BoomerGirl Diary

This summer, I’ve sunk to an all-time low in personal TV viewing. I fear my love of quality programming has up and gone on vacation, never to return.

I find myself embracing a show that, under normal circumstances, I’d have to be strapped down to watch come fall.

I’m so slumming it. And yet I feel no shame. Every now and then, it’s fun to be naughty. Yes, I’ve found my guilty pleasure and I want to share it with the world.

“Masterpiece Theater” it’s not. You won’t find it on HBO and Showtime or AMC. Your DVR may refuse to record it, on principle alone.

The message box might even spit back a judgment as snarky as the one I found on mine:

“Are you kidding? You’ve never recorded that waste of space before, and you’re not about to start now. For the love of God, get a hold of yourself. Sit down and read a book. Take a walk. Step away from the TV.”

At awards time, there will be no EMMY nominations to gloat over; no Golden Globes or People’s Choice. The only recognition, the kind that truly counts, will be in ratings. It came in second last week.

Apparently, I’m not the only one tuning in to watch this hour-long onslaught of brutal entertainment. You want humiliation at its finest? You want spills, face plants and watery, near-death experiences?

Look no further, my friends. “Wipeout” on ABC (Monday night) is for you.

My husband and I can’t get enough of it. Why, oh why, do we watch this exercise in humiliation? The answer is easy to ascertain. No degree is necessary to understand the program’s primal allure. Quite simply, “Wipeout” taps into our love of “Three Stooges,” slam-bam physical humor.

A sad commentary on our collective state of mind? Absolutely. How often in life do you get to sample the Keystone Cops meets “Death Wish” in one go? Not often enough, as far as I’m concerned. This is irresistibly extreme slapstick at its head-banging best. The result: instantaneous unbridled laughter.

Just check out the description I pilfered off the ABC website and I do believe you’ll appreciate the source of our glee:

Human cannonballs! Human pinballs! Crashes, smashes and mud splashes! Twenty-four thrill-seekers compete in the world's largest extreme obstacle course designed to provide the most spills, face plants and wipeouts ever seen on television, in “Wipeout,” a painfully funny new reality series.

Each week 24 daring new contestants of all ages, shapes and sizes go head to head through four rounds of grueling and physically demanding but wildly hilarious obstacle courses to win the title of Wipeout Champion and the grand prize of $50,000.

The contestants and the courses change every week, with over-the-top obstacles including "Dizzy Dummy" the "Dirty Balls" and "The Dreadmill" - which has contestants jumping hurdles on a 40-foot long treadmill at warp speed. In the end, only one contestant wins, while everyone else Wipeouts!

“Wipeout” is hosted by John Henson (E! Entertainment's "Talk Soup,” John Anderson (ESPN's SportsCenter) and Jill Wagner.

The minute “Wipeout” begins, the strangest assortment of crazed competitors – with varying levels of fitness, attractiveness and goofiness – commence slipping and sliding and jeopardizing their lives to the fullest extent possible.

My neck seizes up and I start to pant right along with them. I wonder how I’d do under such physical duress. Would my years of dancing and leaping, aerobicizing and boot-camping my buns pay off? Most likely, no.

The other night, a personal trainer with energy to burn tossed his cookies on the “Dizzy Dummy” and gave up. One blow from the “Sucker Punch” wall – during which boxing gloves spring out and knock you senseless – and I’d be a goner.

I can only imagine the wad of legal releases these poor fools have to sign:

Welcome to “Wipeout.” The Disney Corporation, along with the producers and anyone even remotely connected to the show, including the guy who supplies eighteen tons of mud every week, are not, repeat, not responsible if you happen to die during or after our lively and hilarious show. We will not cover your funeral costs or support your loved ones for eternity, so don’t even go there. And we are not, repeat, not responsible, for the hideous bruises, contusions, concussions, broken bones and/or permanent mental and/or physical damage you may suffer in an effort to win $50,000 (before taxes), if you happen to survive “Wipeout,” and there’s maybe a 50-50 chance of that. Let’s face it. You knew what you were getting into. Best of luck. It was nice knowing you.

In other words, enter at your own risk, and that goes for viewers, too.