October Fever. The Big Dance. The Fall Classic.

Affectionately nicknamed over and over again, the allure of the World Series boils down to one fact--it is the most significant time of the year for Major League Baseball, and, as such, it gains importance as one of the most exciting events in numerous individual American lives.

Sad, you say, that a sport can occupy such a pre-eminent position in our society? That students ignore work, commitments, and meetings, just to cheer for their favorite baseball team?

Some people seem to think so. I think not.

Yesterday, I received an e-mail from an old friend who had just finished watching the introduction of the "players of the century" in the first World Series game. She commented that, to her surprise, she "got nostalgic when [she] saw the real old players because the sight stirred in [her] various emotions, even though [she] is not a baseball fan really and doesn't think that it's that important in the scheme of things." Yet, she continued, there was something "so poignant about it all."

Now, she told me this because she felt I would understand. And I do.

However, I take issue with her statement that "it's not all that important in the scheme of things." I could approach this as a philosophical argument (after all, what really is important in the scheme of things?), but I'll leave that to the philosophy concentrators out there. No, the importance of baseball lies in its unique power.

Not only can it excite the strongest of emotions, but baseball is also the one thing that has been able to accomplish what politicians have struggled with for years--the ability to unite communities.

Look around when you go the ballpark. It's certainly not an action-packed game that draws crowds--it is the atmosphere and the tradition. As I was sitting in Fenway last spring watching the Rangers demolish the Red Sox, I noticed a family in front of me. Three generations were represented. The grandfather had his mitt, as did the little boy, and the mother was giving her daughter cracker jacks.

And it made me remember my first experience with baseball. I was only five years old, and my parents took my brother and me to a Braves baseball game. I still remember the feeling of entering the ballpark for the first time. The ballpark seems to embody all that is good and fun in life.

Of course, at that time, the excitement centered around Dale Murphy and the prospect of simply winning a game. Those were the dark days of Braves baseball.

Then, in 1991, something truly amazing and unprecedented happened. The Braves started winning.

Throughout the years, the city of Atlanta (and I am a proud native) has experienced numerous problems with crime, race and harmony. Prior to the Olympics in 1996, the downtown area was a place where people rarely felt comfortable walking the streets. The front page of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution seemed to always emphasize the inability of Atlantans to get along with each other.

But not in the fall of 1991. "BRAVES CLINCH" was the headline running across the front page of the paper, while the story on President Bush was pushed to page two. For, in 1991, two miracles happened: the Braves went from worst to first and Atlanta was united behind a single cause--the Braves.

Maybe they disagreed on taxes, land management, and government, but they loved the Braves. Everyone celebrated when Sid Bream slid home safely in Game 7 of the NLCS to send the Pirates back to Pittsburgh. My middle school even incorporated a "Braves spirit" theme day and canceled classes on the day of the Braves parade downtown, even though the parade took place after the Braves lost Game 7 of the World Series (due to Lonnie Smith's baserunning slip, I might add).

We were still celebrating, even though they had lost. What a great lesson for American kids on losing with dignity.

And how wonderful it was to be in Boston this past week, as the city of Boston experienced a similar connection with its beloved Red Sox.

As my friends and I waited to be seated at dinner in the North End, we witnessed three different exclamations of joy. Two cars drove by, honking at anyone and everyone in sight and yelling about Boston's victory over New York, and one group of four guys just walked down the street with signs proclaiming the greatness of the Sox.

All of this joy came out of a single game of baseball.

If a sport has the capacity to unite communities like this, spread intoxicating happiness and stir various "poignant" emotions, as my friend wrote, it really does matter in the scheme of things. It's inspiring to see--despite claims that society today is more detached and increasingly atomized--the fervent emotions and strong bonds that baseball creates.

It is that which makes this sport so significant to so many of us. And it makes it truly American. With that said, Go Braves.