This? THIS is the tradition you bothered to carry over?

So while the Yankees see no problem pissing all over their fans, pissing all over their history, and pissing all over the greatest cathedral the sporting world ever knew, they apparently have a problem with their fans pissing all over their shiny new urinals, at least while one of the worst renditions of any song ever recorded is being blasted over the Fan Re-Education System.

I refer, of course, to the playing of "God Bless America," as recored by Kate Smith, during the 7th inning stretch, which is easily the one tradition from the Stadium I would not have missed if they hadn't brought it over to the Interactive Yankeetainment Experience.

And yet, in an impressive display of failing to appreciate the irony of the situation, some geniuses with badges decided to teach one fan the value of the freedom he was supposed to be singing about by proving that he wasn't even free to not sing about it if he didn't feel like it. Let's say that again, slowly, for those of you who think it makes sense:

(a) It's a free country

(b) The Yankees want us to show our appreciation of (a) by blindly singing along with a 400 pound dead woman while she asks God to bless our secular undertakings, thus devaluing both God and America.

(c) In a free country, one would theoretically be allowed to go to the bathroom during such a display as (b) if so inclined.

(d) If (c) is false, then (a) is false and (b) is all the more ridiculous.

(e) The "experts" who provide "security" at "Yankee Stadium"  believe (c) is false.

(f) Does anybody else see the irony here?

Look, I love my country as much as the next guy, provided that guy doesn't drive a pickup truck and insist on pronouncing it "Amurrica," in which case, he probably loves his country more than he loves anything besides Busch Light, and that's really none of my concern. But why should I have to engage in some hollow gesture to prove it? Why should anyone have to prove it at all? Does life here on planet Earth get one iota better or worse if I'm in the john while the Yankees continue to pretend to be the Philadelphia Flyers? I sincerely doubt it. If God is that petty, why are we asking for his blessing? If the notion of "freedom" is so flimsy that I'm not even allowed to make my own decision as to whether I feel like singing a song or hitting the head, then what good is a "free" country and why should anyone bother singing about it?

Oh, and to top it all off, they couldn't even be bothered to win the ball game. Thanks, Yanks.

Oh, there's a ball game going on? Meh. Another "martini" that's not actually a martini, barkeep!

In his blog on the newly launched ESPN Chicago site, Nick Friedell extols the virtues of Wrigley Field's no-frills-itude and begs the Cubs to stick with it (I wasn't aware of any machinations by the Cubs to move out of Wrigley, so I'm guessing this is specifically in response to the Interactive Yankeetainment Experience).

I haven't made much of an effort over the years to hide my disdain for the newfangled oldfangled ballparks that hamfistedly blend syrupy nostalgia for a time that never existed with a host of unnecessary amenities designed to squeeze the most money possible out of "fans" who wouldn't know baseball if it jumped up and bit them in the personal-trained ass. So it should come as no surprise to anyone that I couldn't agree more. Following is a typical schedule for one of my visits to a night game at Yankee Stadium (the real one):

6:15: Emerge from 161 Street subway station...not the el, but the subway, because I'm not a sardine.

6:20: prove to surly usher that neither my cell phone nor my hat is a bomb; be allowed grudgingly into Stadium via Gate 6

6:21: Good-luck pilgrimage to Section 31, Box 323A, Seats 1 and 2 in honor of my late father.

6:25: Escalator to Tier level. Visit men's room.

6:30: Pick up hot dogs and drinks from concession stand in Section 25.

6:35ish: Arrive at seats, sooner if I'm on preferred right-field side; later if I'm on stupid left-field side with the losers.

6:40: Get tired of watching Yankeeography: Melido Perez on scoreboard. Eat aforementioned hot dog.

6:45: Lineups announced. Sit on hands for Alex Rodriguez, but refrain from booing him until he actually does something stupid (all in due time).

6:50: Stand up and take hat off for national anthem. Get in the middle of disputes between jingo idiots and people who forgot to take hats off with simple line, "What kind of free country is it if you're not free to leave your hat on?"

7:05: Baseball! Finally!

8:00: Root for D train in scoreboard train race, get really pissed if the 4 train wins.

9:05: In anticipation of another nauseating rendition (no pun intended) of God Bless America, head for the bathroom.

9:25: Cotton Eye Joe.

10:15: Yankees most likely lose because I'm in attendance. Still, a bad day at the ballpark beats a good day at the office. And I'm gone.

Notice all the amenities I made use of...let's see...a concession stand, a seat, and a urinal. That's all I ask. I know, I know. Give the Interactive Yankeetainment Experience a shot. I will. But with a heavy heart for memories paved over. And even if I grow to like the place, the fact remains: it will never be the same.