Get Your Mets No-Hitter Tickets! (Actual No-Hitter Not Included)


Bummed that you missed out on history when Johan Santana (with assists from Mike Baxter and Adrian Johnson) hurled the first no-hitter in Mets history? Now you can remedy that retroactively, by buying “reprinted” tickets to Johan’s no-no from the Mets website:

As a loyal Mets Fan, we are pleased to offer you the opportunity to purchase tickets from this historic game to ensure you have a memento that can be passed on for generations. Your tickets will be printed on Season Ticket Holder stock.

Beginning today, Monday, June 11 at 10 AM, simply click the “Buy Your Johan No-No Tickets” button to secure a mint ticket from the milestone game. There is a 4 ticket limit per customer.

Leaving aside the obvious weirdness of a “memento that can be passed
on for generations” for an event that you probably only watched
highlights of on the 11 o’clock news (not to mention the dangling
modifier in the Mets press release: No, Mets, you are not “a loyal Mets
Fan”), the advent of reprints of baseball history sends us down a weird
rabbit hole of what exactly a “souvenir” means. As someone who was lucky
enough to be in attendance on No-han night, I witnessed fans scurrying
around looking for unused tickets to keep as actual mementos, or more
likely sell later on eBay
— a couple of people offered me cash for my own game-used tickets.
Those treasure-hunters, though, at least had a legit claim to having
been firsthand witnesses; once tickets to historic games can be bought
after the fact, what value — monetary, emotional or otherwise — is it to
be able to show a piece of cardboard proving that “I was there, or at
least I can pretend I was”? At what point do baseball teams start
selling “replica” home run balls, or offering to Photoshop your face
into post-game celebrations so you don’t have to take matters into your own hands?

None of this is entirely new, of course: I’m pretty sure River Avenue
souvenir stands sold far more “I was there!” Dave Righetti no-hitter
shirts back in the ’80s than even a sold-out Yankee Stadium could have
held. And even selling unused game tickets isn’t unprecedented: The
Florida Marlins did so two years ago after Roy Halladay pitched a perfect game at their stadium. (Against
the Marlins — and even then, people bought them, though team officials
didn’t say how many orders came from southeast Pennsylvania.) Though at
least the Marlins stuck to selling unused tickets, unlike the Mets, who
are offering you the chance to buy a ticket to a seat that was already
occupied by an actual fanny during the blessed event.

If there’s a silver lining, it’s that the price the Mets have set on a
piece of pretend history — $50 a pop, “plus order and shipping fees,”
no matter where you’ll be “sitting” for the game (the Marlins charged
face value for their post-Halladay ducats) — is so high that this is
likely to appeal only to the exceptionally well-heeled Mets fan seeking
to drown his regrets for skipping out on a rainy Friday night game. (Or
worse, leaving in the second inning.) And it’s hard to begrudge the Madoff-battered Mets the chance to make a little extra cash off of their big moment, especially when all signs since then are that it could be the last big moment in Flushing for a while — if the signs weren’t clear enough before then, for that matter.

If you’d like to buy your piece of fake history and make a contribution to the “Give David Wright an extension” fund, fake tickets go on sale at 10 am via the Mets website. Bring the kiddies, bring the wife — and if you don’t have any yet, remember, you can always retcon them in later.

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