NATIONAL ANTHEMS

So I watched an unremarkable Opening Day game at Fenway.

By now I am innured to what happens to that most akward anthem every written, the Star Spangled Banner. Babes wreck it in halter tops (what would you expect from Miami?), rock-stars distort it for a few hundred thousand, and sometimes you still get it straight: from Marine bands, little kids, fresh-faced sopranos and the like. Most of this is pretty disgusting, but then our anthem is no great shakes anyway. If it brings tears to your eyes, it must be nostalgia. I mean, compared with the bersaglieri quick-stepping through the operatic Italian anthem, the Marseillaise (which has a residual meaning -- Get your guns out, Citizens!), the delicious harmonies of the Dutch or God Save the Queen, the words and music of our anthem are pretty stinky.

So awful in fact are they that they too have become part of the entertainment industry. They tell the poor guy or girl, go out there and do what you can with it. Well, last night, in the seventh inning, we got an old crock from Aerosmith, fresh from rehab and with a well-scrubbed daughter by his side, doing what he could with its rival, God Bless America, a treacle tart for which I have no appetite whatever. I can fairly report two things about Mr. Tyler's performance: drugs or no, he can neither sing nor speak English. Yekh! Those sprawling nasal vowels, those indeterminate high notes, those worn and abused vocal cords!

In the eighth inning we were treated to one Neil Diamond and his Slick Chestnut, Sweet Caroline. The man wouldn't excel accompanying a palm court orchestra at the Plaza or, for that matter, leaning on a piano somewhere South of Liberace. But he was utterly harmless and amiable: a little like the Sox and their owner.

The crowd seemed entranced; but then who ever said that Sox fans were a discriminating lot?

We are an odd lot, those of us who can remember that a certain solemnity came with our national anthems. Solemnity and respect. However wretched the blasted anthems are -- try the Argentine on for size, which goes on and on! -- I ask you to consider what would happen were any of our bimbos, or Mr. Tyler, to 'sing' the Marseillaise on Bastille Day! Come on, Citizens, reach for your guns!