Proud to be an American ... sports fan

Consider yourself lucky.

Chances are, if you're reading this column, you grew up watching American sports.

Again, consider yourself lucky.

Because American sports rock.

I am now certain of this, and I am a better person because of it. I'm appreciative.

Coming to this realization was not easy. I spent this past year studying hard in Oxford and had to deal with a few all-nighters and stressful deadlines. And then there were the "football" matches. Sorry, but they just didn't do it for me.

Soccer certainly has its merits. So do rugby and cricket. But none of them compare to American sports.

Grasping this profound concept came to me slowly over my year across the pond, but it became etched in stone just a couple weeks ago. Four of my friends from Oxford, all native UKers, visited me in my hometown of Youngstown, Ohio, just a few days before classes at Princeton began. We went to a Pittsburgh Pirates game. On the way to the game, I tried teaching them the words to "Take Me Out to the Ballgame."

They were incredulous.

"So everyone just stands up and sings this in the middle of the game?" one asked.

"At the top of their lungs, with choreography," I said.

"What do the other team's supporters do while all this is going on?"

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"The same thing."

English soccer "supporters" are known for their passion. Go to a world-class match, and they will be singing and chanting the entire time. A lot of people call this passion. I, for one, call it something to do while a ball is kicked around at midfield. Either way, it is definitely adversarial, with each rooting section trying to intimidate the other.

But baseball is different. Nowhere else in the athletic world do all the fans — three quarters of the way through the game, for no other reason than that we've been sitting here for a few hours and our legs are tired — stand up and sing with each other.

Granted, comparing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" to soccer chants is probably apples and oranges. So what. We know how to do unadulterated passion as well. Just go to Big House in Ann Arbor, Mich. — yes, even in a season like this — or to the Swamp in Gainesville, Fla., and see for yourself. The organization within the student body at the Big House is a sight to behold. They can get all 109,000-plus fans to do the wave right on cue with just three quick pumps of their fist. And the Gator chomp looks pretty cool, too.

The reason for all this passion is simple: American sports know drama. They are the ultimate spectator sports. Think of the most nerve-wracking moments in sports — the point guard walking the ball up the court, his team down one with nine seconds to go; the linemen digging into their stance as the quarterback approaches from behind; the pitcher's last glance over at the runner on first before he settles onto his sign. Hollywood could not script these moments any better.

It gives us spectators time to sit back and bask in the moment.

And then, anything goes.

The point guard steps back and throws up a rainbow. The quarterback takes the snap and lobs a pass to his third option in the back of the end zone. The batter takes a big swing and pulls a line drive down the third-base line.

And the drama begins all over again. Does the shot go in? Can the wideout get his hands high enough? Did the infield have the shift on?

Therein lies the beauty of the "Big Three" American spectator sports. When the action reaches its ferocious peak and all the marbles are on the line, these sports give us the chance to sit back, gather our thoughts and appreciate the immense gravity of what we're about to witness.

But here's the crucial part. These moments occur countless times in every game. What's even better is that after each of these pre-storm lulls, there is a pretty good chance that you might actually see something happen.

Good shooters make about half of the shots they throw up. Good quarterbacks complete over half of the passes they throw. And good hitters find success nearly a third of the time. So from a purely statistical standpoint, given a game-winning opportunity, it could really go either way.

Soccer and rugby cannot claim anything near that. Goal percentages in soccer would be considered abysmal by American sports standards. Rugby has such limited quick-strike capability that you're bound to see a try coming from a kilometer away. The same goes for goals in soccer. And cricket has such a screwed-up structure that the best way to stay interested in a match is to take along a good book.

Rather than the stops hindering the flow of American sports action — as many of my British friends will gladly assert — it's those very pauses that give the game its excitement.

But they also serve one more important purpose. Saying this might be a sacrilege, but the stops in the action are vital because they give the athletes time to rest.

Since players remain relatively well-rested throughout the game, they can, for the most part, on any given play, call upon the necessary burst of energy to pull off almost superhuman athletic feats. This, in turn, is the reason ESPN can exist — because American sports are a highlight reel's wet dream.

More than anything else, phenomenal plays are what I look for when I watch sports. I want to see athletes doing the things that I can only do in Madden.

Endurance and will might be a desirable skill set for rugby or soccer, but if I want to see that I'll watch a marathon. When it comes to entertainment, nothing beats Chicago Bear return stud Devin Hester breaking 22 ankles with a tiny head-fake.

British beer is way better — there isn't even an argument there — but I'll gladly take my sports American.