How Much Patriotism is Too Much?

My grandmother adored Kate Smith and absolutely loved it when the hefty songstress would sing "God Bless America." Back when, it was a truly special song and you craved the Fourth of July when that would be the one time every year you would hear it.

Not anymore. And even my grandmother would probably be joining Donna Summer in saying, "Enough is enough."

We all got caught up in loving our country after 9/11. Flags waving from car windows. Stars and stripes proudly displayed on store windows and residential porches. And Kate Smith and songwriter Irving Berlin had an amazing rebirth with their little ditty which really should be our national anthem. Suddenly, everybody was doing it in concert. "Ladies and gentlemen, with their rendition of God Bless America, here's Foghat!"

No matter where you turned, "God Bless America" was the land that you love over and over and over and over. And then Major League Baseball hopped on the bandwagon.

First, it was the Yankees who used it for the seventh inning stretch, sometimes done by that goofy Irish cop/bartender Ronan Tynan. His version would take hours to get through and Paul Revere was finished with his ride in less time. Opposing pitchers would lose their stuff during the half hour delay and usually wind up giving up several walks before the seventh inning was over. I've even read that one fan got tossed from the old ballpark for actually daring to go and pee during the song. Yikes. Patriotism apparently supersedes a full bladder in this land of the free.

Fox and MLB now drag it out across the board during the postseason. "Ladies and gentlemen, with her rendition of God Bless America, here's 24's Kim Bauer, Elisha Cuthbert!" A great song now doubles as a sledge hammer. From the mountains to the prairies. Bang, bang, bang. Is this over soon?

This season, the nausea hits my stomach directly. For some inexplicable reason, the Dodgers have added it to their seventh inning stretch. Whoever has sung the National Anthem returns to do the Kate Smith song. This is followed by the traditional "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" tooled by the wonderful organist Nancy Bea Heffley. The seventh inning pause becomes so long that you could actually make a chiropractor appointment if you really do want to do a proper stretch. When I'm at games, I usually like to watch Vin Scully in the TV booth, singing along with the crowd and air-conducting. Last Sunday, because "God Bless America" lasted so long, even Vin couldn't wait. He disappeared from sight, obviously to release some previously ingested Sparkletts water. I wonder if Yankee authorities would ask him to leave the premises as well.

We boil it down to one sad fact. Once, America pounds something cherished into the ground. Not content to enjoy a good thing once in a blue moon, we have to endure what is now an annoyance on almost a daily basis. And the unbelievable has happened. "God Bless America" is no longer special.

Sorry, Grandma. It wasn't my idea.

Dinner last night: Salisbury steak at the Cheesecake Factory.