There's always been an inherent irony that has suffused my Independence Day observations. After all, we, as Americans, are supposed to be celebrating our freedom from English oppression and saluting our Founding Fathers. And being an Irish American, I should have my reflexive anti-Anglo radar up at all times.

But what have I been doing for the last three decades on Independence Day? Why, watching tennis from England - Wimbledon - and casting aside any thoughts of my American heritage until I hear the fireworks booming, alighting the starless sky outside my Gotham apartment.

See, Wimbledon is one thing the English do better than their former colonial nation across the Atlantic. In fact, the word superior comes to mind when comparing Wimbledon to our national tennis event, the US Open. Even with the seemingly interminable rain delays that have historically befallen this annual fortnight of tennis' most treasured event, (a moot point now as a retractable roof hovers about Centre Court which has, ironically, been utilized just once thus far as an unusually hot and dry spell of weather has overtaken the UK this week) it is still a far more enjoyable tournament to view than our US Open. And never more so than last year, when Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer staged perhaps the greatest tennis match of all time, while dodging raindrops and suffering through several delays.

The action at Wimbledon always manages to appear both serene and enthralling. One has a profound sense that this is what tennis is supposed to look like.

This has something to do with the color of the event. The courts at Wimbledon are awash in verdancy. In fact, various shades of green are all the eye sees - the grass, seating and the background - as the stage is devoid of any advertising or other obstructions to clutter one's vision. This backdrop is far more soothing to the eye and conducive for watching the sport, and is in sharp contrast to the bright, harsh, IBM-blue that forms the palate of the behemoth that is Arthur Ashe stadium, the center court of the US Open. For baseball fans, think of Wrigley Field vs. Yankee Stadium.

And there's the scheduling of matches. Even without extended night play and an absence of tennis on the middle Sunday, Wimbledon is run far more efficiently than any of the other Slams. The All England club uses an "every other day" schedule so one always knows on what day the players will be next competing. This is in stark contrast to the US Open. The American Grand Slam tournament can't even finish the first round in two days even with day and night sessions. Wimbledon also has the single best day of tennis on an annual basis as all 4th round matches are contested - men and women - on the second Monday.

Finally, there are the fans. The novelist Mark Helprin wrote that a "well-timed silence is the most commanding expression." And this is an apt description of the crowds at Wimbledon. By and large, there appears to be a greater reverence for the "tennis moment" in the English fans. Perhaps this is due to the fact that the sport had its origins in the United Kingdom. Or maybe it's because London summers are all too brief and the fans are cognizant of relishing any special moment during the hot season.

And there isn't a better example of the Big W's attentive and focused fans than last year's final between Nadal and Federer. I recently re-watched the match, and part of what stands out about that extraordinary display of tennis is the riveted crowd that was in attendance that day. During those incandescent last two sets, when Nadal and Federer exchanged shots with such power, precision and urgency on nearly every crucial point, there was a truly deafening silence, exponentially increasing the acoustics of the ball. This was punctuated by thrilled and exuberant applause and utterances after each point's conclusion. It was all so perfectly felicitous.

There have been many wonderful and historic matches in the host cities of the other three Grand Slam tournaments - New York, Paris and Melbourne - but I just couldn't have imagined the setting being anywhere else. Is it just coincidence that the other agreed upon "greatest match of all time," the 1980 encounter between John McEnroe and Bjorn Borg, also took place at Wimbledon?

I love riding the 7 train to Flushing every September during the US Open and watching tennis in my beloved New York, enjoying the noise and activity of the event which so reflect the host city. There's no place I'd rather be on Labor Day.

But I don't mind admitting that each Independence Day holiday, along with my annual re-interest in our nation's singular founding, I give a nod to the fallen empire, and enjoy so much what they can still do so well.