Apologies to Robbie Fulks for the above headline. Faith & Fear In Flushing‘s Greg Prince endured an 8pm start and a post 11pm finish for the Mets’ 6-1 victory over the Dodgers last night, declaring “I like going to a Mets game wherever they put it, whenever they put it. But Sunday Night Baseball’s unique charms are completely lost on me.”
We don’t want to be on Sunday Night Baseball. We don’t want to sit and stew for seven perfectly good hours on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. We don’t derive any bonus from the exposure on Sunday Night Baseball. My apologies to any Mets fans outside the immediate New York area who are grateful for a few dozen innings a year they wouldn’t otherwise see, but it’s not helping the greater good at all.
Find me the Mets fan who is relieved that Gary Cohen won’t be doing play-by-play, who is enriched by Jon Miller. Find me the Mets fan who is so sick of Keith Hernandez and Ron Darling that he welcomes the insights of Joe Morgan. Find me the Mets fan who enjoys eschewing familiarity with his team for obnoxious relatives who barge in three or four times a year to get your story completely wrong, the kind of people who make you swear you will never, ever invite these people over for Thanksgiving again. Are you out there, mythical Mets fan who actually appreciates SNY getting Sunday off in favor of ESPN interpreting your team as some kind of poor relation? As some kind of auxiliary club activity for bored Gothamites?
I used to think being on national television was some kind of reward or recognition for a team, that it meant you’d made it, that you had earned extra attention, that everybody getting a look at you confirmed your progress or your status. Instead, it’s punishment for us, the hardcore fans. We get nothing from it, not a damn thing. We’re not privy to fantastic announcing we’d otherwise miss. We’re not receiving a brilliant perspective from fresh eyes that will help us understand the big picture. We get Jon Miller’s tired blowhard act and Joe Morgan’s pompous nonsense.
And we get 8 o’clock starts. On a Sunday. On a Sunday! Who on earth wants to wait around until 8 o’clock to watch a baseball game that could easily be played at 1 o’clock? And who on earth wants to wait around until 8 o’clock to attend a baseball game that not only could easily be played at 1 o’clock, but was supposed to be played at 1 o’clock, that was scheduled to be played at 1 o’clock?
While I’m less troubled by last night’s late start than Prince (for one thing, attending in person meant less exposure to Joe Morgan), special condemnation oughta be aimed at the Mets, the MTA and the City Of New York. With CitiField construction taking up most of what used to be Shea’s parking lot, the ballclub and city alike have urged fans to take public transportation to the game. However, none of the above saw fit to make express trains available on the 7 line last night, and the delays while trying to enter the turnstiles for a 7 local were considerable — much more so than you’d expect from a game most patrons had bolted prior to the 9th inning.
At the risk of going all Phil Mushnick on you, it’s astonishing the way the Mets jack up the ticket prices for a game versus the Dodgers to $20 for an upper deck reserved seat, yet the most basic methods to help the paying customer arrive and return home safely, aren’t provided for.