Why? Who knows? He’s going nine on TV. It’s not like it’s more work. That fourth inning, when he turns the microphone over to his backup band, it’s like listening to Eddie Fisher trying to follow Sinatra on stage. Painful.Like a lot of you I’ve been procrastinating, hoping my old carrier, DirecTV, and Time Warner would play nice and give us all a break. Fat chance. The Easter Bunny didn’t show up again this year either. Greed always trumps goodwill with these guys.We’ve been on a heck of a roll, haven’t we? Frank McCourt comes to town, raises parking from $10 to $15, trashes the ball club, then laughs all the way to the bank with our money. He still owns the parking lot land and stands to make millions more if the land is ever developed, according to ESPN.com.The new guys come in with Magic Johnson as their face — buying themselves instant credibility. They pledge allegiance to the team’s great fans, raise the parking to $20, then sign a sweetheart deal for TV rights that ultimately winds up shutting out 70 percent of those same great fans from seeing the games on TV.I hope we don’t get any greater. We might not be able to get into the stadium next season. Newsroom GuidelinesNews TipsContact UsReport an Error Call the cops and tell ’em there’s one less Dodger fan being held hostage in Los Angeles today. He escaped yesterday in the back of a Time Warner Cable truck.Yeah, they finally got me. I switched.I’m now one of the 30 percent of Dodger fans in this city who gets the “privilege” of watching the home team on TV. Lucky me.In the end, it was all Vin Scully’s fault I folded. If he was doing all nine innings on radio, I could have held out until the money ball guys settle this mess, but Vin only goes three. An appetizer. The players could care less. They’re too busy trying to renegotiate their contracts. The guy who needs a new contract is that father of four sitting out in the bleachers with an empty wallet because he’s blown a day’s wages taking his kids to the game so they can see the back of the Dodger ballplayers heads.No, loyalty to this ball club, for me, comes down to Scully. Lasorda deserves it, of course, but his role these days is as a greeter — signing autographs and letting the well-heeled sitting in the $500 seats get a selfie with him.Scully’s still punching the clock at 87. Still in the game. I wasn’t squandering another season waiting for the money ball guys to get their act together when he’s so close to the finish line of a brilliant career.Part of me wishes he would have weighed in on this standoff and been our voice, but that’s not Scully. He plays it down the middle, always has. That’s one of the things we admire about the guy. He doesn’t take sides, just calls a clean game.Still, you’ve got to think he’s a little ticked that in the twilight of his great career, 70 percent of his audience can’t hear him. It’s like Pavarotti playing a farewell concert to a nearly empty Coliseum or Sinatra singing goodbye to a few fans up in the cheap seats at Madison Square Garden.It’s all wrong. This is not the way he should be going out.The funny thing is I used to hate the guy when I was growing up in the Bronx. Mel Allen was our guy. Red Barber and that new kid Scully over in Brooklyn were the bums, and we used to beat them up pretty good come World Series time.Then my family moved to L.A., and my buck ninety-nine Sears transistor radio couldn’t handle the 3,000 mile trip back to the Bronx to pick up the Yankee games. I held out as long as I could then, too. I still hated the Dodgers.But Scully got to me. Made me a Dodger fan. It was that singular voice that demanded you listened. Cronkite had it, so did Sinatra and Kennedy. When they opened their mouths, you were mesmerized by the sound of their words.It was as close to perfection as a Ted Williams swing.Now, sitting here 60 years later, I can’t remember one call Mel Allen ever made, but I can recite you chapter and verse of Scully’s.I can still hear the shock in his voice the night in the old L.A. Coliseum when Willie Mays dropped a routine fly ball, and the choke in it when the lights dimmed and 93,103 fans struck a match for Campy.And now, at the end of his career, the voice of the Dodgers is being held hostage from most of the people in this city for a ransom none of the money ball guys seem willing to pay.I’ll pay it. Just tack it on my bill with all those other extras. For Scully, it’s more than worth it.Dennis McCarthy’s column appears on Friday. He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.