Commentary : Confessions of a Cable-TV Sports Addict

It began so innocently three months ago when I moved into an area that offered cable TV service. Sure, why not. ESPN, USA, HSE, WTBS, WGN. Maybe I’d have an occasional alternative to Carson or Letterman.

As a TV-watcher, I was the equivalent of a social drinker. I could take it or, preferably, leave it.

Then three months ago, the man from Warner Amex handed me the little black remote-control box and “The Entertainer,” the program guide. He might as well have said: “Here, sniff a little of this white powder or read the manual about how to freebase it. Come on, try it just once.”

I tried it once, by myself, on a Monday night. A Big East game on ESPN and the Chicago Bulls on WGN. It was easy--just press 69 for the Big East and 63 for the Bulls. Blip: St. John’s Chris Mullin. Blip: Chicago’s Michael Jordan.

It felt good. Why not try it again? I could handle it. I could stop any time I wanted.

Within a month I was doing cable nightly. If I missed a fix, I got the blips. Blip: SMU. Blip: Mavs. Blip: full-contact pool. After a while, I’d watch anything that moved. I quit moving or reading or thinking.

I became a prisoner of my Sony. The cable became a coiled snake. With my little black box, I control the world. Blip: Dr. Bay can be Dr. J or Aguirre or Koncak or Minnesota Fats. Blip: Losing touch with friends, loved ones, reality.

I am a cable junkie. There, I said it. I--need--help. I’m prepared to go through cable de-tox. If there’s not a group called CA-A (Cable Anonymous), there should be. From now on, I’ll gladly provide urine samples each Sunday. I’m making this confession and commitment because I’m sure there are millions out there with the same “healthy” addiction. There’s a lot of pressure being a sports fan, and before you know it, the Mavs blow one to the Washington Blanks and you’re over the edge.

You escape even deeper into cable. You tell your spouse or lover you don’t feel like it tonight because there’s a replay of Mississippi State and Auburn, Joe Dean calling that “string music.” You’re hooked.

If you don’t believe me, try what I tried Sunday. Weekends, of course, are especially rough because the networks throw a half-court trap of college cage games at you, not to mention golf and figure skating and real brain-deadeners like bowling or auto racing. So last Sunday, driven inside by the gray cold, I vowed not to watch a single sport.

I lasted until 9:30 a.m., when the pages of “The Entertainer” flew open by themselves and Georgia Tech-Maryland began neon-flashing. OK, just one replay. Blip: ESPN announcer Dick Vitale, gone berserk. For the junkie, this guy’s like getting a hold of some bad stuff. He’s saying: “Look at him handle the rock! Whoa! Did you see him Dan Marino that baby full court! Does Tech ever want that W!”

I knew from Saturday night’s ESPN Sports Center that Tech had the W--sorry, the win--but I watched anyway. And I watched the cheerleader competition from Hawaii. I watched an instant replay of the South Carolina squad missing a “chairlift” maneuver.

Some day, the Rise and Fall of the American Empire will be attributed to cable TV, which must be a communist plot. As Karl Marx, or maybe Wright, said, “Cable is the opiate of the masses.”

Once upon a time, at least Sundays were held sacred by the colleges. Now, there’s enough NCAA basketball on the Sabbath to fuel hell’s own fire. The bookies and junkies are on their knees, giving thanks, but these games should carry the disclaimer: “Warning: Sunday hoops can be hazardous to your mental health.”

Blip: Arkansas at Georgetown. Brent Musburger says he had breakfast with Hog Coach Eddie Sutton, whose lunch is being eaten by Patrick Ewing. Blip: Illinois at Houston. Backdoor. In the paint. Off the glass. Double clutch. Altered shots. Altered states. I can’t stop. Blip: Billy Packer says Arkansas doesn’t have a chance without a perimeter shooter. Blip: Houston, from 10 to just four down. Look at Alvin Franklin handle the rock!

Blip: Getting hot with the box. Got the feel. Catching every magic move, missing every Lite Beer commercial.

Blip: Arkansas, history, 56-39. Blip: Houston just isn’t Illinois, 77-76. Blip: Rice at SMU is turning into a Seattle-Ranger game, with Merle Harmon doing Raycom play-by-play. Blip: LPGA from Turnberry Isle. Joanne Carner looks like she’s slipping on ice as she hits a 7-iron that winds up four feet away. Blip: USA vs. the World in amateur boxing.

Blip: Notre Dame at UCLA. Al McGuire says some guy needs more P.T. (playing time). Blip: Frank Gifford at the women’s downhill skiing, Santa Caterina, Italy. Austria’s Katrin Gutensohn ought to get more P.T. Blip: --from a company called TRW. Blip: SMU, up one at half, is suddenly up 12, and I missed the run. Gotta be more disciplined.

Blip: Mark O’Meara hanging on at the Bing Crosby. Blip: One second left at UCLA. The alley-oop, the banked miss. Irish win. Blip: O’Meara, right in the heart for par from 20 feet on 17. Blip: ESPN replay of Valerie Brisco-Hooks’ world record at the Dallas Times Herald Invitational. Blip: Curtis Strange misses on 18; O’Meara wins.

Blip: Mavs surviving at home on HSE. Blip: Phoenix getting an easy W over Seattle on WTBS.

Blip: SOS.