Oh, those unforgettable summers of sevens.

• 1967: The Summer of Love (or, more to the point, sex).
• 1977: The Son of Sam Summer. The lights go out, the Bronx is burning, and Reggie Jackson is on fire.
• 1987: Ling Ling, the giant panda, gives birth.

Okay. Maybe that wasn’t the most memorable summer. But by 1997, things were thrilling again, as the dot.com bubble began speeding toward the sun. Those were giddy, greedy times, and at last we find ourselves in the middle of another great era, 2007: The Summer of…

“Evan Almighty.”

Or Crocs, maybe? Coke with vitamins? The Summer Before the Summer Before the Presidential Election? Or perhaps this will be known forever more as the Great Congestion Pricing Debate That Ended in a Dramatic Call for Further Study Summer?

I’m guessing yes.

I mean, what other event this season has exerted such a pull on the public’s imagination? “Tell me again, Grandma, about when you were a little girl and Shelly Silver and Michael Bloomberg argued about a Midtown access toll!”

“This summer is just dull, dull, dull,” my friend Richard complained. “It’s the summer of no trans fats,” he said, when pressed for a trend.

So I stopped pressing. He did add that, unlike previous summers, virtually every network and basic cable TV station is introducing at least one big new show — further proof that so little is going on that network execs figure everyone is staying home, watching television.

The author of “Can We Do That?” Peter Shankman, begged to disagree. As a runner about town, he has noticed one definite trend: “This could be the summer Dunkin’ Donuts iced coffee has finally come into its own. You’re seeing a lot more people carrying their cups lately.”

And you thought things were slow.

Of course if, God forbid, something terrible happens, or Paris Hilton shaves her head, or both — at which point there won’t be a news chopper in the world available for rent — all bets are off. That’s what happened when the blackout hit New York on July 13, 1977. By the time the lights came on again 25 hours later, there had been more than $150 million worth of damage done, 3,000 people arrested, and an era defined. Son of Sam helped, of course, as did Howard Cosell, when he happened to see a building on fire near Yankee Stadium and announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, the Bronx is burning.” Suddenly the summer of ’77 had an identity: evil twin to the innocence — if that’s the word for a giant outdoor orgy fueled by psychedelic drugs — of the summer of 1967.

For all we know, perhaps another giant orgy or serial murderer or seismic generational shift is just around the corner. Or at least a new flavor of coffee.

Then, too, if the “Simpsons” movie proves a huge hit, that could color our summer the way “Jaws” colored 1975. If Harry Potter dies, this could become the official Bummer Summer. And if the Yankees manage to pull it together (I’ll pause while you return your eyes to their original, pre-rolling position), these could become the Torrid Days of Torre.

I hope so. Otherwise, this is going to go down as the “‘It’s Hard To Find Anything That’s More Important to the Future of New York City From a Competitiveness Point of View, From a Public Health Point of View, From a Mass Transit Point of View, From an Economic Point of View, Than This,’ the Mayor Said” Summer. And forget any ESPN miniseries.