American television is the flattest failure our proud culture has ever endured. It looms as the single most debilitating travesty and blight on a nation that stands tall in the world community. All I can figure is when laws were passed prohibiting Ponzi schemes, the Ponzi schemers went directly into television programming, where the numbers appeared to be similar: 300 winners, and 300 million losers.

I draw this assessment out of pure unadulterated ignorance, having avoided trivia games all my grown life for fear of mortifying my partner with my complete and airtight absence of TV savvy. If introduced, I would not know the Partridge Family from the Adams Family. Unless people on the TV screen have numbers on their backs, I don't know them.

Television is the art form that has alluded us, failed us, embarrassed us. Instead of lifting us with inspirational programming, it has dragged us down to the bottom rungs of societal instincts.

Reality TV? I offer this recent display heading from the New York Times: "A real TV star plays a fake TV failure in an unreal reality show." Reality, to me, is discovering you're bleeding, and realizing that unless you stop that bleeding, you have five minutes to live. Everything else is fake.

Television news is deplorable. I offer this sample: "He died in the hospital from a wound sustained just above the head."

With few exceptions, responsible television reporting in America died with Edward R. Morrow. What we have today is an army of paparazzi equipped with expensive cameras purchased by Rupert Murdoch, who happens to be today's P.T. Barnum, "There's a sucker born every minute."

Again, this assessment is opined by a lifelong lifeguard who does not watch TV news, and is perhaps the least qualified person on the planet to comment on the subject. This admittance, however, does not deter me from continuing.

Newspapers at least have editors, and editors are a blessing for the reader - a curse for the writer, but a blessing for the reader. Newspaper editors are the unsung heroes in our society, and they would do us all a great service if they would somehow involve themselves in television news.

For a definition of bombastic arrogance, one need only watch Bill O'Reilly on TV without the sound. I cannot say whether I agree or disagree with what he has to say, as the only time I have seen him is at the wreck center with the sound off, so it's his manner that I find repugnant, not his matter. I can only guess that he starts many of his sentences with words like, "Look," and, "Listen." I don't take much stock in people who start sentences with "Look" or, "Listen."

The tolerant reader might suggest here that I try listening to O'Reilly as a subtle variety to watching him without the sound, and that would be a well-taken suggestion, but have you ever tried to borrow headphones at the wreck center?

Now, having vented all the venom that can be mustered from a charitable and forgiving character, I must confess, I would give my Golden Gloves for a small part in the "Sopranos." Don't get me wrong, I have never seen the "Sopranos," but my good buddy Ginzo watches the "Sopranos," and I'd give anything for him to fall back into the couch one evening, flick on the "Sopranos," and see me with a cigar hanging out of my mouth, articulating with an Italian accent, "Whack'im, Louie, then pray for him!"

I'd take back every bad word I've said about television for that one cameo, which leads me to the sad conclusion: perhaps Carlo Ponzi was onto something.



McAvoy Layne lives in Incline Village and visits schools throughout Nevada as the ghost of Mark Twain.