MADISON, Wisc. — The alternate headline for this entry, as suggested by my loyal housemate Miranda, is “Say, Do Any of You Guys Know How to Madison?”

A dance proposal in “Rocky Horror Picture Show” delivered by the cluelessly straight-laced Brad Majors (“asshole!”), the cheap one-off line could very well describe my ethos in coming to Madison for a few days — let’s dance!

And Saturday night on State Street — with the nearby Milwaukee Bucks playing for their first trip to the NBA Finals since 1974 — it was all too easy to be part of the crowd, stepping and swaying in a collective number of joy.

A few hours after arriving in town from Iowa City — a manageable 3-hour drive through rolling hills and delicately manicured farms — I hopped out onto Madison’s signature pedestrian stretch to see if “the Deer” could pull off the signature win.

I stepped out in jeans and a black T-shirt — “Indy 500 Dope Squad” — to tacitly declare my status as an outsider, but one who would be kind enough to lay low in the background and witness the evening.

City Living

My home for the first half was City Bar, a chill and naturally cool basement tavern hiding behind a single-door façade. Blink and you’ll miss it.

Downstairs, I saddled up to the rail and ordered a Pabst Blue Ribbon on draft. The cheap PBR ($2.50 at my local B-Town haunt The Atlas Ballroom, and $3 at City Bar) is my standard fare drink for when I’m trying to take it easy, but Pabst is also a proud Milwaukeean union-made beer. It felt like an apropos way to cheer on the Bucks as an outsider without breaking the bank.

Joining me at the far side of the watering hole was a loose assortment of four male barkeeps (who I mentally noted as “pearl necklace, red hairband, chinstrap beard, and British pretty-boy haircut”), and the tavern manager, who was nervously picking his way through a salad as the game began. The Bucks drove in for an easy layup to start the first quarter, and missed, and the manager let out an “It’s over,” even as Milwaukee retained a 3-2 lead in the series.

Each barkeep took turns eating their shift meal in front of the TVs, nervously chomping on a sandwich wrap or some fries in silence.

You could sense the tension in the room, even through the locals’ signature mild-mannered Wisconsinite demeanor. They had no reason to believe they would ever make it this far, even as perennial Eastern Conference favorites of late.

One barkeep, confused by Atlanta’s tribute jerseys to Dr. King — reading “MLK” — kept mistaking the home-team Hawks’ nameplate for the Bucks, ala “MiLwauKee.”

Live on State Street

At halftime, the Bucks held on to a slim 47-43 lead. I popped up to my room to freshen up (find a fratty-looking hat), then walk over to State Street Brats, the signature “Wisconsin sports” bar for the city and campus. (Bloomington readers might find an easy explanation as thus: It’s prestigious like Nick’s, but laid out like Kilroy’s Sports).

I grabbed a $4 pint can of Budweiser and joined the crowd on the second floor, where mobs of college-aged folks were ready to spend their Saturday night celebrating or drowning their sorrow in cold beer, either way.

As the second half progressed, the Bucks’ lead began to grow. 7 points. 10 points. 14 points. 17 points. 19.

With each deep-three from Milwaukee, the Cream City faithful began to get louder, and louder, and remove the restraints of cautious optimism in exchange for unfettered faith. Jeff Teague drained a long trey for Milwaukee to make the score 89-70 near the end of the 3rd quarter, and State Street’s barstaff blared what seemed to be a train horn in celebration.

I stood next to a flock of frat guys idling on the second floor, anxiously stepping away from their own conversation to take note of the game. It was like they couldn’t watch.

The fourth quarter started. The Bucks held tight, the State Street pub got louder, and more and more train horns sounded.

It was happening.

A tall blonde kid in a “U.S.S. Bud” shirt, displaying a cartoonish cruise ship theoretically owned and operated by Anheuser-Busch, had a $10 pitcher of Long Island booze all to himself. I kept my eye on him as the game neared conclusion, and the Bucks refused to relent.

“I was there in 2013 when they sucked ass!” he screamed to his buddies. “And it was all worth it!”

Another stranger hollered in signature ‘Sconnie accent: “Oh my Gawd, it’s happening, ya?”

The Bucks led 118-107 with 24.6 seconds, and Atlanta coach Nate McMillan called off the dogs. It was all over. Just let Milwaukee dribble out this possession and we’ll all go home shortly.

That was the moment it became real. The entire bar began to chant in unison, shouting in relief like a cult finally realizing their purpose in life:

BUCKS IN SIX. BUCKS IN SIX.

BUCKS IN SIX. BUCKS IN SIX.

The game horn sounded and everyone embraced. Beers were chugged (and spilled). I high-fived a random dude and made my way outside. It was a fun scene, but I was getting tired.

Encore

As I walked back to the hotel, I heard live music being played in the distance. I walked over to the university bookstore, and a punk band was playing right on the street. Whether the show was officially sanctioned by a host, or whether it was a true, guerilla-style DIY show right on the road, the mob of attendees pulsed like was a true revolutionary act.

They had just finished their last song for the evening when I walked up. The crowd immediately beckoned an encore. After 15 seconds of acknowledgement, the band jumped right in to a solid, jumpy cover of “A-Punk,” as made popular by Vampire Weekend.

Though it was the unknown band’s (unofficial) last song, I did my due and bopped for a few minutes to the song I learned from the opening scene of “Step Brothers.”

It wasn’t much, and it didn’t last too long, but in that moment dancing on a city street far away from home, I truly left like I was doing the Madison.

###

-moose

PS: I’d like to thank everyone who subscribed and/or donated to my writing journey yesterday. I stressed that it was totally optional to chip in, but the amount of love I received yesterday completely reinvigorated my smile after 550+ miles on the road within 48 hours. I feel like this is the trip of a lifetime, and the backing I’m getting in the form of readership and support is beyond special.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, and have a great July 4. I’ll report back with my celebratory exploration soon. Cheers, and be safe doing whatever it is you do this holiday weekend. ❤