In a world of uncertainty, we can often turn to sport as our international language. The universality of watching and appreciating, in its simplest terms, a game between two opposing forces can bring us together to create a common ground transcending ideology, nationality, and race.

It is a theory put to the test in the sometimes insular, often elaborate, yet always enthralling web of sport in America.

Two years ago, I forsook the rural pleasantries of my sleepy town in northeast Scotland to embark on a grand journey to Harvard.

Shuffling restlessly in my economy class seat thousands of feet above the Atlantic Ocean, I could barely contain my excitement—here I was, preparing to study and compete in the country that had dominated athleticism in the 20th century: the country of a defiant Jesse Owens, running in the face of Nazi Aryanization; the country where Cassius Clay became Muhammad Ali; the country that bore witness to the “Miracle on Ice”.

Only when I stepped off the plane and took my first tentative steps in the New World did I truly begin to perceive the complex beast that is the American sports culture.

While chronicling all the lurid details of this extensive subject would require a senior thesis, there are several intriguing facets of this unique environment worth exploring.

First, there is the overwhelming variety of sports in the American mainstream—everything from the familiar-yet-unfamiliar “soccer”, to the strange netherworlds of NASCAR racing, WWE wrestling, and lacrosse.

For a British student born and bred on a diet of soccer, what is most startling is the strength of the predominant, so-called “Big Three” sports, and their compatibility with one another; baseball, the oldest organized sport in the nation, may be the national pastime, yet it cannot claim to hold a monopoly on the people’s affections—the appeal of football and basketball offer their own substantial challenges.

The dominant notion of playoffs and tournament structures in American sport is equally befuddling. Watching the major sporting events in my freshman year with a greater-than-usual sense of confusion, I couldn’t help asking questions: Why can none of these teams settle for a draw? Why do these competitions featuring only American participants contain the word “world” in their title?

Why is America inclined—contrary to its capitalist ethos—to reward bottom-placed (read “failing”) teams with the first choice in the draft? Come to think of it, why is there a draft?

The answers to these questions I do not intend to address here—not only because I’m still pondering them, but because I’m pondering a wider arc.

Using the playoff system, the sports seem to favor a quintessentially American approach to competing—a fierce one-off battle between two enemies, clearly defined, with a winner-takes-all scenario.

Watching television coverage of these gargantuan clashes can also be an arduous process.

Lobotomized by the tedium of repetitive advertisements almost every ten minutes, lectured with empty platitudes by commentator sharks in suits, and itching palms anxiously as you await your latest statistics fix, the excesses of American sport are painfully apparent.

In an overly-commercialized world, where agents secure their clients hundreds of millions of dollars to play in Gillette Field, Citi Field and their ilk, it is hard not to be somewhat disillusioned.

As my sophomore year draws to a close, my perceptions of this unique sports culture continue to evolve through my experiences writing sports for The Crimson.

One of the cornerstones of American sport—and perhaps the most complicated—is the intercollegiate sport system.

The arguments for and against this aspect of American life vary widely—from compromised academic standards in the college institutions, to the psychological pressures placed on young athletes by parents and coaches at the high school level or even before.

What cannot be denied is its successful role as a conveyor belt of American talent; as a popular and competitive system encouraging sporting excellence, many have attributed Team USA’s Olympic successes to the sizeable investments made by universities in guaranteeing prestige and varsity sporting successes.

This development, ensuring the creation of a highly professional environment combining sporting and scholastic pursuits, has seen America become a beacon for aspiring young athletes worldwide. With unparalleled financial muscle, the resources of the colleges continue to stir international curiosity, provide spectacle and further sporting opportunities.

Here at Harvard, one is afforded the unique opportunity to not only watch elite collegiate athletes participate in 41 different varsity sports, but also to experience the smoldering embers of Boston’s sporting soul. Walking through Park Street, overhearing drawling voices discussing the fortunes of the Celtics, Pats, Bruins and Sox, you are reminded how deeply interwoven sport is with the fabric of society; you are reminded how, even in the commercially driven world of American sports, the affinity connecting fan and sport is universal.

Ultimately, one word can succinctly explain the difference of American sport: scale. In terms of land mass, it would take slightly over 31 British Islands to fill the United States of America. In a country of three time-zones, where your roommate can go skiing and you to a tropical beach simultaneously, it is hardly a surprise that the US and its collegiate athletic program can not only accommodate more than one major sport, but find a place for minor ones to thrive as well.

And in spite of American sports’ oft-inscrutable nature, it seems that Harvard is my ideal point of entry.

—Staff writer Allen J. Padua can be reached at ajpadua@fas.harvard.edu.