Author: Susan Laney Spector

Money Talks…er, YELLS!

The season is young, and yet you can already feel it at Citi Field: fans’ expectations are high. And patience is not in abundance.

Players are already hearing disapproval. Even fan-favorite David Wright–striking out at record numbers recently–has been getting his share of boos.

I’ve never booed a player, nor have I booed a performer in the opera house or concert hall. But I’ve observed many people who are seemingly completely comfortable in doing so.

I guess my hesitation in heckling is that I give the artist or player the benefit of the doubt that he is doing his best. The result may be less than I–and perhaps the performer–had hoped for or expected, but I rarely have reason to think that an honest effort is not being made.

Also, as an adherent (most days) to the “positive reinforcement” school of parenting, I guess I’m just a little uncomfortable screaming antagonisms at others, whether the venue is the theater, opera house, concert hall, ballpark or playground. The parenting books I’ve read espouse “catching them being good” and then heaping on the praise. Berating or humiliating a child, this philosophy holds, is not beneficial, especially if the mistake is one from which a lesson may be learned.

At Citi Field, my sense is that hecklers have been quick to express discontent early this season primarily because of the frustrating way in which the past two seasons have ended for the Mets. The team’s performance early and midway through both the 2007 and 2008 seasons led fans to believe that it was not unreasonable to expect to see October baseball in Queens.

A contending team that inexplicably falls off the charts late in the season–and repeats the exercise the following year–leaves a bitter taste that does not easily go away.

Although I wouldn’t do it myself, I can at least understand the fan, frustrated by squandered chances, giving an audible voice to his exasperations.

However, I question the idea, made by some, that money–that earned by players and that spent by fans–somehow entitles one to heckling.

I often hear fans cite the “outrageous” salaries of today’s ballplayers as justification for calling out a player for a poor outing. (Interestingly, while solo artists can earn thousands of dollars per performance, I have not yet heard an audience member mention an artist’s compensation as justification for publicly voicing a personal commentary. It should be pointed out, though, that unless you’re Renee Fleming or Placido Domingo, even those large per-performance fees don’t approach the salaries of today’s professional athletes.)

Personally, I don’t think the player who has fairly negotiated a higher salary should be held to higher standards than lesser-paid players. Nor do I feel that, if those inflated expectations are not met, the player should be booed more vociferously than underperforming players who are not paid as much.

In this time when funds are limited and folks are worried about their financial security, more attention than ever before is being paid to ticket prices. Both sports presenters and arts organizations are seeing reductions in numbers of series or subscription ticketholders.

Not only that, this Los Angeles Times piece leads me to believe that more in the audience and in the stands are feeling that the higher ticket and concession prices themselves entitle them to heckle if they are so inclined.

This post is not meant as a personal diatribe against the bood-bird, per se. Judging from this website, there are apparently some who consider heckling a sport unto itself.

But if some feel entitled to behave in a certain manner merely by virtue of being a consumer, that does make me uncomfortable.

Freedom of expression is a right we are freely given as U.S. citizens; we have not purchased the privilege.

If equating admission price itself with license to publicly express one’s opinion in a derisive manner becomes a more universally held view and if this recession does not turn around any time soon, I have to wonder what kind of entertainment experiences–both on the field and stage AND in the audience and stands–we could find ourselves privy to.

April 26, 2009
Encore for Pedro?

Has the proverbial fat lady sung for pitcher Pedro Martinez?

It’s fascinating to me how an athlete’s career trajectory and that of a professional singer can have such similarities.

At the MET–as at many other opera houses–productions and performances are scheduled and cast years in advance. This is necessary because it is the only way to engage jet-setting conductors and singers who have managers securing them bookings years in advance all over the world.

One of the consequences of such early planning, however, can be that–with so much intervening time between the booking and the performances, it’s possible that the artist in question could be be experiencing vocal trouble or some other malady unforseen at the time of the booking.

Or perhaps the role for which the artist was engaged was well-suited to his or her voice at the time of the booking but in the span of time before the performances, the oice has changed. Perhaps the artist has lost a bit of the “bloom” on the top of the voice or the voice has darkened. Or perhaps he/she does not possess the same tessitura–range–he/she once did.

In such cases, it is not unheard of for a singer to be “bought out”: paid their fee not to sing. Another singer is then quickly found as a replacement. This is usually done by way of a public announcement stating that the initial artist has bowed out due to illness, but those in-the-know are aware of the real story.

Sometimes, though, the original artist remains in the show. Management–and the artist himself/herself (if there is any self-awareness there)–cross their fingers and hope for the best.

Often a much-beloved artist can go onstage and give it his/her best effort and, even if the singing is not as great as in the artist’s prime, the adoring public will overlook any present-day flaws and give the singer the accolades to which he/she has become accustomed–even if the performance does not particularly merit that response..

Unless the artist is extremely popular, if the “suspension of belief” required to recall the artist’s glory days is just too great or there are a host of glaring problems, e.g., wobbles that have developed in the voice, faulty intonation, or a lack of breath support, the artist may not escape embarassment. He or she will likely hear a few boos sprinkled in with tepid applause at curtain calls.

The latter is my fear for a Pedro Martinez return to the New York Mets.

I don’t remember hearing much interest in Pedro until now: only after not one of the potential fifth-starters has distinguished himself in Spring Training.

While it’s certainly possible that Pedro has retooled himself and could contribute to the pitching roster in some way, my fear is that the minute he has a faulty start, the Shea, oops, Citi Field crowd will show little patience for lack of velocity on his fastball or faulty location.

Just as I feel very sad when I hear a once-great singer onstage whose present-day performance bears little resemblance to the “glory days”, I would feel similar pangs to see this three-time Cy Young award winner embarass himself or have criticisms and boos heaped upon him.

He’s had too distinguished a career to go out in any other way than holding his head up high.

No, in lieu of Pedro, I don’t have any suggestions for the fifth spot.

The words of the late soprano Beverly Sills come to mind:

“I retired when I was 51 so people would say ‘Why so soon’?’ instead of ‘When will that woman shut up?”

March 10, 2009
March Madness

“March is the month of expectation,
The things we do not know,
The Persons of Prognostication
Are coming now.
We try to sham becoming firmness,
But pompous joy
Betrays us, as his first betrothal
Betrays a boy.”
– Emily Dickinson, XLVIII

I write this from the Palm Beach airport, awaiting a flight that will return to a New York under a Winter Storm Watch…sigh.

Not only that, in order to facilitate my timely arrival, I had to forego the last day of our family’s Spring Training escape and will now miss tomorrow’s game at Tradition Field.

I do not know if the “prognosticators” are correct about eight inches of snow, but my family and I decided not to take our chances and perhaps be stranded where I sit now for up to two full days.

As I sit here, slightly worried about the weather forecast and the fact that each of the members of our family will likely sit separately on this flight, I’m finding it hard not to think about a potentially bigger worry surrounding “things we do not know”:

I’m referring to the condition of Johann Santana’s elbow.

Having seen two promising games at Port St. Lucie, I can’t help but feel “pompous joy” about my team. But something like Santana requiring surgery would turn that joy to sorry and anxiety.

I hope the New York weather forecasters and the gnawing worry about Santana are both proven wrong.

February 28, 2009
Sixth Grade Science

Port St. Lucie, FL–February 27, 2009

Perhaps it was the realization that Ms. Scilieri’s sixth grade science class was convening as we sat in the stands at Tradition Field, fifty feet away from Carlos Delgado. Whatever it was that prompted it, my daughter–absent from school but very present in yesterday’s Mets Home Opener at Tradition Field–perked up her ears at my husband and I mentioning how intrigued we were with Jerry Manuel’s “experiment”.

Following the lessons learned back home at Leonia Middle School, my daughter asked us what Jerry’s “hypothesis” was.

“Would the Mets score more runs with Luis Castillo leading off in the Number One spot and with Jose Reyes moved down to third in the batting order?” was our response.

Jerry’s–and our–“scientific observations” seemed to happily support the hypothesis. Although he only played the first couple of innings, the noticeably slimmer Castillo get on base several times and looked like he was moving well.

And, as far as Reyes getting runs in, a grand slam batting left and a home run later in the game batting right-handed were equally positive results supporting the hypothesis.

That’s all for now. The family is departing for Tradition Field to collect more observations…

February 27, 2009
The Promised Land

http://www.google.com/maps/ms?ie=UTF8&hl=en&msa=0&msid=115987106745202885460.00046231fbeec44b5fc3e&source=embed&ll=27.264396,-81.430664&spn=3.173577,2.856445&output=embed&s=AARTsJqvuCJqTFAuZ4YdxZ89QI-3hcMeDw
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I’m making my pilgrimage one week from today!!

February 18, 2009
“Jeepers, Creepers…”

“…Where’d Ya Get Them PEE- PERS?!”

Many National League batters will be getting their first glimpse of K-Rod very soon. But besides watching him intently to see if he’s tipping his pitches, players and coaching staff may also be taking a double-take at the Mets’ new closer for an arresting facial feature: his eyes.

Francisco Rodriguez succeeded in making his already newsworthy arrival at camp even more eye-catching (ouch!), sporting red contact lenses.

According to the New York Post, Rodriguez claims that the special lenses help in reducing glare and that wearing the lenses negates his needing to wear his signature glasses.

Hearing how daunting those in camp found his scarlet gaze, I wondered if the lenses might serve a dual purpose: reducing glare and instilling fear in the opposing batter.

I often enjoy thinking of similarities in the world of sports and my own professional world: classical music.

Although the days of the autocratic music director who used fear, public humiliation and threat of termination to get his desired result are essentially over (Thankfully, musicians are unionized as well.), the age of tyrants of the podium is not actually that far in the musical past.

In fact, only several days ago in the New York Times‘ TimesTraveler Blog feature, a story ran in the Times 100 years ago that day was featured. The story announced Gustav Mahler as having been engaged as the next conductor of the New York Philharmonic. A prolific composer as well as a fine conductor, this was indeed a coup for the ensemble.

But what really caught my eye was this quote:

“The present cooperative system will be abolished, and the orchestra will be under the absolute control of the conductor and the Board of Directors,” today’s report says.

No cooperation? Absolute control? Sounds like a dictatorship!

In fact, older musicians I know who either played under or know someone who played under the likes of Arturo Toscanini, Erich Leinsdorf, and Fritz Reiner, to name a few daunting maestros that era, have told me stories of personal abuse and humiliation that certainly support that description.

A recent biography of Fritz Reiner, former conductor of the Chicago Symphony, is even entitled Fritz Reiner, Maestro and Martinet.

Above, I imagined what the notoriously volatile and quick-tempered Italian maestro, Arturo Toscanini, might do with the option of staring down his subservient players with red eyes.

Thankfully, most of the conductors I have played under have been absolute gentlemen (or ladies) and have been able to achieve their interpretive goals in cooperation with our orchestra and without the use of intimidation.

However, if our closer happens to come across as menacing in his attempt to simply reduce sun glare, I say why NOT take the red-eye flight to the game’s finish?!

February 17, 2009
Hasn’t it all been said before?

February 10, 2009
Fashion News Flash: The ‘Stache

Today’s New York Times Styles section had a feature on the renewed popularity of the mustache.

Happily married to a mustache-sporting fellow, I am a fan, but I know that it’s a look that doesn’t work for every guy.

I smiled when I read the article because it made me think of having read a fellow Mets blogger’s post a few years ago in which he described the mustache of then-infielder Jose Valentin giving him the look of a “porn star. According to this article, “porn-star ‘stache” is well-known terminology for the “common mustache”. Now I know.

The writer made references to ballplayers, citing both Jason Giambi’s “good luck” mustache of last season as well as the 1972 “Hairs vs. Squares” World Series, featuring Rollie Fingers, et al.

Having been featured in a GQ photo spread in their first season as Mets, I figure David Wright and Jose Reyes are probably the most fashion-savvy, trend-conscious players on the team.

How would they look, I wondered, if they show up in Florida participating in this so-called revival?

Judging
by my PhotoShopping, I would say either of these guys could probably pull it off.

I tried the same experiment with Mike Pelfrey, expecting it to look comical, but–lo and behold–it rendered him a Tom Selleck look-alike:

I was pleasantly surprised with Pelfrey’s look, but as the article states, not everyone can pull it off. If smirks and giggles follow a guy, perhaps it is not working for him.

Speaking of humiliation, don’t ya love those Just for Men commercials in which Keith Hernandez and Walt Frazier razz Emmitt Smith?

“Your ‘stache is TRASH!”

(Of course Emmitt’s blunder was not the mustache itself but its COLOR.)

Just in time for the retro facial hair rage comes an enterprising seamstress and artist who has created the “mustache handkerchief” and is selling it on the artisan website Etsy. The item features four different printed mustache silhouettes suitable for “trying on”.

No expensive photo-editing software and time-consuming photo uploads involved!

Even better, the hanky could save one the embarassment of enduring the unseemly infant stages of a mustache only to find, upon completion of the hair growth, that one’s appendage is woefully laughable.

Just a hunch: I don’t think Dan Warthen is a candidate.

January 8, 2009
“Oh Come, All Shea Faithful”

I’ve not always been the baseball fanatic I am now.

For many years of my life, I would’ve named fall my favorite season of the year. I loved the beautiful colors of the changing leaves, the comfort of favorite sweaters brought out of storage, and, naturally, the first week of November that every year brings my birthday.

Although, like any other school-aged kid, I loved the cessation of the academic regimen, I never found summer to be a favorite time of year. Although many in northeastern Oklahoma–where I grew up–enjoy outdoor recreation afforded by the many local lakes and rivers, e.g., water-skiing, boating, fishing, our family was never the “back-to-nature” type. And, although our town had a decent-sized public swimming pool, I wouldn’t say I was a regular.

Perhaps my fair skin and susceptibility to sunburn discouraged me. Or my self-consciousness about my appearance in a bathing suit.

Add the fact that Oklahoma summers are brutally sticky, and I’ve now assembled a laundry list of possible explanations for why I rarely waxed nostalgic for the “good ol’ summertime”.

Becoming immersed in baseball changed all of that.

Except for the possibility of the post-season involving my team, I now dread the arrival of fall–it now representing to me saying farewell to baseball as well as to my summer home, i.e., Shea Stadium for the past four years; soon-to-be Citi Field.

(Full disclosure: I’d be less than honest if I attributed the apprehension that accompanies September’s arrival exclusively to the end of the baseball season. Once the opera season ends in May, I typically have the entire summer off from work until rehearsals begin again in September. So September also signals the resumption of my work routine.)

Just recently, I became aware of another subtle way in which my fandom has somewhat altered the significance of something else of a seasonal nature.

Growing up, Christmas in my family was done to the hilt: cards, decorating, gift-giving, baking, caroling…the works. The tradition of spending a lot of time and thought in anticipation of the holiday for the greater part of December has continued with my own family.

As a child and as an adult, I have often been saddened by the annual ritual of removing the tree decorations and packing everything away. The thought that another 365 days would elapse before the next Christmas would come around was a sobering one.

Maybe that’s why my bounding out of bed on New Year’s Day, ready, willing and able to begin the Christmas dismantling process came as a bit of a surprise to my husband–and when I thought about it, to me as well.

Just like every Christmas that I can remember, this one was a memorable one: filled with good food, fun times, and gifts to treasure.

My agitation about getting the tree down was not due to the tree’s needles beginning to fall off or the tree itself becoming a fire hazard: largely due to our family’s allergies, we have an artificial tree.

Nor was the urgency to return our home to normalcy due to having had the decorations up for longer than I’d like. With Thanksgiving coming as late as it did in November, there had been one fewer weekend between Thanksgiving and Christmas than usual. That had actually resulted in our putting up the tree and decorations a bit later than usual, if anything.

No, I reasoned to myself, this mania was coming from my anticipation–even with snow on the ground–of BASEBALL!

Having Christmas over and beginning the New Year meant we were that much closer to “pitchers and catchers” reporting!

Oh. And not having to hear “Blue Christmas” for at least ten months.

January 3, 2009
A New Year, A New Season!

January 1, 2009