Football defines us. It dominates us. It unites us. It belongs almost exclusively to us, largely contained within our borders, the rare slice of American culture that crosses every demographic.
Last year, the NFL was credited with 93 of the top 100 highest-rated TV programs (including all of the top 20). It was the only sport to crack the list.
But can anything in sports feel more American than baseball on the Fourth of July? It is appropriate that the day belongs to baseball, which ritually bathes in nostalgia and feels as if it was born beside Betsy Ross’ first flag.
Baseball’s label as America’s pastime doesn’t feel dated on America’s birthday, when a mid-week holiday frees millions from work, grills are ablaze and 11 games go into the books before the sun sets. It is a gust of fresh air amid the dog days of summer, which you are free to spend with Gary Cohen or Howie Rose or tens of thousands at Yankee Stadium.
