Shane Bacon staff writer

Two Years.

Two years since the day we never thought would end.

Two years since a friend called and told me to turn on the news: The sky was falling and the world wasn't going to be around anymore.

It's hard to believe what we've gone through, and even harder to imagine what we will still encounter.

We all have stitches from that lonesome day, a mark that will always be with us, and something we never really want to let go of.

The one constant thing that has helped me is sport.

Not sports ÷ it isn't solely credited to the shortstops and the linebackers, the centers and the goalies ÷ but sport. The thoughts and views that engulf the brotherhood we feel while watching the Redskins and Cowboys with our father's on a snowy day in Baltimore.

As Americans, we seem to release our thoughts when we're playing a pick-up game with people we've never seen ÷ and never get to know ÷ but we still understand that they'll give up the jumper if we've lost our man for an easy lay-up.

We can't trade in an early morning tee-time on a day when it's so hot, when we're on the course with just the lizards, but we couldn't care less.

The feeling is mutual for those athletes who are privileged enough to be loved by thousands of strangers everyday.

The Star-Spangled Banner hasn't become something a Denver Nugget point guard turns his back on anymore.

The simplicity of it has been revealed: hat off, hand over your heart and sing along, whether you're five years old or 50.

We know that when those words are sung, when the games do begin, somewhere in the back of everyone's mind is that little hint of understanding.

We as a nation have been soothed by the sport of our society.

Two years ago today we were checked into revamping our model of a hero, but in a way, our athletes have continued to climb Mt. Olympus, even if they are trailing the boys with the axes and hoses.

It seems like we as Americans have stepped it up in the past two years as well.

In recent days, Andy Roddick walked away with the U.S. Open Championship, the biggest tennis tournament on this continent, and in close proximity (on New York's Long Island) to what once were our two pillars in the sky.

Jim Furyk, a former Wildcat, walked away with the golf equivalent of Roddick's feat. After concluding his round, he teared up while embracing his father.

The big things are important, obviously. But it's the little things that we will all remember.

While Tiger Woods was making his way to the 18th green this year in the Bay Hill Invitational, a little girl ran under the ropes, down the fairway, and tugged on the leg of Tiger.

The immortal one turned around, bent down and took the small American flag the girl gave him.

The Beethoven of golf was approached while performing the 9th Symphony ÷ and at that moment was, just like all of us, a proud American.

Sport, which has healed us in ways we never thought it could, has helped us understand that it is just a game ÷ no matter what kind ÷ and a game we all love to watch.

No emphasis was on baseball, or extra pressure on our nation's pigskin to step up and take the load two years ago.

But it happened, and the resolve was placed on the shoulders of others while the real heroes dug through rubble.

Our nation's heroes, whether it be a 45-year-old fireman, an 18-year-old Marine or a 57-year-old president, have never had Faith Hill perform before their workday starts and have never had 30,000 fans cheering for them. But that's what differs between the two: these heroes, the ones who have somehow made us stronger in two years, will never be mistaken for who they are.

So today, after I wake up, I'll ride my bike to school a proud American.

And I promise you; my flag will be flying high.