The singer belted out the
national hymn without
missing a

beat. Right on cue, the
Air Force fighter
jets buzzed

the throngs. The crowd roared
amens of approval.
The commercial

showed the most storied
sniper sniping in
the movie

made by the “Go ahead,
make my day,”
man who

speaks to empty seats. Then
a kick boxer trash
talked into

the camera, flexed his
muscles and, presum-
ably, kicked

the be-jesus out of some
hapless Henry. Finally,
cartoon G.I.

Joes danced tippy-toed
on a beach with
bombs bursting
at their

feet. And finally, after
getting the okay,
from the

network and all the cor-
porate sponsors
who chomped

big old Cubans, the
congregation cried
for the blood

of the lamb, and the
mostly minority
gladiators

galloped onto the field
for Sunday worship
in Seattle.