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The Daily Illini

Editorial: 4 odes to Valentine’s Day on campus

In honor of the single best time of year to see packs of people in red bar crawl t-shirts, our editorial board brings to you the finest poems we could muster. A celebration as distinguished as that of St. Valentine deserves sophisticated thought on love, lust and life. We hope our work here reflects your innermost Valentine’s Day thoughts.

The Land of Red Lion

Oh land of lion.

Land of bar crawl tees and beer gardens.

Land of darkness and blackouts.

Oh tables and DJs and frat stars in jerseys.

You’re a magical place, full of wonder and disgust.

Where we spend happy hours and morning block.

But sometimes a sight will catch your eye,

One both “yikes” and “aww” at the same time.

Girl and guy swapping spit on the dance floor.

Oblivious to all around them.

A true love story in the making,

At least until the sun comes up.

Late Night Flight

You left me, and I know not what to do.

I never thought I could feel like this, but you proved otherwise.

I used to see your golden visage betwixt midnight and 2 a.m.

Every weekend night, I took you for granted.

Now, you’re gone.

Wherefore hath thou left me, Cracked?

You promised to return,

Even sacrificed fair Antonio,

Yet your truck is oft astray.

Now each night, I venture toward Joe,

In search of that yellowy hue I know.

And when rejected,

Our friends dejected,

We head instead for the golden arches.

Perks of Flying Solo

When you’re single it’s easy to wallow

If Valentine’s Day fills you with sorrow.

Love is everywhere

But do not despair:

All the candy’s on clearance tomorrow.

Falling through hoops

With you, we were never supposed to lose.

But now, we’re worse off than we were with Bruce.

Looking competent is easy when standing with Beck,

But Lovie’s here now, and your program’s a wreck.

Each excruciating loss, the players’ fault.

And every unexpected hiccup, the supposed precursor to a vault.

Talks of rebounding and effort are moot,

It’s not all on the Illini to execute.

Josh is waiting, ready to strike.

You have six games left —

Give us something to like.

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