Sports talk Sunday

1. According to some recent poll -- who comes up with these? -- Tiger Woods is the "richest" athlete. I think by richest, the pollsters mean who earns the most. Barring the argument that athletes are overpaid, I still think it's great that Woods was tops. He makes money in endorsements, which usually means working in commercials etc. And he won the money. Wouldn't some major league baseball and NFL teams like to tell players, "Hey, you're not getting paid unless you win." Yes, I know, two entirely different things. Still sort of fun to consider.

2. Despite what sports columnists in Seattle and New York think, we do not have a wagon train trail coming into town. We don't all ride horses, and Oklahomans CAN read.

3. With all this talk of a possible Sonics move to OKC in the next couple of years, unless Seattle decides to build a new arena, I can't help wonder what such a move would mean to the WNBA's Seattle Storm, owned now by the same Oklahoma City group. Are Oklahoma fans ready to embrace a women's team? It's likely they are not, so Seattle might get to keep a professional basketball team after all.

4. Oklahoma has a football team playing in a national championship next Saturday. I've yet to hear any of our local sportscasters or newspaper columnists talk about it. Not even local female sports goddess, Jenni Carlson of The Oklahoman. (Come on girl, represent.) The Oklahoma City Lightning, a National Women's Football Association, is undefeated this season. Undefeated in the regular season. Undefeated in the play-offs. These are some tough athletes. I went out to a practice before their first play-off game. It was the middle of the day on a Saturday. Sweltering heat and they were in pads. T.O. would have been whining like a two-year-old, but these women were working hard. It's paid off. They're doing what none of Oklahoma's other football teams did this past season -- being champions.

To dunk or not to dunk

When I was growing up a good Southern Baptist in Texas would never question the mandates of the Southern Baptist Convention. We looked to that body in much the same way that the Catholics looked to the Pope and the Vatican.

For a least a couple of decades now I've considered myself a Methodist. The church's beliefs much more closely aligned with mine that than of the Southern Baptist Convention's. I jokingly refer to myself as a "reformed Baptist."

I tell you all this, so that you understand my amazement about a local church's move to change some rules.

Henderson Hills Baptist Church in Edmond, a Southern Baptist member church, is bucking convention. The church's membership will vote today and Sunday on whether to eliminate baptism as a requirement for church membership.

Needless to say, the move has brought some criticism, and might get the church booted out of the Southern Baptist Convention.

Church leaders say there is no clear biblical evidence for using baptism as a prerequisite for church membership. SBC leaders say a church practicing "open membership" may jeopardize its cooperating membership with the convention at both state and national levels. Notice they don't argue that it's mandated by scripture.

In 2001, the First Baptist Church in OKC voted to sever ties with the Southern Baptist Convention over issues of doctrine and women's roles in the church. So Henderson Hills might be in good company if its ousted, or decides to sever the ties itself.

Like everyone else, I'm curious as to the outcome. I personally think it's good for religion to have followers question the decisions made for them by some entity, be it a governing board or the Vatican. After all, shouldn't the Bible be the governing board?

American melting pot - boiling

An Oklahoma candidate for the 5th Congressional District has a campaign commercial that physically makes me ill. He joined the National Guard a couple of years ago -- a noble move, but one I'm certain done with ambitious calculation. He sells his military service like many candidates sell their "Christianiy" these days. The one commercial states that he joined the National Guard after 9/11. Yes. Way after. He's cheapening the honor of military service. In this one particular commercial, the "Captain" has another "military" man speaking for him. The man is a member of the militiamen -- the "self defense force" as they call themselves.

As a Hispanic American, I cringe, not because I think that illegal aliens should be allowed carte blanche, but because of the whole situation. Similar to the Pilgrims and other immigrants who landed on these shores long ago, those crossing the borders today are seeking a better life. In today's world, they are more like refugees from nations that are no longer safe and no longer afford them a way to make a living. Yet, America, the land that once was a refuge for thousands - millions -- of people looking for a better life is shutting the door. The primary reason I hear is simply that these people speak Spanish.

It's racism disguised as a concern for country.

This evening I attended a meeting of the National Association of Hispanic Journalists - Oklahoma Chapter. I met wonderful people, talented people -- all of whom spoke both English and Spanish and usually another language fluently.

One was a graphic artist that focuses on new technology and creates the wonderul flat screen interactive information panels that you see when you walk into many buildings, as well as web sites and other projects. Two were television anchors, a talk show host, reporters and one a film maker that just attended her first premiere of her first film and is headed to New York to premiere the film there. Another was an actor in her film.

They hailed from Bolivia, Mexico, Peru, Honduras, Columbia and America. We shared conversations about our work and our cultures, each learning from one another.

And we all shared comments about the impact of open-warfare on Hispanics.. Those of us born in America to American parents and grandparents and their parents, and those immigrants who are in this country legally, all are subject to the discrimination. Ads like those of the Oklahoma candidate add fuel to the fire of racism. There is little discernment between illegal immigrants who speak Spanish and even Americans who speak Spanish.

Congressman Istook, running for Governor of our fair state, wants English to be the official language. Why? It was after all a Spanish Queen and King who financed the trip to the New World by an Italian. Ask a Native American what the official language of this land should be.

There are no easy answers. Hispanic Americans and legal immigrants get just as frustrated as anyone else about the problem of illegals. But maybe, instead of sealing our borders and shooting people, we should extend them refugee status. Then our government and leaders should demand that their countries (and they are not all from Mexico) fix the problems in their countries so that these people can live in their native lands. Because if you ask them, they'll tell you that they love their country. They just can't live there anymore.

It's time to look for a different solution to the problem.

Enough

I wasn't going to blog about this, but what the heck, it's time to make a break. So the "friend" mentioned a couple of post ago shows up unannounced on Sunday after with kids in tow. We don't mind when friends show up unannounced, but there's stages of friendship -- don't you think? Some friends, absolutely fine that they stop by anytime they want, open your refrigerator, grab a glass out of the cabinet etc.

This is not one of those friends. So after we plop the kids in front of my t.v. and we're visiting over drinks, she states her reason for being here. "I just thought you should know, your grandson hit my J. when we were here last week."

I apologize, little J. hears us talking, comes in and offers his two cents, "Yeah, he hit me coz of that stupid cat."

Excuse me?

Apparently, grandson defending the cat, hit the boy because J. was hitting my cat with a toy rake because the cat was hissing at him.

Now, the past week we've been worried about our cat who has been hiding from all of us and has had to be coaxed into the same room with people. Our cat has always been very social, so we knew something was up and had scheduled a vet appointment for later this week.

This sort of exlained things.

After this woman says nothing to her son for admitting to hitting my cat, she continues to tell me how we need to discipline my grandson.

I asked her to leave. I simply had had enough. There are some people who aren't worth the effort of trying to be nice to, she's one of them. We've never had too much in common, met through mutual friends and for some reason she decided that we were "best friends" lately. I was trying really hard because honestly many of our friends are younger than we are, and this woman is my age. Our husbands get along great, and if hubby decides to continue that friendship, that's great -- it just won't include couple-socializing.

Was I wrong? I just always go by the old adage that you can't let people walk all over you. This woman's kid hurt my cat. And, she's dissing my grandson, whom I think is perfect (ok, not really, but give me break, I'm a grandma.)

There, I feel better. Chapter closed. Thanks for listening.

The change

This is about THAT change, though I might blog about that one day. I got my hair cut. Much shorter than I've had it in a while. I like it. And, I might even go a little shorter in a few months.

Getting a new hair cut is sort of fun. Usually when I get a haircut my women friends notice (my son-in-law always notices. His momma must have raised him right.)

However, my husband and everyone else never notices. Not this time. Hard to miss. So it's kind of fun, getting the double-take.

I'll probably decide in a few days if I really like it after a few mornings of having to deal with styling etc. Ya'll have been there, you know what I mean.

Strangely enough, I've never been a "big hair" person. I say strangely enough because I come from the land of big hair. I remember getting annoyed going to the theater in Texas because inevitably some big haired woman would sit in front of me. I think that was one of the reasons I decided big hair wasn't for me, it was too...everything.

My husband works with a big-hair woman in his office, and she's from Oklahoma. Are they everywhere? Share if you know one.

Girlfriends

You know I've never had a lot of "girlfriends" in my life. E. was my friend - senior year in high school in Montana. We hung out and did a whole lot together. Went to the prom with our dates together, and through the years we've stayed in touch here and there.

Due to her former husband's assinine behavior last year (younger woman - idiot) she didn't make it to the major reunion -- ok, 30th -- so I didn't go either. Now hubby and I are driving to her home in Minnesota in August. I'm excited and nervous. I mean, what if she doesn't like me anymore?

People not liking me -- particularly women friends -- always worries me. I guess that stems from really not having close friends in high school until my senior year. I did have a guy friend, but no girlfriends until E.

I have friends now that I wish I could talk to more often, but you know how you get the feeling that maybe they don't like you as much as you like them? I call, they don't call back. But really, not self pity (ok, maybe a little) I'm moving on and cultivating friendships that I sometimes get to busy to pay attention to myself.

I'm looking forward to this visit with E.

Round up

So many topics, so little time to blog. Here's a round-up of thoughts and questions that have crossed my mind this week:

1. When did the Chinese start making British cars? (google: MG & Ardmore if you're curious.)

2. Is it just me or is Jay Leno annoying as hell?

3. I think it might be time to change directions on the blog, maybe write more serious editorials. Maybe.

4. The Atlanta Braves are having a bad year. Hee hee hee hee.

5. I need 30 hour days to get everything done. Can someone please slow the earth down? Wait. Maybe I should research what would happen first.

6. Did anyone else think the animated movie 'Cars' was a little slow and boring through a big chunk of it.

7. Net Flix sucks this week. We order "Five people you meet in heaven" and got the unrated version of "Grandma's boy." I might watch it, but David Spade makes me feel like retching.

8. Is it wrong to feel a little twinge of annoyance, jealousy, insecurity when a regular on your blog that you regularly read doesn't link your blog?

9. In three weeks I'm going to see a friend that I last saw 50 pounds and 25 years ago. Hope she recognizes me.

10. My sports talk podcast is at a standstill because I can't find a co-host -- not one that will COMMIT to the project. So any female sports fans -- don't have to know a lot about sports, just enough who are interested, let me know. I have technology to do this over the phone. I'm really bummed about that.

If you're an idiot -- press this button

The complexities of the human mind never cease to amaze me. On almost a daily basis a story I hear or something I see another human being do, makes me wonder "What were they thinking?"

Maybe it's that our minds are so complex that the same information just comes out with a variety of different responses and answers.

For example, I'm leaving the hospital campus today and drive north. The medical school is in a not-so-great neighborhood, rife with urban problems of crime and drugs. It's a poor, predominately black neighborhood.

As I was driving down one of the worst streets that always prompts me to lock my doors, I spotted a small bright yellow sports car. Because Oklahoma does not require two license plates, most people choose some sort of novelty plate for the front of their car. This car, a BMW with darkly tinted windows, being driven by a gray-haired white male, whom I suspect was a physician or some other professional associated with the medical center, sported a confederate flag. Yes. A confederate flag.

What was he thinking?

Rangers -- and we ain't talking Texas

I have an addiction. It's my friend, S's, fault. She got me hooked in February. Friends and family know about this addiction, but I try not to talk about it or let people know about it because I don't want them to think me less intelligent, less serious, less professional.

My addiction? Janet Evanovich's "Stephanie Plum" series. I read the first book, "One for the Money," and moved on to "Two for the Dough." and so on. Yes, the titles are cheesy. Yes, the plots are similar and predictable and I usually know "who done it" before I reach the end of the book. Still I come back.

The reason? Two characters -- One called Ranger -- a hot, mysterious, Latin bounty hunter/former Special Forces guy that makes me drool. And, Joe Morelli -- a hot cop, now a good guy with just enough of a twinge of "bad boy" in him to make me drool too. They both seem to want the main character. Every woman's fantasy.

So I read -- devour this books -- share anecdotes with friends and on my lunch hour at work, plop a big non-fiction on the table that I'm slowly working my way through. Can't possibly let people know I read "gasp" romantic mysteries.

And, I reason with myself -- It's not like it's a Harlequin romance novel. There's no long-haired freaky guy on the cover.

I'm addicted and getting ready to read book No. 12 - the latest in the series. Evanovich better start cranking. She's going to have a bunch of drooling women, jones-ing for a Ranger fix.

On the road again

I feel like I'm living in a car this summer. But sure having fun. This weekend in Missouri returning aformentioned grandson and checking on hubby's mom and 9o+ year-old aunt in Kansas.

I always enjoy visiting small towns, but wonder how people can stand to live so far from the city.

The five-year-old made this observation as we were driving through one town last night: "There's nobody here. Where are all the cars?"

Love me, love my kids

We brought our five-year-old grandson home with us for the week. He's quite the handful, but we love him more than life itself.

Here are some of the reasons:

1. He's watching a video he got when we bought him a new golf club -- yes, the kid loves golf -- that gives him tips on reading greens etc. He gets up excited, goes to his bedroom, rummages in his suitcase and changes into pajamas. These are some with long pants that have a pattern on them. He's wearing his golf shoes and a polo shirt.

"Why are you wearing that?"

"Look, see? Golfers wear pajamas." he says pointing to the video."I'm going to go play a round." and off he goes to the back yard.

I'll be danged. His pajama pants DO look an awful lot like the golf pants Jack Nicklaus is wearing. My husband was laughing so hard at this point, he was just on the floor.

2. He brushes his teeth every time he eats, and uses mouthwash -- of course it has to be in those little travel-size bottles that he assumes are really just kid-size.

3. He cups his hands, imitating someone holding a microphone and does a dead-on imitation of Larry the Cable Guy telling a joke.

Yep. we think he's funny, cute, and we love him. So needless to say it pained us this week to realize that some of our friends don't share our enthusiasm. It definitely made us see them in a different light. I mean, it's not like their kids are perfect and we like their kids because we like our friends. Sort of like family, you know?

Oh well, their loss.

Road trip

On the road this weekend, some observances:

1. Slow drivers like to drive in the fast lane. I think it's entertainment watching the guy behind them turn red and figure out creative ways to get around them -- on the right side.

2. Truck stop's have come a long way. They have "Theater rooms" with wide-screen plasma t.v.s, email stations and expresso machines.

3. Gas is damn expensive -- but that doesn't stop people from driving. We saw one guy in a huge pick-up, pulling a fifth wheel trailer and a boat. Another guy had those little three-wheelers in the back of his huge truck and he was pulling a boat. They must make more money than I do, I can't afford that kind of gas. Or maybe I'm just cheap.

4. No matter how many times you see them, buggys are out of place in today's modern world.

5. Every town has a claim to fame -- so far we've seen, the "catfish" capitol of the world, the "tulip" capitol, the "crappie" capitol and so on.

It's the fat girl's fault

If you listen to doctors, or the news these days you'll learn that obesity causes any number of ailments from heart attacks to cancer to probably the war in Iraq. That's right, you heard it here first. Obesity is at fault for every disease and every bad thing in America and the world.

Now I don't want to call anyone names, but could it be that doctors are tired of trying to appease everyone with the reason for cancer, so it's easy to point at fat people? Don't fat people have enough to deal with what with Leno's jokes about Anna Nicole Smith -- no longer fat, Star Jones -- no longer fat, Kirstie Alley -- no longer fat...? Nope, now we have to deal with the world's problems.

And let's face it, fat women have even a harder time. First let's look at the male expectations: you have a fat, flabby, not-too-attractive male lead (Jack Black) being disgusted over a fat out-of-shape woman, who happens to be smart, beautiful and RICH. You would never see a fat out of shape Jennifer Lopez getting some hot guy in the end would you? Heck, if J-Lo got out of shape, she'd be out-of-sight. So, yes, standards for looks are different. Leno and others of his ilk rarely take on any chubby men -- Roseann Barr -- open warfare, her lying cheating flabby ex -- the darling of talk show hosts. Yep. That's fair.

I doubt men have any idea how many times women see some guy's pasty white belly and want to yell, "Hey, fat ass, keep your shirt on." But do we? No. But let some less than perfect woman decide to wear a bikini in public and it's open season with the insults.

Yes. I'm tired of hauling my fat backside to the gym every day, eating a damn salad for lunch and hearing some jerk on the news tell me that it's my fault the world is leaning to one side.

I have an issue with my weight. That's why I'm at the gym everyday. Yes, I should have done something about this a long time ago, but it's my problem. Don't tell me that "fat people use more sick days." Don't charge me more for my insurance. My last job I didn't use a sick day for two years. And, my blood pressure and cholestorel levels are lower than a lot of skinny people's. So don't generalize.

Dang, I feel better -- 10 pounds lighter in fact. I think this "I'm not taking any more b.s." diet works.

Sunday mornings

I woke up at 4:15 a.m. worrying about "things" like my children, my finances, my job, my husband's job -- all those things that really will be ok.

I'll blame the finances stuff on the news reports this week of what CEOs make. Hearing what they make financially, sort of makes you feel like a loser, unless you happen to be in the same category. Then, there's the call from the mother, who goes on to talk about this cousin, this sister and how they earn more than the CEOs. Thanks Mom.

Now earning wouldn't be such a big deal, except we're having our mid-life crisis. We, being the hubby and I. Retirement is looming.

Hubby is entirely unhappy in his job, which pays him a mere pittance. It's time to move on, actually it was time a year ago when a promised promotion and new job never materialized.

I decided it was time to find new employment for certain this week, when my boss was spouting off about the person who had one of the accounts before I did. She said, "this is nothing more than being a glorified press release writer." Well. Since that was definitely not at the top of my list of career choices, it's time to move on. Now every time I write anything at work, that's what I think about. I've lost my motivation.

Which brings us to the daughter. We FEEL obligated to live here now since she moved up from Texas. Is that crazy? Yes. It's crazy. She's married and grown for goodness sake!

And then the question arises of WHERE we want to move. I vote for Texas. Dallas, Fort Worth, Austin. Hubby votes for the midwest, Pacific Northwest, or the other big city in Oklahoma. Then I vote for a beach, complete with little umbrellas in drinks. Don't know what I'd do for a living there, but hey.

So I'm up at now, 5:30 a.m. wondering if I'll be able to stay awake in church. Chances are that's when I'll get sleepy.

Heading down to Texas

One thing I've learned since living North of the Red River is that Oklahomans seem to have a love-hate relationship with Texas.

They HATE for the Longhorns to beat their Sooners.

They LOVE going down for the big football weekend, shopping in Dallas and generally spending Oklahoma dollars in Texas.

They HATE that Texas seems to steal our best graduates with offers of more money.

They LOVE (or at least the GOP up here) Texas tort reform.

The list goes on and on. But one thing is quite clear from the cloud -- I've only been here four years and I feel a loss too -- that hangs over this city and this state due to the announced departure/demise of Kerr-McGee.

That's one thing, I don't understand. Yes, I know all the big oil companies are in Houston. But it's darn cheaper to do business in Oklahoma City and in Oklahoma than there. Not to mention the quality of life -- we can breathe our air up here. But still there's an exodus that sounds like the sucking sound your vaccumm cleaner makes when you get something lodged in the hose. It sucks.

On the up side, the exodus of oil companies is making Oklahomans diversify and look for other industry to bring into the state. And that will be a great thing the next time the oil bust hits. So chin up, Sooners.

Wrong Number

Actual call:

Hello?

Is this Dr. Lee? I need to make my appointment.

I'm sorry, ma'am, you have the wrong number, this is a home number. (Click)

Second call:

Hello.

Yes, I need to make an appointment with Dr. Lee.

Ma'am, you're dialing a home number. This is not a doctor's office. (click)

Third, fourth, fifth calls all about the same.

Sixth call:

Hello.

I need to make an appointment with Dr. Lee.

You've reached the wrong number. What number are you trying to reach.

(She reads the number)

Well, that's not a doctor's office. That's my home number. You must have written it down wrong.

No. This is the number they gave me, it's on the card.

I'm sorry, ma'am. It's the wrong number. (click)

Seventh call:

Hello.

I need to make an appointment with Dr. Lee.

Ma'am, I've told you this is my home line. You have the wrong number.

No, it's not the wrong number. This is the number they gave me.

Ma'am I can't help you. Maybe you should try directory.

No. This is the right number. I need to make an appointment.

I don't know what to tell you ma'am I can't help you.(click)

Final call:

Hello.

Yes, I need an appointment with Dr. Lee.

When would you like to come in?

Can I come in around 10 a.m. tomorrow.

That's perfect. You have the address?

Yes.

See you then.

Now she's Dr. Lee's problem.

My little boy

June 1, 2006 was one of those red letter days. My little boy turned 30. That's a tough thing to take for so many reasons. Not the least of is that it makes me feel really old. Let me just say I was really young when he was born.

I hadn't really wanted to think about his birthday this year, but it's been building for the last two weeks.

I have three children, my son and two daughters came after. I love all three equally. But my son and I have always had a special bond. Maybe it's because we're both such political animals and can have a heck of a good debate. We both love music and like to talk.

And, we've both worked in journalism.

I had the opportunity to work with my son when we were both in college. Yes, we did the most horrible thing parents can do to their child. My husband and I both went back to college when our son graduated from high school. He went off to a different college, but after one semester transferred to the college we were at -- in another state. So when I was editor-in-chief of the college paper, he was one of my reporters.

Then I again had the privilege of working with him when he worked for a news organization at the state Capitol, and I was working for another news group in the same press corps. We had some fun debates and some just plain fun chasing down stories and trying to beat each other out of scoops. I really enjoyed seeing him work and was very proud of the respect I knew others had for him. When my current job takes me to the state Capitol, I always have people stop and ask me how he's doing.

He's busy raising his two cute daughters and he and his wife are expecting a third child. He's hoping for a boy. I hope he gets his son, but know he'll be happy with another barbie-loving princess.

I've seen him transition from a carefree radio guy to a respected newspaper reporter to a great dad. I think he's still probably trying to find his "path." And that's ok. Heck, I was darn near 40 when I finally admitted that I was a journalist and had been a reporter ever since I talked my fourth grade teacher into starting a newspaper at Duncan Elementary.

I'm missing my son a lot these days. He lives almost 2,000 miles away and it's tough not to talk to him every day. Not that we can't pick up the phone, but because sometimes it's easy to get too busy. Yes, we talk. But it's not quite the same.

But he's always our little boy. The little guy with the quick smile who never saw a stranger, much to his mom's discomfort. The kid who had us at the emergency room at least twice a year -- it felt like every weekend -- from age 11 to 18. The kid who "borrowed" our car before he had his license, then totalled two of them after he had his license. The kid who played football, loved surfing, and learned quickly that sometimes one girlfriend at a time is best.

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and think about my children, what they are doing, and where they are. Lately it's been my son on my mind when I wake up.

No matter his age, he'll always be my little boy.

My only prayer is that if I can't be there, Lord, oh Lord, protect my child."

-- Bob Dylan "Protect My Child"

My paintbrushes

I discovered painting purely by accident and thanks in part to my former mother-in-law when I was in my early 20s.

Almost immediately I fell in love with the smell of oil paint and linseed oil mixed with turpentine. That's how my house smells right now. I finally dragged out the blank canvasses and the paint and started painting again. It's been a long time. So long most of my friends don't know that I paint anything other than the walls of my house.

But more than the paint. I love the paintbrushes. Their shapes and the fact that each one has a particular talent, sort of like people.

Brain Tumors

Never let it be said that I'm not my mother's daughter. For as long as I can remember, my mother has been plagued with one death-ending disease or the other. Not really, but she always thought she was.

So these past few months, what with the vertigo that's been intermittent and the excruciating headaches and blurry vision, I've been convinced that I had a brain tumor. Really. I had convinced myself that must be the cause of all these ailments that I haven't on detail shared until now.

The blurry vision got me, so I finally dragged myself to the doctor.

"What brings you in today?"

"I think I have a brain tumor."

He laughed, thinking I must be joking.

After a bunch of questions, poking, prodding and tests, the doctor comes back in with the diagnosis.

"I'm concerned about a few things," he says.

"Brain tumor?" I ask.

He laughs again. "Allergies. I don't know how you can breathe; your sinuses are completely congested."

I take a deep breath through my nostrils. "I can breathe just fine."

"Hmmm. Well, I want you to try this inhaler and this nose spray. You'll notice a difference. The vertigo - dizziness is caused by the congestion."

"Ok, but are you sure I don't have a brain tumor? What about the headaches?"

"Caused by the pressure on your sinuses from congestion."

"Tiredness?"

"If you can't breathe, you feel tired. You can't breathe."

So, it took my husband to remind me the following morning to use the nose spray and inhaler.

I took a deep breath.

The brain tumor is gone.

Seventh Inning Stretch

Decided to pop in and check out our local triple-A team, the Redhawks, last evening. Great (but short) game.

I love baseball games. The game, the players, the food, the fans...the seventh inning stretch.

So imagine our surprise when we all got up last night, and waited for them to kick up the music to "Take me out to the ballgame" and instead got two very off-key young women singing "God Bless America."

Now, I'm very patriotic, but this seemed just plain wrong to me. Baseball is a game of tradition. And, part of that has become singing a particular song -- badly, loudly and enjoying every minute of it, not listening to another lame rendition of a patriotic song.

What do you all think? Should they mess with the seventh inning stretch that way?