This is a story about America. Our country.

I went to the opening day of a soccer game in my hometown of San Diego.

It was the first game in the history of our club—the San Diego Football Club—and there was a lot of hype.

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It was a completely sold-out game.

It was being reported by the local news and all over social media.

It was a big deal. The people of San Diego were excited for our new professional soccer team.

They had a lot of ceremonial-type activities before the game. Local politicians were there, there was a ribbon cutting, various dedications, and all the pomp and circumstance of a momentous occasion.

When the players took the field, the crowd was fully engaged.

Finally—just prior to the game—it was time for our great American tradition before a sporting event: the singing of our national anthem.

Now, this is a song that often brings tears to my eyes as I remember the hundreds of thousands of men and women throughout our history who made the ultimate sacrifice to defend our nation. And some of those countless heroes were my friends, my brothers that I lost—men who died defending our flag and our ideals.

So, as I thought about those heroes, I wondered who was going to have the solemn and sacred duty of performing The Star Spangled Banner.

I thought maybe they selected a local celebrity for the task, as there are plenty of talented musicians in San Diego who could do this powerful song justice.

Or perhaps they would have some distinguished school band or a proud church choir belt out the moving song that explains our tumultuous start as republic, captures the spirit of our flag and our people, and recognizes the sacrifice of our military servicemembers.

Then I had the hopeful idea that it might be the Navy or Marine Corps band.

The Navy and The Marine Corps are deeply rooted in San Diego and millions of Sailors and Marines have deployed from San Diego’s shores to face our nation's enemies.

I knew it would be fitting to see our flag honored by active-duty troops in uniform.

Finally, the announcer invited the crowd to stand for the singing of the national anthem and I rose to my feet with 35,000 other people. Then, to my surprise, the announcer explained that the national anthem would be performed by us—the crowd. It would be a sing-a-long.

A sing-a-long?

I was shocked and disappointed and somewhat beside myself. What were they thinking?

Here we were, opening day, a historic moment—and we were going to do a sing-a-long?

Now, I’m no Pavarotti or Elvis Presley or Robert Plant, but I know how to sing. I sang in bands since I was a kid and I know that singing is not easy—in fact—singing is very difficult. It is challenging to stay in tune and tough to get the right timing and to hit the right notes.

And to think that 35,000 people were going to be able to pull this off? I knew that people would sing too loud or too quiet. They would sing too high or too low. Some people wouldn’t even sing at all—and many that would sing are completely tone-deaf.

So I didn’t think there was a chance this crowd would be able to hit the right rhythm and the right pitch and achieve the proper level of clarity.

And I was right—at least for a moment.

As the giant jumbotron began to scroll the lyrics and people began to sing, it was just what I expected: some voices were too high, some too low, some too quiet, some too loud. Some were off pitch and some completely off tempo.

But quickly, after a few bars, the voices started to blend together.

The low voices were balanced by the high ones. The quiet voices were bolstered by the loud ones. Out-of-tune notes were leveled out by people singing perfectly on pitch.

And, as I sang myself, I also heard it.

I heard this mass of people, people from every background, people of every size, shape, color, and creed, people with a wide variety of contrasting and conflicting voices.

As I heard them sing—the sum of their voices—harmonized and it sounded better than I had ever imagined it could.

That group of 35,000 individuals singing together was as good as I had ever heard that song.

Now: it was not perfect—but those imperfections gave it soul. They made the song human.

Every individual, doing their share, gave our national anthem a unique but unified identity.

An identity that—though not perfect—was absolutely amazing.

Just like this great country.

We have the voices of many people—some quiet, some loud.

Some rich, some poor.

Some left, some right, some center.

Some angry, some happy.

Some working hard and some hardly working.

Some concerned—some care-free.

We are all different.

Some people like country, some heavy metal, and some soul…

Some like hip hop, some hardcore punk, and some rock and roll.

We are all individuals…

All free to sing our tune the way we want.

But together—even with all those differences—we are more alike than not.

We are determined. We are tough. We are individualistic and optimistic. We will not be controlled and we will fight and die if necessary for our destiny—for our freedom.

You see: We are all American. This is our country.

And we are not perfect—and neither is America.

We hit some bad notes. Our pitch is sometimes too high, and sometimes too low. Our timing is not always perfect and our rhythm is sometimes off.

But—together—bonded only by the freedom our forefathers fought for, we sing an amazing song.

And America is absolutely amazing too.

God bless all you Americans.

Sing loud and sing proud:

This is the land of the free and the home of the brave.

Have a Happy Fourth of July.

And God bless America.