Last spring I switched from Dish Network to DirecTV for one reason; you made an exclusive deal with MLB to be the only satellite provider of the Xtra Innings package. It was a minor inconvenience to switch, and I had to pay some money to opt out early, but it's OK. You can't put a price on Red Sox baseball, pally.
Since then, I've been a loyal customer. Never complain, never call and ask the C/S people "do you have Prince Albert in a can?", and even let you charge me for that stupid magazine I never asked for. Even though I called 4 freaking times and asked you to stop sending it.
Other than the occasional lost service due to lightning, I've really had no complaints. I didn't even mail that letter I had Miss Hathaway (yeah I've got a secretary named Miss Hathaway. Doesn't everybody?) type about how you can put a stinking satellite in OUTERFREAKINGSPACE, yet you can't give me a dish that doesn't stop working when there is a thunderstorm?
That's why what happened today must never, EVER, happen again. I rolled myself out of bed at 5:30 (that's 5:30 a.m. btw, pencil pusher.), stumble to the living room, and turn on ESPN2. What did I see? Not Daisuke Matsuzaka, Manny, or Gary Thorne. Though I'm sort of glad about the Thorne thing; that guy really burns me up when he starts going on and on about Schilling faking the blood on his sock.......
Sorry, got off track for a second. That's what happens when you get up at 5:30 IN THE EFFING MORNING. Look, I'm not unreasonable; I understand acts of God like storms and hurricanes, or an asteroid hitting the satellite as Bruce Willis and a team of oil drillers fly in a rocket to blow it up with a nuke (How in the name of all that is holy did THAT idea get approved?). But this was Opening Day, man. It's not like this crept up on you or something; you've known about it for MONTHS. Could you not have, you know, prepared or something? Made sure everything was plugged in, the green wire was in the green hole, and if all else failed, had somebody whacking the machine on the side while uttering profanity laced tirades?
'Cause you made me miss Papi doing his best Roy Hobbs...
Jacoby channeling his inner Spider Man...
Manny letting the boys know he missed that Home Run by THIS much...And finally, you made me miss this. A guy who makes $18 million a year smiling like some ditch digger who just won the power ball. Holding a check for, well, I have no idea, but I'm pretty sure it's not $18 million dollars, over his head like it's the greatest thing that ever happened to him.
Thanks a pantsload, dink.
In closing, you ruined my day. Can you please get Darrin in tech support on this, ASAP? Just to make sure it doesn't happen again? 'Cause if I can't see game 2 and have to wait until next Tuesday to see the fellas?
You just tell whoever the head bottle washer is the following.
To quote Wyatt Earp from the movie "Tombstone":
You tell 'em I'M coming... and hell's coming with me, you hear?
The deranged, sleepy, punch drunk RSD.
P.S. How about a free weekend preview of HBO every once in awhile? Throw us a bone, will ya?