Strange world we live in when the Mets game on what we used to call “free TV” isn’t readily available via the service millions pay for because…well, ya got me. Two corporations are in the middle of a pissing match and it’s the loyal customers who get spritzed.
So what else is new?
When I took to Twitter to vent over the sudden Mets blackout in my coaxial neck of the woods, the company that owns the cable system to which I susbcribe reached out to let me know it was the fault of the company that owns the channel that airs “free” Mets games, while the company that owns the channel that airs “free” Mets games reached out to let me know it was the fault of the company that owns the cable system. Great moves — transparent, buffoonish PR maneuvers are so much more impressive to the Metsless viewer than cobbling together a settlement.
Is this what it’s like to be the parent of petulant twins?
Well, the Mets played without my eyes on them but my ears all over them, just as if it was a contention-free Saturday night in August of 2002 or 1992 or 1982 or 1972. In 2012, the Mets weren’t going anywhere, but neither was I, except to my radio, which is not a bad bargain in the post-Hagin era. My devotion to Gary, Keith, Ron and live televised images notwithstanding, I’m always happy to be immersed for a few innings in Howie and Josh. Alas, Josh was off to do a football game somewhere (one that doesn’t count, at that), so it was Howie and Jim Duquette for a few innings and then some. Happy was downgraded to content, but Duquette is amiable and informed and he’s not Wayne Hagin. Plus Howie is always Howie, which is a godsend in any medium.
From what they were telling me, Jon Niese was fairly close to Jon Matlack, Ike Davis channeled the bright side of Dave Kingman, Mike Baxter patrolled deep right like Joel Youngblood and Frank Francisco Skipped in from the bullpen to Lockwood down a save for a change. Only the names of the Expos have been changed to protect the impotent, thus we’ll say the final was Mets 2 Nationals 0 and hope to listen to another good game on Sunday. It is being televised on that channel I suddenly don’t get, so I’ll listen to a bad game if necessary, same as it ever was in 2002 and 1992 and 1982 and 1972.
As Chauncey Gardiner said in another satisfying tale set in Washington, I like to watch. But I’m content to listen. For a true baseball fan, the radio is always like being there.
