God, I love that song. My all-time favorite. We went to Greer Stadium today and watched the Detroit Tigers trounce the Chicago White Sox in an exhibition game. It was a perfect day for a baseball game: sunny, warm, and breezy. We sat up in the reserved grandstand over third base. At Greer, this is a very reasonable place to sit. I practically get a nosebleed every time I go to a Mets game and sit way up top at Shea. Anyway, this was a fun game because it was the pros. See, Nashville doesn't have any pro teams.

Yeah, okay, so the Houston Oilers are moving here in '98, but I'll be long gone by then, and besides, I hate football. No one seems to want to ante up the money to buy a baseball team. So I have to make do with the Sounds, who are the White Sox' farm team, and the Express, who are an AA team. I like baseball in general, and I like watching farm teams, but the excitement of a pro game just can't be beat. I miss that. I loved the San Francisco Giants, even though they sucked massively, because darn it, they were our team! I liked the A's a lot more, but I never quite developed the devotion to them that I felt for the Giants.

That's not to say I'm a sporty gal in general. I loathe almost everything but baseball. There's something really American about baseball, though. I sit in the bleachers, enjoying the game, listening to the fans around me discuss statistics or argue with the calls, and I feel like I'm participating in a fine old ritual. I'm not generally prone to national pride, but I sure feel it at baseball games. Especially at the 7th inning stretch, when the whole stadium rises to its feet and belts out the traditional song.

...and it's one! two! three strikes you're out at the old ball game!