With one more week of the opera season, followed by two symphonic performances at Carnegie Hall the following week, I look forward to very soon devoting more time to the BASEBALL season.

While I haven't had time to devote to my blog lately, I have keep up on the team and have read a lot of related news items as well as other bloggers' posts.

Since my last post on Carlos Delgado's response to Shea fans' insistence on a curtain call, it seems everyone has weighed in on the subject of the Mets fans' booing the players and, additionally, whether or not Delgado should've consented to the mercurial Shea fans' request. 

Although I wouldn't have advised it, Willie Randolph even addressed the issue of the fans' negativity.

Having been in attendance at Shea this past weekend, it does seem to me that the fans are maybe not quite as testy--or at least waiting longer to pass judgment and perhaps giving players the benefit of the doubt..for now.

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While it does not happen nearly as frequently (except perhaps at the La Scala opera house in Milan), opera fans have also been known to voice their dissaproval of an artist whom they think is not measuring up to appropriate standards. 

I assume that, if asked, these vocal (pun intended) audience members--not unlike similarly disgruntled baseball fans--would probably justify their response as appropriate given the high ticket price they had paid for their evening's entertainment. 

They would probably site the large fee that the said artist commanded for the performance as well, although that fee would--except in some cases--not be comparable to the yearly salaries of professional baseball players. 

Expressing discontent at the performance of an opera, however, has sometimes resulted in a backlash against the heckler/s themselves from supporters of that artist in the audience, opera house personnel, or even the artist him/herself.

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Imagine, just for a minute, if the next time Carlos Delgado was roundly booed, he just walked off the field and into the clubhouse and refused to participate in the rest of game?

Tenor Roberto Alagna actually did storm out of a performance at La Scala in December of 2006 when--after being booed for his difficult opening aria in Verdi's Aida--he indignantly left the stage.  Mr. Alagna's cover (understudy), was quickly summoned and sent in as a replacement.  Time did not permit the cover to change into costume, however. 

Either that, or in his haste to depart, Mr. Alagna left the opera house fully dressed for the role of Rhadames, leaving a costume unavailable.

This video--assembled by an Italian news agency--shows Alagna being booed following the closing bars of "Celeste Aida", his brusque departure and--later--his cover singing onstage in street clothes:

Now imagine Damion Easley, given barely enough time to round up a glove, running out on the field to cover first base at the top of an inning following a disappointing at-bat and catcalls following a Delgado at-bat.

Some fans might actually WELCOME that, I suppose.

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While performing in the MET Orchestra, I was privy to a booing incident that happened there several years back:

We were performing Mozart's Abduction from the Seraglio when a single stentorian voice pierced the quiet of the opera house, booing the soprano singing the role of Konstanze.   The offending party continued to voice his displeasure even as others attempted to silence him or out-shout him.  In spite of the chaos, we performers tried to keep the show going.

According to the New York Times account of the incident, the heckler was not in a seat for which he had a ticket.  Perhaps on that technicality alone, the MET ejected the commentator.  

 

Fancy that happening at Shea:  one moment you're booing a player for lack of hustle, and the next minute you find yourself surrounded by a Shea Security detail, waiting to escort you out of the ball park!

 

Opera houses and audiences might show less tolerance for booing and catcalls from individuals in the audience than your average baseball fan, but in one respect at least, opera goers have historically expressed their negative feelings in ways a baseball fan cannot:  

a disgruntled opera enthusiast in Milan just might be able to get away with putting their best fastball spin on a ripe tomatoe judiciously aimed at the opera stage.   

The Major League Baseball Official Rule Book protects its players from similar insult and possible injury, though, calling for the instant ejection of any fan caught throwing anything onto the playing field. 

But does the rule cover the duration of the game itself only or extend to pre-game on-field activities?

The reason I ask?  I've never booed a player, but I could be tempted to throw something at some of the guests who have royally butchered the National Anthem over the years.

• bête noire •

Pronunciation: bet nwah(r) • Hear it!

Part of Speech: Noun

Meaning: A threat, something feared and to be avoided, a bane, something that makes life miserable for an individual or organization.

Notes: Today's word is good for representing any distasteful threat. Because it is actually a French phrase, it has no relatives in English with one possible exception. Some people, with good reason, refer to the red bug, sometimes called a chigger or jigger (the larval Thrombidium), that causes relentless itching, a true bête rouge "red beast". In A Handful of Dust, Evelyn Waugh wrote, "He had picked up bêtes rouges in the bush and they were crawling and burrowing under his skin."

And, boy, were the Mets itching to end that nine-game losing streak against their bête noir:  the Phillies.

The Phillies practically gift-wrapped the end of the Mets' losing streak.

Even if the Mets couldn't seem to get any hits, Phillies starting pitcher Kyle Kendrick awarded innumerable walks.  The Mets left the bases loaded, though, in each of the first two innings.

With a good showing by Mets starter Mike Pelfrey, and the bust-out offense in the bottom of the third inning, though, The Beast--red, black, or otherwise--was slain...

...well, at least for the night. 

          The adversaries meet again tonight for the rubber game.   

How soon the thrill of opening day has vanished. 

My husband, though just as shaken by Pedro Martinez's sudden departure from his first start with an injured hamstring as I am, has tried to comfort me by telling me it could be worse:  it could be Wright.  Or Reyes.  He reminds me that injuries are part of the game.

I guess.

But why did it have to figure into the game so early in the season? 

This doesn't seem fair.

I'm trying not be melodramatic (although I DO work in an opera house after all), but I am already getting tearful seeing these images in my mind of Pedro and Johan together in St. Lucie, arm in arm, hugging each other.  

Is our One-Two Punch not meant to be?

He also later stated that Santana should get the opening day start. 

 Basically, he went out of his way to make it clear that in his mind there was room enough for the two distinct, separate pitching "artists" on the roster.  Underscoring his own designation of "artist", Pedro even admonished Rick Peterson for addressing him as "Pedro", stating that he preferred instead to be called "Picasso".

I have no doubt whatsoever that what Pedro was throwing in Spring Training was every bit as impressive as Ramon Castro and others thought it was. 

But unless that MRI Pedro's scheduled to get here in New York today shows something extremely favorable, I have a very bad feeling that Picasso--along with me and countless Mets fans--will unfortunately be re-entering his so-called "Blue Period".