I can imagine how unnerving the wars are for people who watch television. They unnerve me from my little be-newsprinted cocoon here on the coast. If I had to contend with tv news as well, I believe I’d have to start work on a bomb shelter.
I’ve seen television 3 or 4 times in the past month, since Iraq became second banana in War coverage. Each time, a talking head of one sort or another tried to frighten the piss out of me. Somber tones, explosions, dire warnings, then commercials.
How is it possible that people who actually use the tv—most everybody—can function with all that going on? I simply couldn’t function. It would always be a Sunday evening in November for me, that dead feeling when the mind tries to recalculate the odds of the Saints making the playoffs after yet another Sunday afternoon fiasco. That hopeless feeling. That bitter pretend.
I use the sports metaphor because that’s exactly what it is, a metaphor for war. Or a substitute. Even better. Yes. We pound on the Dallas Cowboys vicariously instead of pounding on the real heads of real people. But you know that. Maybe if the Arabs and Israelis had really kick-ass soccer teams, they wouldn’t need to beat each other stupid. Maybe.
There IS always hope, you know. Good things can happen. But you’d be hard-pressed to find good news, or even the portent or possibility of good news, on television. That’s flawed, and a disservice to us.
There is always hope, and the world keeps rolling along, and most of us keep rolling along with it.