These past few weeks got me thinking about how proud I am to be an American. For most people these sentiments are common this time of year. It’s impossible during July 4^th weekend not to appreciate living in the land of opportunity, especially with a bombardment of red, white, and blue fireworks, scenic images of the Washington Monument, Independence Hall, the Statue of Liberty, and endless amounts of rock and roll classics that seem to find their way onto the airwaves this time of year. But I will be honest, my newfound pride with being an American citizen has nothing to do with sparkling lights, catchy tunes, or famous sites. My epiphany of patriotism is, of course, what else but sports related. Normally, I would feel the need to apologize for trying to intertwine the world of sports with a nation whose foundation was built on nothing that resembled athletic competition, but two improbable journeys to potential greatness found a way to touch my patriotic heart.

The game of soccer in our country has become a joke. While it seems every local park is packed with youngsters playing the game, I am positive the rest of the world looks at what we call soccer and laughs. It’s a sad state of affairs when parents have to tell their kids they have a better chance of making it big in lacrosse or mixed martial arts than a game that has been in our country since the 1860’s. This disturbing notion doesn’t just include the youth of our nation, but the professionals as well. The United States sorry excuse for a professional league, the MLS, is what one would call the NFC West of international professional leagues. It has gotten so bad that MLS turned to an aging, over the hill David Beckham, and even he doesn’t want to play in the U.S.

The failures of American soccer extend not only to competition in this country, but to international competition as well. Since 1930, the United States has only made it to the knockout stage of the prestigious World Cup twice. In 1998, the United States soccer team hit the ultimate rock bottom, finishing dead last out of the thirty-two teams competing. In 2006 the team failed to get out of the group stage of the competition when it was crushed by the Czech Republic and Ghana. The team fired its coach, Bruce Arena, following the unimpressive 2006 campaign, replaced some of the aging stars like Claudio Reyna and Brian McBride with Michael Bradley and Jozi Altidore, and entered the 2009 Confederations Cup in South Africa with lofty expectations that seemed nothing short of far fetched.

Two games. Two losses. Six goals given up. One goal scored. And a goalie-swap midway through.

So much for expecting a turnaround in US Soccer?

Entering their final group game against upstart Egypt, the goal of reaching the knockout stage was slightly reduced to reaching the conclusion of the group stage with a win. But somewhere between a meaningless game and plane tickets home, the United States did something that surprised even the most casual of soccer fan. Two incredible second half goals propelled the U.S. to a rout of Egypt, in what appeared to be nothing more than a moral victory. However, defending World Cup champion Italy, which needed to score just one goal or allow only two to powerhouse Brazil, was tripped up along the way to the knockout round, getting blown out 3-0. The U.S. backed its way onto the big stage despite its up-and-down group stage performance, but like most there was no doubt in my mind the next game against the number one team in the world, Spain, would be nothing short of embarrassing.

Ninety minutes later I watched the screen in awe. I knew this wasn’t the World Cup, and the likes of France, Portugal, and Germany were nowhere to be found on the field. But a convincing 2-0 victory over the Spaniards left me speechless and clapping loudly. This team wasn’t even supposed to be in this game, let alone make it a stepping-stone to a final appearance against the mighty Brazilians. At this point, call it what you must, I jumped on the American bandwagon and somehow convinced myself that we (I was now part of the cause) had a chance to win the Confederations Cup.

Twenty-seven minutes into the final match, as Landon Donovan put the finishing touches to a spectacular goal, to put the Red, White, and Blue up 2-0 against the defenseless Yellow and Gold of Brazil, I was filled with the pride, arrogance, and naivety that is typical of an American citizen. Somewhere between singing America the Beautiful and Battle Hymn of the Republic, the casual soccer fan in me, forgot that 90 minutes, not 27 minutes, defines a game.

The rest of the story writes itself. The more experienced and composed Brazilian team rattles off three unanswered goals to shatter the Americans’ quest to international supremacy. And so as Kaka and Robhino celebrated with the golden trophy, I simply turned the television off and sat in disappointment. Yet beneath the agony of defeat and the sting of an evident choke job, I was still proud of the effort and representation my fellow Americans displayed during their two-week rise to relevance in South Africa. In the end, there was no trophy, no miraculous win, and no upset. The world of sports was not altered, as the traditional powerhouse remained relatively unscathed. But while there is no real silver lining in finishing 2^nd, for the first time in my life men’s U.S. soccer has become a relevant force in international completion. While a No.12 ranking in the world would suggest nothing has changed, I assure you that soccer in our country will no longer be the butt of any jokes. And as the sometimes-arrogant American I am, a little relevancy and respect isn’t a bad second place prize.

I will make a confession to you, I love a good sports story, and, even more, a good American sports story. Typically, a sports fan’s appetite would have been satiated by the U.S. soccer team’s unexpected feat in South Africa, but I live by the motto: if some is good, more is better.

If soccer had become the No.1 joke in American sports, men’s tennis has become 1A. My generation doesn’t know what it feels like to watch one of our own countrymen compete for a grand slam title. While great tennis is not defined by whether or not an American is a legitimate contender, Federer vs. Nadal has begun to irk me. In the late 60’s and early 70’s there was the venerable Arthur Ashe. In the 80’s there was the tempestuous yet brilliant John MacEnroe. And in the 90’s there was the two-headed monster of Andre Agassi and Pete Sampras. While I enjoyed watching the epic battles of Agassi and Sampras during the early days of my childhood, my appreciation for the game was not what is it today. These days I yearn for an American born player who has the heart of Sampras, the backhand of Agassi, the poise of Ashe, and the emotion of McEnroe. And due to the decline of competition here in the United States, the stake of the game has been forced upon twenty-six year old Andy Roddick.

Roddick is good at what he does, and he knows it. He’s confident bordering on arrogant. He often errs on the side of recklessness, rather than playing intelligently and conservatively. He is all about power rather than finesse. And if he has an issue, Roddick is never short for words. But for all of his flair and fame, he has yet to carry American tennis into the glory years of decades past. After winning his one and only Grand Slam title at the 2003 U.S. Open, he, along with this country’s hope of becoming a force in tennis, has dwindled into the distance as the likes of Federer and Nadal have taken the sport by storm. In recent years, Roddick struggled to regain the form of his triumphant days. The closest he got to tennis lore in recent years was back-to-back appearances in the Wimbledon final against Roger Federer in 2004 and 2005. Federer proceeded to wipe the grass off the all-England club with Roddick, winning both matches convincingly en route to capturing five straight Wimbledon titles.

But the past 12 months have signaled change.

It’s a word we have all heard in politics, but the change in the life and career of Roddick this past year has given us a glimpse of what American tennis can once again become. Without the success of Roddick, American tennis fans the past few years have been forced to put their faith in the unreliable and often over-matched young talents like Marty Fish and James Blake.  Early round exits in big tournaments have not become the exception, they have sadly become the rule. However, while most have grown accustomed to the lackluster performances and the fall of tennis in our country, Roddick entered this year with a renewed vigor and a desire to once again put U.S. tennis back on the map. In December, he hired legendary instructor and former McEnroe coach Larry Stefanki to help reinvent his game. In February, he shed his arrogant and often pretty boy persona by boycotting the WTA event in Dubai, which he won last year, because the United Arab Emirates refused to grant the visa of fellow competitor Shahar Pe’er, because he is Israeli. Even more important, however, is what he has done on the court this year that raised eyebrows and the expectations of fans across the country.

In this year’s Australian Open, Roddick breezed through the first week of competition, losing only one set in the 2^nd round. After the disbarring of 21^st ranked Tommy Robredo, Roddick wore down defending champ Novak Djokavic in the quarterfinals. His next match was against the man who had a way of emphatically humiliating him on the biggest of stages, Roger Federer. Although he kept it competitive through a set, the best player in the world advanced to the final with ease, beating Roddick in straight sets. And after a 4th round exit from this year’s French Open, a year of change and promise would only be complete with a late round run at the most decorated of championships, Wimbledon.

The old-fashion charm, connection between past and present, and a level of competition separates Wimbledon from the other Grand Slam championships. Players have cemented legacies (Sampras and Renshaw), wild cards have made names for themselves  (Becker and Ivanišević), and daunting records have been broken (Federer). For 6^th seeded Roddick, the goal was simple: make it to the final on a path that would be without the superstar Rafael Nadal. His quest was not just to achieve individual success, but finally prove he deserved to carry the torch as the next American tennis star. What better place than the illuminating stage of the All England Club?

The first four rounds of the tournament for Roddick proved to be much like the U.S. Soccer team’s journey in South Africa, full of ups and downs, but in the end he lived to fight another day. It wasn’t until his grueling five round victory over Leyton Hewitt, that the new Roddick was taken seriously. In the semi-finals he fought the hometown favorite, Andy Murray, and an unfriendly crowd. After splitting the first two sets, the two failed to break each other’s serve, but Roddick with a determined grit and newly inspired sense of composure, managed to win both set tie breakers, and found himself in a place no one thought he’d get back to: the Wimbledon Final at Centre Court. His final opponent would once again be Roger Federer.

Unlike the previous final matches, where Roddick was just a stepping-stone in Federer’s illustrious career, a loss in this final, would make him a part of history. Roddick was no longer just a singles player trying to win an individual title, he was our country’s white knight, a protector of our most prized son of tennis, Pete Sampras, and the record that defined his legacy.

If Hollywood had its say in making a movie about Wimbledon (Oh wait! It did already) it would have picked a more serene time than 6 AM for passionate American fans to watch the first relevant tennis match in years. But thanks to the time difference, I found myself on the couch early Sunday morning anticipating an upset for the ages. And to be honest, as I wiped the slumber from my eyes through the first set, Roddick did not disappoint.

He threw an unexpected left jab in the proverbial boxing match that was this Wimbledon final. And as he raised his fist in exuberance, I too as a fan, but more importantly as an American, found myself raising a fist of celebration too. By the second set I was glued to the edge of my seat, as it appeared the American had the Swiss star on the ropes. Needing just one point in the 2^nd set tie break to go up two sets to none, reality set in, and Federer proved why he was one win away from his 15^th Grand Slam title. A miraculous barrage of rallies and clutch forehand shots, stunned Roddick, and crushed the momentum for an entire country. As the third set went back and forth, it occurred to me that I had seen this same story unfold exactly a week earlier. The Americans look unbeatable, the stunned powerhouse looks vulnerable, and then out of nowhere tradition and experience trumped momentum and potential upset. Federer would win the 3^rd set tiebreak, and yet Roddick bounced back to effortlessly take the 4^th set. The stage was set for an epic 5^th set, a set that would be the longest ever played.

Three hours in and I had transformed from the casual, enthusiastic fan to a rabid American holding on to the dream of a tennis star I could call my own. Thirty games were played in that 5^th set, and Roddick had won a record 39 in a row going in to the final one. Federer had been stellar all afternoon, but it was looking as if history may have to wait for another day. On this Sunday, Roddick and Federer were equals, two men who left everything on the grass, and at the end of it both looked like the champions.

Much like the U.S. loss to Brazil in soccer, the superior talent in the end prevailed. The record was shattered, the camera bulbs were flashing, and a champion’s legacy had been given its defining moment. But as Federer held up a trophy, I found myself deeply proud to witness this moment, and it had nothing to do with a 15^th Grand Slam title. I had just witnessed the day Roddick made U.S. Tennis relevant in the world of sports again. He had lost based on the result, flashed on the scoreboard, he lost based on the second place silver plate he was rewarded, and he lost because his opponent truly is the greatest player of All-Time (my apologies to Rod Laver).

But Roddick also won on so many levels. To list them all wouldn’t do justice to what he’s accomplished. He took a sport defined by individual achievement and managed in one day to carry an entire country’s stake in the sport and elevate it to a status our nation hasn’t seen in years. And for that, win or lose, I am sincerely grateful for the way in which he represented our country as he nearly willed himself to an improbable victory. His achievement was a victory for the game of tennis, but more importantly for the citizens of this country looking for someone to remind them of how great a land we live in, a land where opportunity is never too far out of reach.

The U.S. soccer team and Roddick left their respective tournaments empty handed. But the fact is even, though they lost, the story of what could have been is one they will be able to tell for years.

As the sting of defeat and the pain of the almost aches inside the athletes and aficionados alike, the sense of patriotism for which these two sports stories brought out in all of us is a prize I gladly accept. In a country, where Olympic gold medals, major championships, and international dominance often measure athletic success, two unlikely sources have challenged us all to appreciate the competition as much for the tenacity and effort displayed as the final result. These two stories not only brought newfound attention to their sports, but the way in which they achieved it makes them true American classics. Their stories are about falling down, getting beaten up along the way, yet still fighting to get back to the top. The pride as an American watching the events unfold was based less on the courage or excellence exhibited, and more on the journey taken. We, as a country of sports fans and out-of-touch cynics, may not deserve what took place these past two weeks. Let’s be honest, as a collective, soccer and tennis had become as relevant as IndyCar Racing and PBA Bowling. But in the land of second chances, we have once again been given a beautiful opportunity to erase our often-transient mindset and root for the potential that lies ahead. Man, am I proud to be an American.

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Dave Dulberg is, was, and always will be a diehard Cardinals fan. He wears so much Cardinal’s paraphernalia he’s often asked if he gets paid for advertising. Dulberg is an undergraduate at the University of Southern California and is currently an intern at ESPN Radio affiliate KTAR 620 in Arizona.  Oh, he is an American too, incase you didn’t catch that.