Once I Did Bellow Out "Goddess Bless America" and Was Looked at Askance

Though as loyal Oakland residents and thus Oakland A's fans and ever thus haters of the SF Giants and all who sail in her (if only when they play our beautiful A's), one of the best experiences in the enjoyment of baseball in America is taking BART to SF, walking south along the Embarcadero to Noveau Candlestick and then back again after the game.

Sea meets city. Palm trees, bridge views, the occasional old-timey street car and then perhaps a quick stop at the Ferry Building shops to buy a pizza stone and some Lambchopper cheese.

(I kid you not. Which thanks to Turner Classic Movies on cable I now realize was Captain Queeg's signature interjection in "The Caine Mutiny." Bogie!)

And so it happened yesterday. The A's won -- hurrah.

But when we sprang up in the middle of the 7th for a little "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" -- and I always sing "root, root, root for the home team" because I am a traditionalist -- PA said but first let's sing along to "God Bless America."

And down The Lady E. and I sat. We don't do theism cum nationalism at ballgames. Theism cum nationalism: That way lies death, madness and the end of time.

Even as we speak.