I love this town. I really do. I love this school, and I’m confident my investment should see a fairly good return down the road. But I’ve always wondered how such a pristine piece of real estate, with rolling hills, deep blue lakes and beautiful seasonal weather — one of the most prime locations on which to build a city anywhere in this country — could be home to so many remarkably intelligent people who have everything so incredibly backwards.

A great friend of mine once called this the “Emerald City,” and as far as I’m concerned it pretty much fits — or at least it is what the people who run the place would like you think. Most of us seek this Emerald City to “find a brain,” in the tradition of the Scarecrow. Others emerge with simply a head full of mush in exchange for a big, new heart, ala the Tin Man, full of compassion and cleansed of vice.

But, alas, if the Lion’s courage is what you’re seeking, you might wish to check into a different zip code. As you will come to know following your enlightenment in the Emerald City, courage can lead to violent tendencies. Violence is that particular brand of antiquated conflict resolution advocated by such subversive organizations as the United States military and the Republican Party. It has no place in this paradise of understanding.

However, if you come in search of that rare, pure brand of courage it takes to do such things as whine publicly about how life is cheating you, “the Man” is keeping you down, and all you and your cause really need is a few more hearty draws out of the public trough to make everything peachy — well, then you’re an activist, a brave leader gaining fresh ground in the search for Utopia.

And, of course, while you and your brethren undergo your four- to six-year cleansing here in the Emerald City, you’d best not display any patriotism: no pledge-reciting or flag-waving or anything of the sort. For if you do, you’ve broken one of the many sacred trusts of backwards liberalism, one of the supreme commandments of compassion.

But wait, again I err. There are no “commandments” here, since commandments advocate nothing more than religiously motivated moral absolutism.

You, my ugly American friend, have not only sinned. You’ve “Madisinned.”

Yet there is more.

Say a prayer in public? You’re little more than a fanatical zealot, acknowledging the supremacy of a power not explicitly proven to exist in a venerable academic text — none of the apostles had PhDs, you see.

And you’d best not have the gall to criticize the howls of every conceivable political organization under the sun in their quests for more public funding, for you’ve questioned the eternal truths of “understanding” and “facilitation.” You are cruel, cold and closed-minded.

Best of all, you need not even be inside the gates of the Emerald City to Madisin. In fact, I Madisinned the other day, when I took a trip with some old high school buddies to play a great golf course on Lake Michigan. Not only was I subjecting thousands of wild birds to the perils of my stray Titleists, but we also took caddies. Another human being forced to lug 40 pounds of sports equipment during a six-hour round for a meager cash allowance and no health-insurance benefits? A mortal Madisin.

But, as with all other moral judgments made inside the Emerald City, Madisins constantly evolve. They change and emerge based upon feelings. More will come, and often. The newest Madisin appears to be lighting a cigarette in an area bar; a disgusting and hopelessly unenlightened 20th-century habit.

Another Madisin will soon be drinking cheap liquor in an area bar.

Now, of course we can’t curtail any drinking in the university’s own private mega-bar, the Union terrace. No, sir — too many alumni spend far too much money for the privilege to Madisin on the Terrace. You must remember, when there’s big public money rolling in, all Madisins are at once forgiven. If you show up with your bankroll out, we’ll let you . . . well, we’ll let you act like an American for at least a little while.

That’s why we have football Saturdays.

Oh, and on your way into town, you’d best ride your bike down one of our many yellow brick roads. All that exhaust from your SUV is clouding the view from someone else’s ivory tower.

Eric Cullen ([email protected]) is a sophomore majoring in political science and history. He is opinion editor of The Badger Herald.