More on the Murderous Boob Tube

About a month ago, I announced my rash decision to sell my TV — partly to recover the productivity of my weekends during the long football season, but also due to health scares such as this one: “Every single hour of television watched after the age of 25 reduces the viewer’s life expectancy by 21.8 minutes” — New York Times.

Now, I’ve made it, somehow, through the playoffs without seeing a single game. I did go to a bar to watch the Big One Sunday, that is, until Beyoncé blew out the power or something and it looked like the worst Super Bowl ever. I went home and, yes, worked on something creative until 1am.

(Speaking of creative, here’s Shaq live from the Bowl)

Back to the point: Yes, it was kind of hellish to be without my weekend football fix–at least at first. Each week, as my friends told me about Colin Kaepernick’s latest indescribable on-field exploits, I did feel a tiny part of myself die.

But, like many addictions, or near-addictions, I didn’t miss it so much after a few weeks. And man, did I ever get a lot done in those three contiguous 3-hr blocks of every Sunday normally dedicated to inhaling that giant oval pigskin block of crack cocaine.

I did allow myself to watch Sports Center highlights on my iPhone–but only while logging reps on the elliptical. So that doesn’t count right?

Anyway, by my best scientific calculations, I have now increased my lifespan by at least 12 hours. Plus I filled those weekends with family time and tons of personally meaningful creative work.

And then there’s this: “Men who watch more than 20 hours of television a week risk halving their sperm count, researchers warn.”

(CORRECTION: Upon further scientific calculation, I believe my life expectancy may have only increased by 11.87645376 hours. I apologize for the error.)