second time midweek if this is the final day for dorm move-in. I bellowed from mid-bus, “No it’s orientation time.”

For my various nieces and nephews, in transit by the smaller bus that is UHaul, from Madison to Milwaukee and back, or vice versa. One also drove from the Dallas area with a scared-enough-to-be-shaking kitty with an about-one-year-old, one bum leg. That limb’s not shaking.

The-same-day, I spied a couple of girls thus climbing on the big bus, the distance as between a set of sticked-yard-lines ahead of me, wearing Minnesota Gopher and their grid maroon sweatshirts. So I pulled up alongside their seat and asked if they knew this was Badgerland and that might get some good-natured, lineman-like pushback from other passengers who were also U bound on this might-a-well-be Uline, across company and country.

At a set of tennis courts near campus a couple of young men were seen tossing around instead a football on the side court a few feet away from both one of the fences and the doubles-court line running north and south. But with no crowds cheering, and not raising a big racquet, these football throws weren’t seen as one foot fault, much less a double fault. The distance between the men was about the same as when we’d run square-outs at a group of teens ourselves while playing two-on-two, passing-only touch football in the full-acre backyard.

After the first day of class, there was more fire and catch, this time between a pair of faux players who were straddling a to-get-a-first down pedestrian crossing set of stripes laid sideways in the parking lot of a church school. They were also wearing the colors …

As were a lone customer and groups of clerks in maroon shirts, T-shirts this time, at a local grocery store grabbing halftime grub, as in the forbidden form of cheese. They could of also purchased, out front, from among the dozens of flowers on the potted plants showing a big upper-case green G on their clay cases that would soon be falling to the ground, in the fall as the football season progresses, and be grounded semi-intentionally. Pick Packer peonies? And through a nearby park, concert-goers at a Lions Club fest, clad in pumpkin-piqued orange (blouse) and black (boots) to create tiger-like stripes? (Though Detroit has single-tone uniforms.)

But there would be a Vikes possibly-played-to-victory — it turned out to be a big one — on this Sunday as well, as was held in celebration at Dick’s Bar and Grill through the late afternoon and early evening and then until bartime, by a man who bore a Central Division Champions shirt circa 1994. He spoke of a full day of viewing. But then short-circuited after that. Perhaps by electrocution as Halloween gear has been sprouting up here and there at stores everywhere. Like at Walgreens, and I wouldn’t bet against Green- and Gold-colored themes.

And when was it last that Green Bay was a champ? A nextdoor light pole was spelling out its suggestion in its four digits, “2021.” 

Or don’t wager against Bucky. A wafting billboard boasted the badger doing push-ups, in tandem with a Madison-based credit union, saying he’d do one for every sponsored credit card swipe. Sans sit ups?

Share the Post:

Related Posts

A hodgepodge listing of everything that’s truly different but maybe baked porage follows, and we’re not talking about a connect-the-dots or puzzle-pieces contest or one on Trump’s foreign policy, haha, rather what I saw and what will be seen around town in recent times. Mostly, one of each. Think you have the world’s, or more likely local church’s, best grilled cheese sandwich, (coming from the land of, specifically, well curded and curdled milk and honey?) Fry it to the test on Saturday. No this is not an autumn chili cookoff, or char the best burger, or even a poker run...
Music in the trees? It conjures up images of a poet wearing millenniums-ago robe and sandals while playing a lute and propped onto the fourth fork of a bigger-than-usual apple tree and doing a balancing act on his ass while he sings a soliloquy or a soffit. Maybe taking a bite in-between verses, to match what listeners chomped on if they hauled it in down long nature paths, making for dinner and a show with duos and trios, and one huge and elaborate band. Well didn’t quite get that lute-ist. Or a bassist so high on life and so-forth stoned...
Questions everywhere? These days, how do you dismiss an ad or a politician, or whoever or whatever pops up and occupies your computer screen, or mailbox, electronic or otherwise? And did that answer in the form of a package or letter or even air waves — coming from a pol or a pool? — ever actually arrive, like all those ads and flyers? Maybe it never will? And surely not written with a quill. As one friend just reminded me, it all starts with one problem leading into another set of problems. Or, like a volcano boiling and brewing and...
Hey today they threw it all back to you, as it is election day, and with it the last Badger gasp — if least if they’re our candidates — (is that the throaty noise they make?), with a soar-throated, campaign-trail rasp made by an audio-version plethora of last-minute flyers that fill our boxes with hopes to grasp, so we can check their boxes when we go to the polls and pick a (partial) winner to move on to full November midterms. Less then the Trump-triumphed manhandling our mailboxes got however, in the last election of this type. Those worn, creaking...
Scroll to Top