We get to double-dip on Flag Day twice this week.
The first one was celebratory, commemorating the adoption of the flag of the United States in 1777.
The second one is mournful if you are a card-carrying member of the Sports Nation.
We just had a fabulous NBA Finals, in which all the people with "all the same personal problems" got to dance on the grave of The Frozen One.
We just had a fabulous NHL Stanley Cup Finals that went seven games, featuring two contentious sparring partners from Boston and Vancouver, laced with an occasional nip of the finger.
We've just had a fabulous soccer tussle between FC Barcelona and Manchester United, in which one million fans lined the streets to get a glimpse of FC Barcelona's UEFA Champions League Trophy.
But we wake up today to a bitter reality: We are empty, sports-less souls.
The NFL is on lockdown. The NBA will likely shutter its doors soon. The U.S. Open begins Thursday with no Tiger, meaning that for most of the world, it will be a crowded field of faceless golfers vying for one of the coveted majors.
Yes, we are in the middle of a baseball season, but that marathon takes a certain type of resolve to push through. It is a long grind, and it's tough to stay focused during the dog days of summer unless your team is contending.
College football will soon be up and running, but that's become an even bigger cesspool of corruption, with Ohio State ranked a consensus No. 1 in all those polls. We will all need long showers to wipe away the stench before opening kickoff.
Sigh. Can we rewind the clock and start over again?
Sports is all about passion, and it's going to be impossible to come off the natural high of the last few weeks.
The Miami Heat cast themselves as America's Team, only in a villainous role. Most everybody outside South Florida hated them and, in particular,LeBron James.
No need to rehash all his egotistical sins starting with "The Decision," but LeBron is truly the poster child of a spoiled generation of athletes completely disconnected with the 9-to-5 grind of the real world.
Vindictive or not, it was easy for Everyman to root for his downfall.
And when it came, it allowed for Mark Cuban -- he of annoying Richie Rich fame -- to rise as hero for the masses.
The NHL Finals didn't deal with any of that pretentious nonsense. Typical of hockey, it was simply two teams grinding it out for seven games.
Hockey is an acquired taste for many folks, and I'll admit I got sucked in covering the Eastern Conference finals between the Bruins and theTampa BayLightning.
That one went seven games too, and after all the hits and the occasional cheat shots and the sniping, players from both teams got in a line and shook hands and hugged it out because that's the way it is done in this sport.
That tradition is special, and it is one of the most powerful moments in sports.
We mourn, all right.
The highlight reel shifts to meeting rooms where NFL players and owners are trying to hash out the particulars of how to divide an empire worth billions of dollars.
The NBA is on deck, heading in the same direction. In Central Florida there is the added anxiety of not knowing whether the centerpiece of the Magic, Dwight Howard, is bound for another city if GM Otis Smith can't surround him with the right mix of players.
Fly that flag at half-staff folks.
It's going to be a while before we can let that thing flutter to celebrate anything.