Post-football TV landscape looks bleak (02/28/07)

It's a Sunday afternoon and the remote control is exactly where it should be: In my right hand.

Trouble is, it's a Sunday afternoon in February. And the post-Super Bowl landscape is bleak.

I hit the power button and find myself staring at an expert on the Founding Fathers. And the Founding Fathers' buttonhooks.

It's "Book Notes" on C-Span, and though the audience in a bookstore in Skaneatles, N.Y., seems fascinated by the buttonhook commentary, I'm ready to move on. As I hit the click button, I notice that the program was originally taped in April. Of 1999.

Randomly, I've ended up with a "Law and Order" re-run. That should come as no surprise. After all, if it's not "Law and Order" in its many permutations, it's going to be "CSI."

Another click.

The Weather Channel tells me it's going to be horrible outside. The Weather Channel always tells me it's going to be horrible outside. If they could predict fire-breathing dragons, they would, just to keep us on our toes. Before I change the channel, I notice that - once again - the forecaster from The Weather Channel is pregnant. It's one of those blondes whose names I forget. At least one of them is always pregnant.

Maybe they need to check the water fountain at that place.

Another click.

And it's "The Blues Brothers." Somewhere, perhaps in an obscure F.C.C. regulation, it's required that WGN of Chicago air "The Blues Brothers" endlessly each February. I can understand it as some sort of punishment for Bears fans, but why should Colts fans suffer the same fate. The movie has its moments, especially when Aretha does her number, but I'm not prepared to wait for them.

Another click.

Some guy with greasy hair is talking earnestly to another guy with greasy hair. I think they're pushing how to make a zillion dollars without getting up off the couch to get another bag of chips or some other get-rich-quick scheme.

Either that, or greasy hair number one is telling greasy hair number two about all of the amazing miracle cures that THEY don't want you to know about. THEY means the "main stream media" and, of course, any sensible health professional with enough brains to establish a real practice instead of selling crap on TV.

Another click.

An idiot in California is talking to his buddy, another idiot in California, about how they're going to take this dumpy house that looks as if goats have been living in it for a couple of years, renovate it, and sell it to some other sucker for a fortune. They paid $250,000 for the house, which looks as if it's worth maybe $50,000 on a good day, will spend another $50,000 to de-goat the place, and expect to sell it for $500,000 in two weeks time. I can't bear to watch, because they'll actually do it.

Another click.

NASCAR. Enough said. The cars are going round and round. Everything is covered with advertising. And the traffic reminds me too much of the inner-loop in Indianapolis (the city not the 500), except the paint jobs in Indy are less gaudy.

Another click.

It's PBS, I think. Someone is quilting. Or embroidering. Or tatting. Or something. Perhaps they're working on a hair weave for Bob Vila. I give up quickly.

Another click.

Oh, it's one of those lousy Steven Seagal movies. It looks like it could be the one where he's a former chef on a train. Or maybe it's the one where he's been in a coma for a dozen years and wakes up shooting. Or maybe it's the one ... or is that Jean-Claude VanDamme?

No matter.

Man oh man, how I miss the NFL.

At least baseball spring training has started.[[In-content Ad]]