Ain’t that America
By 
America’s most communal cultural event, the Super Bowl, featured a wildly popular team from Kansas City cheered by a global pop star who is dating the tight end. After the Chiefs won, she kissed her boyfriend under the falling confetti.
Three days later, the city held a massive parade and celebration where gunfire broke out, scattering panicked fans in football jerseys, killing a woman and hurting 22 others, about half of them kids.
Super Bowl. Parade. Shooting.
Is there a more American story than that?
The shooting was not directly related to football, in the way that a shooting at a mall is not related to shopping. But every such shooting feels like a crime against American culture. Settings have included schools, colleges, movie theaters, churches and synagogues, grocery stores, concerts. There is now a subset of mass shootings occurring at parades.
No parcel of American public life feels completely safe. No shooting feels like a surprise, except to the people who live through it.
It seems odd to describe this incident as both pure Americana in its most grotesque form, and a “crime against American culture.” That is our culture.