I went to my first baseball game last night, Dodgers v. Giants in the newish SF stadium. I stood and sang the national anthem, I had some cotton candy and a hot dog with grilled onions. It was a very American evening, except for one thing. No half-naked bouncing women. Not a single one anywhere. Was I not here in America–land of amply endowed, blonde women who bounce professionally? Is baseball not our national sport? Everyone seemed entertained by the game, but I pondered the sad truth. An entire generation of young baseball fans will grow to maturity without knowing the nuances of reflective spandex, the alluring twinkle of cleavage sequins under stadium lights. Wistfully, I surveyed the vast stretch of field before me. “Jenni? Tifanni? Jodi?” Two rows down, three sorority girls turned from their gaggle and looked up at me questioningly. “Nevermind,” I said, and flagged the peanut vendor.