MLB on Netflix. It’s simple and predictable. People hate change. Not dislike it—hate it. My dad owned a food brokerage, and one day they accidentally changed the color of the ink on the box from blue to red on the french fries he sold. Same fries. Same exact product. Just a different color ink on the box.
Company after company rejected shipments. Thousands of pounds of delicious, addictive, crispy fries—because it looked different. “It’s the same fries,” he kept telling them. It didn’t matter. They didn’t want it. Eventually, it got worked out. The fries didn’t change.
So, when Major League Baseball opened the 2026 season on Netflix, the reaction was predictable before the first pitch. This isn’t baseball. This feels weird. What am I watching? You know the song—take me out to the ballgame, buy me some peanuts and… Netflix. Yeah, that part.
To Netflix’s credit, they didn’t ease into this. They didn’t try to look like FOX or ESPN.
They showed up, made it clear this would be different, and then leaned all the way in.
Pregame was Elle Duncan—Netflix’s big swing, pulling her over from ESPN—surrounded by a group that felt more like a cast than a panel. Barry Bonds, arguably the greatest home run hitter the game has ever seen. Albert Pujols, a lock first-ballot Hall of Famer. Anthony Rizzo, newly retired and already looking like a future fixture in this space.
It wasn’t stiff or overproduced—it felt loose, real, and like something people might actually stay for.
When the game started, that tone carried right into the booth. Veteran play-by-play voice Matt Vasgersian kept things moving, while CC Sabathia gave you the Yankees perspective with Hall of Fame presence, and Hunter Pence handled the Giants side with his usual Red Bull energy.
It didn’t sound like a rotation; it sounded like a conversation. No waiting your turn. No forced cadence. Just baseball talk that actually sounded like baseball talk. On the screen, it had urgency too. More cameras, more movement, more life. Visually, Opening Day felt like October.
Then, right on cue, baseball pushed back. Rob Manfred dropped into the broadcast, and everything tightened up. The tone shifted. It felt like the old version of the sport interrupting the new one—stiff, corporate, out of rhythm.
A few innings later came the first real crack. The broadcast went down to the dugout, where Lauren Shehadi was interviewing Giants manager Tony Vitello. Totally normal. These interviews happen all the time.
Except this time, while that conversation was happening, history was unfolding at the plate. Yankees shortstop José Caballero was in the box calling for what became the first official ABS challenge in Major League Baseball history—and the broadcast missed it.
Not because anyone messed up. Just bad timing while trying to do a lot. Still, it’s the moment you can’t lose. That’s the tradeoff when you start layering everything in.
Then cranky, old-school baseball social media started to lose it. Jazz Chisholm Jr. was mic’d up, bringing exactly the kind of personality the sport needs, and for a brief moment, the score bug disappeared. No score, inning or count. It was less than five seconds. That’s it.
The Bob Costas demo completely lost their minds. Which tells you everything. We say we want different—more access, more personality, more energy—but the second it doesn’t look exactly how we expect, even for a moment, we panic.
Netflix cut away to McCovey Cove, where comedian Bert Kreischer floated in a kayak with a frosty Corona, living his best life. It was quick and harmless—surveying a local tradition—and social media reacted like we missed a 3–2 pitch in Game 7 of the World Series. Same pattern. Same overreaction.
By the time the seventh inning rolled around, they doubled down. Jason Bateman narrated a pre-produced version of “Take Me Out to the Ballgame,” turning a tradition into something more cinematic and polished—and, depending on your tolerance for change, maybe a little too produced. It wasn’t subtle.
Netflix isn’t trying to recreate the traditional broadcast. They’re trying to expand it. Sometimes that means adding. Sometimes that means risking too much.
The game itself didn’t give them much help, which again is the point of all this.
Netflix is in the entertainment business, and not all baseball games entertain on their own. A 7–0 Yankees win isn’t exactly drama, so everything around it had to carry the night. By the time the postgame rolled around—which featured ballpark-everywhere guy Jameis Winston handing out hot dogs from a New York cart to confused Yankees players while Shehadi conducted interviews—it was clear what they were going for.
Not just coverage. An experience. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t, and sometimes it felt like a little too much all at once.
But here’s what people are missing.
Netflix isn’t chasing the hardcore baseball fan. They already have you. If you’re watching Yankees–Giants on Opening Night, you’re in. You’re not going anywhere because of a missed graphic or a weird cutaway, because you’re locked in.
You’re the guy rejecting the fries because the box looks different… even though it’s the same fries. Netflix isn’t worried about you. They’re trying to reach the person who wasn’t going to watch. That’s the play: sports as entertainment, not just coverage. Something that feels like a game, a show, and an event all at once.
When you do that, not all of it will work. Some of it will feel clunky. Some of it will miss.
Me? I’ll take that over the same broadcast in the same box pretending the audience isn’t shrinking. The demographic baseball craves is on Netflix, and they don’t sit around for nine innings waiting to be entertained.
Eventually, just like those fries… people will realize it’s still the same game. They just changed the box.
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With decades of experience behind the mic, John Lund is more than a sports commentator and weekly columnist for Barrett Media—he’s a storyteller, humorist, and true fan. He’s hosted shows in mid sized markets like Pittsburgh and Salt Lake City to larger cities like San Francisco, Detroit and Dallas. John has even hosted nationally on ESPN Radio. Known for his sharp wit and deep sports knowledge, John welcomes your feedback. Reach him on X @JohnLundRadio or by email at John@JohnLundRadio.com.
