The Real Super Bowl: Closed Captioning Smackdown

Posted: January 24th, 2012 | Filed under: Culture | 5 Comments »

For a number of years now, I have lunched every Wednesday with a couple of pals.

I’ll call them Dale and Milt, because, well, those are close enough but not their real names.

They are as past the dawn of their dotage as I am. Which means that none of us hears very well.

I know the exact moments when my hearing went from good to not so good at all, at least in my right ear. During the summer of ’70, I thought it a boffo idea to stand right in front of the massive set of speakers at the Atlanta Pop Festival, while the Chambers Brothers were doing an extended version of “Time.”

The diminution of auditory acuity settled into a permanent state several months later during a Grand Funk Railroad concert, at a moment in rock history when such big guitar outfits prided themselves on their ability to generate deafening decibels.

I cannot speak for the genesis of my lunch pals’ conditions. But can say there are times when our lunch table resembles one of those Saturday Night Live skits about the hearing impaired. (Not that such condition is something to be taken lightly.)

At any rate, because of his acceptance of his condition, Dale’s TV at home has closed captioning set to the “ON” position. Which is all well and good, but for one small thing. It apparently drives his usually understanding significant other to serious distraction when she’s watching by herself. And neither has been able to figure out how to turn it off.

I believe Dale may have called the cable company, but to no avail. He’s brought the subject up continually during our weekly get togethers. Much to the chagrin of Milt and I, who would prefer, on occasion, discussion of other matters.

By the strangest coincidence, Tuesday a week ago, I went to run on my elliptical machine at home. When I turned on the TV it faces, Closed Captioning was ON. I have no idea how it happened. And my better half denies being the culprit, though she admits she often starts hitting buttons on the clicker, because . . . well . . . because she can.

Fortunately I was able, in a matter of seconds, find the path to turn it off. Which I did. The next day, I regaled my lunch mates with that techno epiphany, taking the position that the solution to Dale’s dilemma was on his TV clicker, not the one to his cable box. Immediately, or perhaps sooner, Milt went into House of Commons back bench mode, harrumphing at my position, toward which he was and remains vehemently opposed.

So, we set up a smackdown.

Tomorrow, instead of eating at one of Louisville’s many fine lunch spots, we are gathering at Dale’s to see which theorist proves correct? Milt says he can get the closed captioning off, using the cable clicker. I say, I can do it with the TV clicker.

I proposed rules for the battle. Flip a coin. Winner gets ten minutes to fix the problem. If he fails, other guy gets ten minutes. Etc, etc, until a solution appears, or we both admit defeat. Kind of like, college football overtime. Unless, of course, the first guy gets it done. Which, I suppose, makes it more like NFL OT.

Dale, who only wants the closed captioning off so that there will be peace in his hacienda, thought the rules legit and fair. (He’s even springing for lunch.) Milt, not so much Despite ongoing negotiations between his people and mine, we have not settled on process.

Tomorrow, Wednesday 1/25 noon, is set for click off.

May the best man, hopefully me, win.

I’ll report back on the results, even if defeated.

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