America-maxxing 250 Years In The Making

It’s the emperor’s Dies Natalis. Peace treaties are being signed. And the gladiators are duking it out in the shadow of the People’s House to celebrate.

Welcome to America 250. Where the country is Rome-maxxing. And unlike the original, as long as the Optimates stay in charge, this Rome won’t fall.

Sunday night on the White House South Lawn, a spectacle unfolded that was nothing short of triumphant. Hundreds of patriots gathered in absolute awe beneath “The Claw” — a 92-foot steel velarium — to watch some of the greatest fighters alive face off in the octagon. The entire evening felt God-ordained. Before the first bell, a double rainbow ripped across the sky and arched over the crystal-clear reflection pool, as lightning shattered the sunset and broke the horizon into pieces. This believer will note that earlier in the day, a thunderstorm was forecast to drown the whole thing. Instead, it encircled Washington, D.C., as if the hand of God just gently waved it away. The American flag flew high. The U.S. Air Force Thunderbirds and the U.S. Navy Blue Angels roared in a rare “super delta” formation over the crowd. And an eagle soared above the People’s House like it had read the room.

Americans of every stripe felt it. The vice president was hanging out with the Holy Uncle, Pope Leo’s brother, at ringside. Jack Osbourne was taking selfies in the crowd; the son of British rock royalty, raised on American excess and correctly appreciating what London could never even dream up. D.C. residents flooded the National Mall to catch a glimpse of “Uncle Trump!” “Cousin Barron,” and the first-ever trillionaire, “Uncle Elon” in the front row. Dana White was grinning ear to ear as the national anthem rang out from inside the cage. Mark Zuckerberg sat ringside, completely transfixed, getting a front-row education in what the Right has been building while Silicon Valley was busy with content moderation policies. Young boys across the country were glued to the TV, watching men be men and remembering that’s something to aspire to.

It would be hard not to feel it. Americans are fighters at heart; it’s in our blood. We’re a nation born from revolutions, and our president knows it. Fight, Fight, Fight. 

And then Justin Gaethje, wrapped in an American flag, on Flag Day, put on one of the great performances in UFC history — pulling off a stunning fourth-round TKO upset of Ilia Topuria to become undisputed lightweight champion on the most historic stage in the sport’s 33-year history. Every single fight on the card ended in a knockout. Every. Single. One. He made his entrance through the Presidential Walk of Fame, past the bust of Teddy Roosevelt — the president who literally kept a boxing ring in the White House so he could host fights — and you can safely assume TR was smiling down from his likely nature-painted heaven.

This is what patriot-maxxing looks like.

The tide is turning, and you can feel it in your bones. It’s cool to celebrate your country again. Montana-born and bred Sean O’Malley dispatched his Canadian opponent with a nod of approval from the president and the first lady. The World Cup is wowing every European who crosses the ocean to visit. The Czech national team showed up to the traditional rodeo in Fort Worth — home of the world’s first indoor rodeo — draped in cowboy hats and grinning in tourist photos. Coca-Cola is making pro-America commercials again. German tourists are falling in love and even getting to meet Ella Langley, the country artist who gave us the soundtrack of the summer. Even New Yorkers are in a good mood. It’s a miracle.

Gas prices are down. Homicide rates are at decade-low numbers. Middle-class Americans are getting richer, and citizens in every income bracket are actually gaining ground. Illegal border crossings are functionally over. The government is leaner, the fraud is disappearing, and the White House is bathed in red, white, and blue, instead of the rainbow.

But here’s the thing. That’s not why Americans feel the way they do right now.

They feel triumphant because President Trump has purged the apologetic rot. The culture of managed decline, the ideological mandate to be ashamed of your own country, the iron-fisted insistence that Americans adopt and celebrate a set of destructive, anti-American values or be canceled into silence — all of it has been cleared from the capital like the storm that missed the South Lawn. What’s replaced it is a roaring, unapologetic resurgence of American exceptionalism, and the whole world showed up in Washington this weekend to watch it.

It almost didn’t happen. We were one bullet, one slight turn of the head, away from none of this being possible. Without that, a tipsy Kamala Harris would have hosted off-key progressive sing-alongs ad nauseam. Flag Day would have meant a different kind of flag. America 250 would have felt about as patriotic as Greta Thunberg at a Canadian carbon credit summit. Our institutions, our founders, our national pride would have been continually mocked and dismantled by those who believe the country’s greatest achievement is feeling guilty about itself.

And what did the Left offer last night? We’re still trying to make sense of it.

Ms. Rachel, the children’s YouTube personality who has spent recent weeks leading protest sing-alongs outside a Newark ICE facility, singing her walls down until “everyone is free” — was counter-programming the UFC. Jane Fonda, Bette Midler, Joy Reid, and Robert De Niro staged something called “Rise Up, Sing Out: A Concert for the First Amendment” at a New York City theater. It pulled a few thousand views on YouTube. De Niro informed the audience that he “can’t love” his country. Joy Reid did what Joy Reid does. The whole thing was billed as their version of resistance.

It was about as threatening as a soggy pamphlet.

The Left couldn’t sell out a mid-sized concert hall while over 85,000 Americans stood on the Ellipse watching the greatest night in UFC history unfold live on the lawn of the White House. That contrast isn’t incidental. That is the entire argument.

They’re unable to comprehend the sort of joy that we are feeling right now. They can’t imagine why on God’s green earth we are animated about this Americanism. They don’t understand the aura because they’re shrouded in hatred, convinced that American greatness is a myth worth unlearning.

They were wrong. Last night proved it, in high definition, with knockouts.

This week in America, we saw visiting Japanese traditions celebrated alongside our own. We saw Scots in kilts, Czechs in cowboy hats, and Germans singing along to country music. We saw the beauty of distinct cultures, each formed separately and mutually appreciated, all showcasing the best of what they’ve got on American soil. This is what we fight for. This sense of freedom, pure patriotism, unadulterated oomf. The understanding that here you can do anything and be anyone. That excellence is not a liability. That strength is not something to apologize for.

Caesar didn’t apologize. He gave the citizens a vision of absolute, unyielding greatness. Let the critics call it bread and circuses. The history books will record this weekend as the moment America 250 looked the world in the eye and remembered exactly who it is.

The rot has been cleared. The boundaries are secure. The era of managing decline is over.

If we can keep the Left out of our way, we can keep it.