Kamala Harris has done a remarkable job of consolidating the Democratic Party’s base of women and voters of color since President Biden dropped out of the race just over two weeks ago. She is now polling in a virtual tie with Donald Trump.
With her announcement on Tuesday that Gov. Tim Walz of Minnesota is her running mate, Ms. Harris has chosen a Midwest governor whose biography should give him an important opportunity to reach out to the male voters Democrats are struggling to reach.
There is no substitute for an energized base. But while that is a prerequisite to success, it is not sufficient for victory. For that Ms. Harris will almost certainly have to improve her numbers with a group of male voters whose drift away from Democrats predates her entry in this campaign.
As a former adviser to Hillary Clinton, I know all too well that there are some men who are reluctant to vote for a woman, and polling has made clear that young men in particular are increasingly backing Mr. Trump and the G.O.P. Ms. Harris can afford to lose this cohort. But she must cut into Mr. Trump’s margin.
It is clear that Ms. Harris understands this challenge — a key reason all of the top contenders for vice president were white and male, and why she was right to choose Mr. Walz.
All of the runners-up were impressive, especially Gov. Josh Shapiro of Pennsylvania, whose popularity and strong record in a critical swing state would have made him an excellent choice.
But only one is a former high school football coach: Mr. Walz. It’s an identity that has stuck over the years.
Why does that matter? Because football may be the last remaining unifying force in a deeply divided America.
Of the hundred most-watched network TV programs last year, 93 were N.F.L. games. Universities collectively draw hundreds of thousands of spectators to their stadiums, in red states and blue. And high school contests under the lights on Friday nights shut down entire towns.
Football is our civic religion. I grew up watching the Giants every week with my grandfather and father. Today I watch RedZone every Sunday with my teenage son over pizza. Millions of other American fathers and sons spend their weekends this way.
For us, football is a common language, a way of understanding the world and what it takes to be successful. In this cosmos of heroes and villains, the coach looms large.
There is a reason “Friday Night Lights,” a popular TV series about high school football, revolved around the team’s coach, and why the show’s signature line was his: “Clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose.”
Players come and go. In the N.F.L. in particular their careers are often short and their faces are obscured by helmets and face masks. The Babe Ruth or Michael Jordan of football is a coach, not a player: Bear Bryant. Vince Lombardi. Nick Saban. And we venerate them, not just for their understanding of the game but also for their understanding of men — for their ability to shape and motivate young men into a team. Only the coach is visible throughout the game’s entirety, prowling the sidelines and willing his team to victory.
Mr. Walz gets this. He played high school football in Butte, Neb. At Mankato West High School in Minnesota he helped coach the football team to a state championship. He understands the power of his experience, and ran ads in previous campaigns that emphasized his coaching, even taking his case to voters directly from the 50-yard line.
This background — as a coach, and as a member of the armed services — helped him represent a blue-collar swing congressional district in Congress. He was re-elected in the red wave year of 2010 and ran nearly 15 points ahead of Mr. Trump’s winning margin in his district in 2016 — one of the highest margins of overperformance in the country.
