And here’s another geographical fact about Kansas City. Not only is it decidedly in Missouri—apparently news to a New Yorker named Donald Trump—but there also is not really a corner to stand on at 12^th Street and Vine (“with my Kansas City baby and a bottle of Kansas City wine”).

That specific intersection, referenced in Wilbert Harrison’s 1959 chart-topping hit, hasn’t existed since an urban renewal project wiped out a section of 12^th Street 60 years ago. Also, though officially adopted in 2005 by Kansas City, the song was written by two California teenagers who never had been to Kansas City.

Which, again, is in Missouri.

Granted, though, it is a state that can seem to be all over the map.

There is, for instance, a California, Mo. A Washington, Mo. A Louisiana, Mo. An Oregon, Mo. A Nevada, Mo. (Named by a fellow who immigrated from Nevada City. Which, any cartographer worth his salt knows, is in California.)

There even, for the internationally aware, is a Cuba, Mo. A Mexico, Mo. A Lebanon, Mo.

And no surprise: There is a Missouri City, Mo. (Though it’s hardly a city; population 279). There most certainly is not a Missouri City, Kan.

But, anyway. As a former resident of Missouri (during my college years), I can report that the state has a lot of moving targets. The climate is one: “If you don’t like the Missouri weather,” the saying goes, “wait 10 minutes.” Dreadful humid heat, sleet, tornadoes, snow, rain. Sometimes all on Thursday.

Just as evasive is a set way to pronounce the state’s name. About half the natives—generally speaking, those is the urban centers and along the northeast side of a sort of diagonal Mason-Dixon line—say “Mizz-ur-ee.” To the west and southwest, and in more sparsely populated areas, it’s “Mizz-ur-uh.”

I had just graduated from the University of Missouri—hailing from out of state, I’ve always said Mizz-ur-ee—and had left the region when then-governor Warren Hearnes announced with some fanfare in 1970 that both pronunciations were correct. Still, Missouri politicians continue to get flack from the locals for switching to an “ee” or “uh” ending depending on where they are giving a speech.

Okay. There is a Kansas City, Kan, directly across the Missouri River and roughly a third the size of Kansas City, Mo. But it is not the home of the Super Bowl champion Chiefs. In the wake of Trump’s embarrassing faux pas, in which he Tweeted how the big game’s winners had “represented the Great State of Kansas,” some clarification is in order.

The Kansas Kansas City is the come-lately Kansas City, incorporated in 1872—two decades after the Missouri Kansas City officially materialized. And the story is that the Kansas Kansas City took its name to fool New York financiers—maybe they would think it was the booming, established Missouri Kansas City—into sending a monetary boost to their town.

Over time, the two states have become friendly enough neighbors, but they do have a tense history going back to open violence involving anti-slavery (Kansas) and pro-slavery (Missouri) factions leading up to and during the Civil War. And sports, mostly through a long-standing rivalry between the two state universities, indelicately played on that history for the next hundred years.

The schools’ football rivalry was called the Border War—taken literally from the bloody Civil War era skirmishes—for decades before it finally downgraded to the Border Showdown at the beginning of this Century. Less menacingly, Norm Stewart, who for 32 years coached Missouri basketball, delighted in getting under the skin of Kansas fans—partly by his claim that, for Missouri road games in Lawrence, Kan., he avoided spending a single dime in the state of Kansas by booking his team into hotels and restaurants (and gassing up the team bus) 40 miles away in Kansas City.

Stewart recently admitted that story was just a myth. But it demonstrated that he knew the lay of the land. And that Kansas City is in Missouri.