The Crimson Blanket’s Promise By:Jim Gandolf

The Crimson Blanket’s Promise

Poem

By: Jim Gandolf 

©️01092025

The Saturdays began in a joyful rush,

A hectic dance your father knew so well.

The packing of the car, the morning’s hush,

With stories only Bloomington could tell.

The cookies packed, a sweet and vital hoard,

To soften blows of scores that didn’t lean

Toward the Hoosier side upon the board—

But still, I wore the Cream and Crimson sheen.

My stepmom cheered through every heavy loss,

Her loyalty a flame that wouldn’t die.

She didn’t mind the grit, the turn, the toss,

Or clouds that gathered in the autumn sky.

Wrapped in that wool, the crimson blanket’s fold,

I sat between my brother and my dad.

The wins were few, or so the stories told,

But those were some of the best days I had.

The "worst in football" was a label worn,

Like fading jerseys in the freezing rain.

But from those quiet years, a soul was born,

A strength that grew from every ounce of pain.

The moves were made, the tide began to turn,

The underdog began to find its bite.

The fire that they said would never burn

Is lighting up the stadium tonight.

Now Indiana stands upon the crest,

Undefeated, proud, and heading for the throne. Number one in the nation IU stands. 

They’ve proven they can run among the best,

With talent that the world has never known.

And as they face Miami for the ring,

In this electric, golden atmosphere,

I; Jimmy, feel the joy that victory can bring,

And wish with all my heart that they were here.

But look toward the stands, the empty seat,

The ghost of cookies and that woolly red.

They saw the glory long before the feat,

In every "maybe next year" that they said.

They’re with me in the roar, the chant, the pride,

As IU takes the field to claim the day.

With every yard and every giant stride,

They’re cheering from a stadium far away.

Jim Gandolf