Let’s get one thing out of the way, right up front: I’m a life-long fan of Ohio State football.
I attended my first game in The 'Shoe in 1962, watching the wizardry of a young halfback named Paul Warfield. I have a personally autographed photo of Woody Hayes, and it’s adorned my wall everywhere I’ve lived over the last thirty-nine years. If you cut me, I bleed Scarlet and Gray.
But this isn’t about football.
In October of 2001, I stood in section 8A of Ohio Stadium with a friend, a Lieutenant Colonel in the Ohio Air National Guard. We cheered the pre-game tradition of The Ohio State University Marching Band, and then as the snares rolled, we proudly began to sing our National Anthem.
The Stars and Stripes sailed briskly to the top of the flagpole towering overhead. One-hundred-six-thousand voices sang as one – and twice as many eyes wept.
It was the first home game after the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001.
In that moment, well into my fortieth year of tracing this autumn ritual, I saw a familiar stadium tradition as something more.
Out of honor, virtually every big-time sporting event is preceded by the Star-Spangled Banner – a performance of the National Anthem by a soloist, often a recording artist who’s promoting a new album or an upcoming TV special.
That’s just wrong.
The National Anthem is our National Anthem – it should be joined and sung by The People, not performed for The People. The People should celebrate – and insist on – the privilege of honoring our freedom in unison.
On that October day six years ago, I shared these thoughts with my game-day companion. She smiled and said, “What we sang together today wasn’t just our National Anthem. It was a common prayer.”
Exactly.
I salute every high school, college, sports franchise and racing organization that respects The People and our National Anthem – that’s the way it should be.