You were amused by Rain Man. What's the difference?

Let me start this off by saying: You would have laughed too. I swear to God(s), you would have laughed. Or you would have wanted to, at least. It's the point at which you would have laughed, however, that determines whether you are a) pure evil, b) just mean, or c) simply able to recognize a humorous moment and enjoy it accordingly.

It was Saturday evening, moments before the first pitch. The sun was low in the sky, the grass was the kind of green that only springtime and a dedicated grounds-crew can achieve, and the small but immaculate minor-league stadium was abuzz with the commotion of a few thousand fans finding their seats and anticipating the game ahead.

On the concourse below, a group of people, twenty or so strong, all in matching t-shirts and with similarly confused, child-like expressions on their faces, were being herded toward a gate next to the first-base dugout and onto the green grass beyond. This is not unusual, as baseball games are a common destination for group outings such as birthday parties and church youth groups. These people were different, though, because they had the high honor of singing the Star-Spangled Banner before the start of the game.

But don't call them different. What you can call them, as the PA announcer informed us in his introduction, is the "Just as I Am Choir." If, like me, you laugh at this point and every time you think of the name of the choir hereafter, you are a) pure evil.

Despite my evilness, I do tend to see the best in people, and so I found myself hoping, nay believing, that, despite the presumed mental challenges each and every member of this choir was overcoming to be able to stand out there, they would surprise us all with a beautiful, pitch-perfect, savant-like rendition of our National Anthem. Hell, if Ray Babbitt can count toothpicks, surely someone out there can sing like a bird. Yes, their performance was beautiful and inspiring, but it was also, despite my fervent hoping, exactly how it should have sounded: Like a bunch of retards.

See, right now you are either laughing or you are clicking away from here as fast as you can, never to return to this callous, uncaring and hateful blog again. If you have just now begun to laugh, imagining the chorus of voices that would sound pretty much exactly the way it would if myself and all of my friends got together after a few drinks to sing a song together (i.e., like a bunch of retards; hey, I don't make up the hurtful language, I just perpetuate it), then you are b) just plain mean.

If you managed to both hold your hand over your heart and hold onto your grim-faced, tight-lipped determination not to smile or laugh throughout the Anthem up to this point, you are a far better person than I. You would have at least cracked a smile, though, and probably laughed out loud when the one guy, fixed on having his moment in the spotlight, could not help himself but to step forward from the choir to the array of microphones pointed at them for his unauthorized off-key chorus-drowning solo of the line "the bombs bursting in air" before a handler could push him back even with his unaffected peers. You, Saint, are c) simply able to recognize a humorous moment and enjoy it accordingly, because it's okay to laugh at, I mean with, the developmentally challenged when they do something that is actually funny, just as it is permissable to laugh at me when I try to put my camera-wielding free hand through the closed sunroof while driving in order to take a photo for this blog. Funny is funny.

If you laughed at any point prior to Pavarotti's scene-stealing vocal heroics, you will be joining me in hell. If you're reading this blog, we'll probably see you there regardless.

Let me just add: I'm laughing at the name "Just as I Am Choir" in large part because I think it's kind of an insulting name. Why couldn't they have given them more of a confidence-boosting moniker like "The Ass-Kicking, Flame-Throwing, Take-No-Prisoners Choir of Destruction." That would carry some heavy cachet.

Also, to that kid who stood on the concrete landing right in front of us between innings and could have been a member of the choir but did not have the same t-shirt on and was feeling the music like I have never felt music and did his best to spread that joy to the crowd: you were freakin' awesome and we thank you for your energy.