“Who Needs Cable TV?”

It was loud. It was dirty. It was fun. And the cost? Just 2 bucks.

I went to the Mets – Marlins’ game this past Friday night because it was the only way I could see the game live. Like so many other Mets fans in the city – caught in the middle of a turf war between Time Warner Cable, Fox Sports and MSG Networks – I’ve been searching for a reliable visual alternative. The web’s MLB-TV was working just fine until last Thursday night when I was greeted with this disturbing sign-on message: “You are prevented from watching this game LIVE due to the nyn local or national live broadcast restrictions.” Blacked out. Again.

Out of options for Friday’s game, it was time to head to Flushing.

* * * * * * * * * * *

My friend Noah and I arrived early to watch batting practice at Field Level. “That’s where we sat in ’69,” my hand brushed along the orange box-seat railing, fifteen rows up from the Mets’ dugout. I told Noah how my dad took me and my sister out of school to see the Mets clinch the World Series against the Orioles. “My father’s hand grabbed my shirt collar before I could scoot onto the field that day.” I laughed as I reminisced. For a moment, I thought I heard Lindsey Nelson’s voice in the background.


Noah and I moved closer to the first-base railing to check out a small commotion. Willie Randolph stood six feet away, squinting into the camera lights during an interview with Matt Laughlin. Then we noticed Aaron Heilman walking slowly past the TV crew on his way to the bullpen for his final warm-up. He stared straight ahead, never acknowledging the sparse pre-game crowd.

“The ‘New’ Mets,” I laughed. “And look who we get to see pitch tonight.”

Heilman’s face was solid, hard. No hint of a smile. All business.

“Wound too tight,” I added.

Boy, was I in for a surprise.


Section 4, Upper Deck. Directly behind home plate. The high panoramic view from our seats looked like an “MLB Gameday” screen shot as dot-like players moved, lights flashed and scoreboard numbers changed. It was cold. A biting wind slammed into the center of the Shea horseshoe – right smack into where we were sitting. The hat, gloves and scarf I remembered to toss into my bag did little to warm me up. But I, along with my fellow upper deck comrades, toughed it out. After all, we were watching something unusual. A freshly energized Mets’ team playing an exciting baseball game at Shea. A little shivering? No problem.

It felt great to be a part of the 49,000 plus crowd – but even better, an upper deck participant. This is where real fans gathered to watch a game. At one point, a player tried to lay down a bunt and the ball hit his leg as he ran to first.

“He’s out!! He’s out!!” someone shouted from a few rows back. I conferred with the guy sitting next to me and a speedy Section 4 debate followed.

“He was still in the batter’s box, moron,” one guy yelled as an older woman confirmed the rule.

“That’s not an out,” she shouted.

A consensus was reached. These people knew the game. None of that celebrity, prim and proper stuff at this altitude. These people were there to watch and feel baseball. And watch we did as Aaron Heilman worked a kind of magic we hadn’t yet seen from him. A soft fifteen foot dribbler was all that stood between us and Mets’ history on Friday night. Who knew? Add to that – clutch two-out RBI’s, pegs to the plate, errorless baseball… Something good was happening and we all knew it.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The game ended. The seats cleared. Empty Pepsi bottles, mustard smears and mounds of moist peanut shells coated the cold concrete floor. I headed for the men’s room to prepare for the train ride back to the city.

“Tough night for Delgado,” one guy chuckled.

“Heilman.” Another guy shook his head. “Unreal.”

Male bonding at its very best. You want to find out what fans are thinking and feeling? Interview them in the men’s room after a ball game. Win or loss – that’s where you’ll get the real story.

The night’s work done, it was time to go home.

And as the subway rumbled through Queens and the lights blurred past the window, I sipped cold water to soothe my freshly swollen throat; my voice level down a good two or three notches and fading fast.

It felt good to lose my voice at Shea again.