What do I remember about 9/11? Nothing.
None of the horror, none of the panic, none of the shock. None of the hours of time Americans spent glued to their televisions in the week afterward. None of the brokenness—the physical brokenness of the World Trade Center, the spiritual brokenness of a nation grappling with its place in a new, dangerous 21st century. No firsthand stories of the victims’ heroism, none of the stories of the perpetrators’ cowardice. None of the emotions that calcified and oozed into the art of the decade afterward—25th Hour’s sadness, 24’s paranoia, The Dark Knight’s solemnity. And certainly none of the cancellations that roiled and rearranged the world of sports, a world that was about to change forever.
