INDIANA -- When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock...

With apologies to James Whitcomb Riley, autumn means far more to Hoosiers than just harvest time and football games. Good Hoosier friends, that most special time of year has now arrived. Indiana high school basketball season is with us again - Our gals are just about ready to start practice!

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock,

Good Hoosier folks get the feeling that soon neighborhood gyms will rock.

Idle hands kept heartland keyboards a-clickn' with predictions,

Pining away the summer months dreamin' smells of popcorn a-fixen'.

There's something kinda' harty-like about the atmusfere,

When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here.

It gets the blood a pumpin' and a mind a-ready to pace,

For every Indiana soul is ready for the upcoming hardwood race.

O, the balls have been a-bouncin through the long ol' offseason,

But any good Hoosier'll tell ya, AAU is just a hair short-a treason.

It's that real season that means the most under ev'ry gym light's gleam,

True sideline teachers training Hoosierland's best to be part of a team.

When that wind begins to turn and the temperature dips just a bit,

Hoosier minds start to wander, folks get to talkin' and pipes get a-lit.

Indiana cafes, barbershops and water'n holes in tiny little hamlets,

Start harkenen back to by gone days of glory teams and near miss damn-its.

Legends, icons, heros -- goats, groans, and shouts,

Stories of exploits and near misses 3-2-1 in-and-outs.

Help'n all us Hoosier souls paint that valuable background picture,

Givin' folks a sense of past and makin' this season much richer.

Then the balls'll start a-bouncing, like they do each annu'll fall,

The sound'll fall soft on Hoosier ears like a fav'rble chargin' call.

E'vn with the changes that have shaken our great game,

You know what's coming, and boy is sure seems the same.

Thoughts drift to that walk from the car and parking lot,

Distant crowd noise, gym windows glow, ticket'n hand pressed hot.

And with your corn a-pop'n and dear friends sittin' near,

Any feller'll be tempted to drop a Hoosier tear.

I don't know how to tell it-but ef such a thing could be,

If God himself would come a-calling and want to visit me.

No host could ask for more - a game, a ticket, a gym, and a clock,

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.