To date, none of the poems to start a season were after winning MLS Cup. They were full of optimism, provincial thoughts and pride in Puget Sound. They’ve been wrapped in love, in greens, in blues and in shales. These opening season poems, whether metered, rhyming or free thought, were never about a reigning MLS Cup winner. I’m warning you. This ode to the Seattle Sounders will be insufferable.
For in the year 2017, they walk as kings.
They stride out of tunnels, remembering their march through the playoffs, through streets of Seattle.
In 2017, our noble men embrace us all.
They are our champions, with medals, glory and history to prove it.
In 2017, our heart returns to the pitch.
He has allies beside him, to the front and behind. They defend in depth, rarely ceding ground.
In 2017, our children are now men.
Morris carries the banner of our born guardians. He has company, fellowship and the following of masses.
In 2017, we Sounders are obnoxious.
Our fans are in greater quantity, in greater quality and impress the world.
In 2017, we wear stars.
No matter the fit, no matter the cut, no matter the gender — we wear stars.
In 2017, we Sounders are targets.
The rest of the league must look up to us, thinking of their past glories or glories they’ve never had.
This is what it is like to be champions.
This is what is like to rule. It is hard. Our defense will be grueling. Repeated victory nigh impossible.
Behold! Your Defending MLS Cup Champions, the reigning Kings.
They will hear us. They will most definitely hear us.