Recently my wife and I and friends from Martinez walked down to Captain Blyther’s for dinner. Since their youngest son is a junior in college and ours is a sophomore, we compared notes on our transitions from activity-filled school days with a child at home to weeks during which we’re lucky to receive a brief e-mail. We mixed incomplete stories of our boys with accounts of our personal progress in the empty-nester quest to finally determine what marriage, children, jobs, life – you know, the small stuff – are all about.

After a shared bottle of wine, which does wonders for non sequiturs and philosophy, I remembered that our friends had seen Wagner’s "The Ring of the Nibelungen" in San Francisco, the four-opera cycle that explores during more than 17 hours of musical drama the plight of gods, monsters, humans, love and greed.

They went to classes before seeing "The Ring" and enthusiastically told of their increased appreciation for the greatness of the music. Though I’m not a big fan of Wagner for both political and artistic reasons, I asked them primarily about time. Thinking of cramped legs, a sore bottom and my inability to stay awake even during a matinee of more accessible operas such as Bizet’s "Carmen" or Mozart’s "The Magic Flute", I asked them how they could possibly sit through so many hours of opera. As they talked of mythology, rings of gold and life’s metaphors, I remembered falling asleep in Santa Fe after the first half-hour of Stravinsky’s "The Rake’s Progress".

I told them this, and their stunned looks made me feel like the Philistine I thought I was. They asked me if I liked opera, and I said that I liked many operas very much, that I owned operas on video, that I liked to listen to the music, but that I would rather go to several baseball games than pay so much money to doze during a performance.

Feeling like a soul adrift on the western cultural landscape, I asked for their help in understanding my deficiency. Our friends looked at me with the eyes of those who see someone beyond hope; they said nothing could be done.

Later, tormented by my confession, I struggled to understand my narcoleptic aversion to live opera, and, to my great relief, I believe I’ve figured out my problem: I dislike applause that interrupts a performance at the end of an aria or leitmotiv simply because the music pauses; expressions of appreciation should be driven by the drama.

In order to properly appreciate an artistic performance, I must suspend disbelief. I must lose myself in the drama. After thunderous applause and repeated yells of ‘bravo’ that wrench me from the story like one rudely awakened from a dream, I find I’m squirming in my seat trying to stay awake instead of laughing and crying.

To clap between symphonic movements is considered a gaff because it breaks the mood of the piece. The conductor raises his baton high and remains motionless to quell ill timed applause by those who aren’t familiar with the symphony, and, perhaps, by stray opera buffs who have been trained that rude expressions of appreciation are the height of operatic fashion.

Could it be that opera fans have confused their art with baseball?

Spontaneous fan outbursts after well executed baseball plays enhance rather than detract from the drama. With bases loaded and one out, the unblinking pitcher gets his sign from the catcher - gods sent to vanquish monsters. Tension builds as the muscled slugger spikes the batter’s box. When the count goes full, we find it difficult to breathe. We follow the deciding pitch and the swing of the bat in slow motion and watch the mighty batter ground the ball that is scooped by Tejada to Velarde to Giambi, a 6-4-3 double-play, executed at the highest levels of the art, that retires the side and returns the ring of gold to Brunnhilde and the Rhinemaidens. Fans spontaneously applaud and yell and whistle and spill their beer.

An aria is equivalent to a monologue in a play; it’s not equivalent to a double-play. If opera goers could just learn to synchronize their applause with the drama - watching more tennis might help - I feel confident that I would stay engaged till the bitter end.

On the other hand, just between you and me, if they didn’t applaud after arias, I might still fall asleep.