Typically, I rarely watched, or noticed daytime television, as in what the Boob-Tube offered for entertainment after the lunch time news, and let me say before 6 pm. I was working. I had a productive life.
If you are over the age of 40, you’ll understand what bunny-ears means, but fancier ears, and you’ll understand I was scanning the network stations for the USA versus Belgium – World Cup soccer match. And yes, it sucked, but then game on, and then, oh well – but that’s life. ;( See you in 4 years …
But more to my story …
I assumed, wrongly, that it would be on network TV. We just moved, so we are investigating our entertainment alternatives, streaming and the like, and we are professionally and personally busy. But today, I was monitoring our pet, Pink Petunia. She is not well, but she is our friend, and I’ll do anything to protect our friend.
I think friends are hard to come by.
First off, I freely admit I’m a band-wagon soccer fan. I’ll also admit I’ve kind of gotten hooked, after a few random folks, some from Europe and South America explained to us how the game was played. In essence, I can now understand the basic strategy.
To me, the newbie, the game seems a lot like hockey on grass, with your feet, but without the blood-sport, throw down the gloves parts and replaced with the Oscar nominations for post-injury portrayal – after a competitor whispered in their ear some sort of sweet nothing, and tripped them. Then the scream, the beg to the sky for God’s intervention, and the winner is?
Then an official looking uniformed dude – in knee high socks – awards the other player, the bad actor award as President W would have said in Texas speak, a yellow card or a dreaded red card. The official looking dude writes it down in his handy note pad to memorialize the magical moment. He even rubs it in the bad actors face! Why not just take a photo?
“See this, I’ll tell your mother when she gets home!”
This whole process repeats like the cycle of life until by a miracle, a GOAL, GOAL, GOAL. I now understand why the announcer gets all worked up, assuming they are not Harry Caray after 10 Buds-in, and bottom of the 9th. Again, if you are over 40, you know who Harry Caray was, and why I think that was quality afternoon entertainment. The CUBS games came on the Tele, before Gilligan’s Island and my decision between Mary Ann or Ginger?
Sadly, today the game was not to be found on the Boob Tube. I couldn’t leave for a Sports Bar, or any other establishment because I was holding my sick furry friend, Pink Petunia, terrified she would have another seizure. I’m okay with staying home, petting my friend, and making certain she takes her meds. It’s what a responsible friend does for a friend.
What I don’t understand was why the game was not on every government funded (tax-payers), or free for-profit seeking network? I mean, PBS? Where are you Public Broadcasting System – these young men were playing for my, our country? But thankfully, I had a hotspot, a Bluetooth and access to a radio.
But after a little investigation, with the exception of Ellen, I like Ellen or Dr. Oz, I like Dr. Oz, but the other shows, really? I live in a big city, my free televised options, sans the WORLD CUP, are religious shows spoken in at least 5 or was it 6 different languages. I have a few cooking shows, boring, and I have the endless past-their prime super models – shilling their new beauty products.
And then the wannabe talk shows with addle brained, needy hosts. Who are these people? And then the piece de resistance – Jerry Springer like shows – I had two options with stand-in goofball hosts, there was only one, Jerry Springer, but check that box. A few sub-humans that I suspect are missing chromosomes within their DNA structure, check, check. And the typical story line, (insert name that I cannot spell) with several children, and a significant or current partner, cheating with either – one of the older children, a step-sister, third-cousin, a mystery uncle, or a random surfer dude met at a bowling alley. And whose the father?
Now, I really do understand what, Boob Tube, Idiot Box means. I wonder, where are Gilligan, or Fred Munster, wait, maybe the Addam’s Family? I dug that normal blonde babe. At this point, I‘ll even take a good, twisted daytime drama spoken with a language that I recognize. Maybe a WWF Jerry the King Lawler match with Rowdy Roddy Piper and then Andy Kauffman jumps off the top turn buckle wearing an Elvis costume?
At least when I was younger our daytime shows seemed – real.
Alas, I’m approaching 50 years old, and I don’t think much about Ginger or Mary Ann, but I am certain of two things, after investigating the options on network and/or free television, my brain has shrunk by 20%, and I’m thankful I am not a parent.