I've been thinking lately about the joys of football without sound, and I'll get to that later in this post. But first, fun with schedules.

I only made it to halftime of the Steelers-Browns game last night, because I needed to sleep and the 10-point Steeler lead felt pretty solid (well, solid enough not to overcome my weariness). But about 1:30 a.m. I woke up, wasn't going back to sleep immediately and flipped on the TV to check the score.

Then was stunned.

Not because the Steelers had won, or because Batch had broken his hand, or anything game-related. Instead, I was shocked because that "Saturday Night Live" documentary was on Channel 3, which picked up the local broadcast rights to ESPN's telecast of Browns-Steelers.

I had gone to great lengths to warn people that Browns-Steelers was going to send NBC's prime-time schedule into the wee hours, and the lineup I had written about had Penn & Teller from 12:30 to 2:30 a.m., followed by the "SNL" special.

My onscreen cable guide had the order reversed. I agonized. I hate making mistakes. Obviously human, I make them. But readers expect everything they see in the paper to be correct — and when it comes to TV, they plan their viewing around the lineups we include — so I check and double-check program times to make sure they're right.

I got up, double-checked the paper to see what I had written, then went online looking for an explanation. The Channel 3 Web site had the shows listed in the order they were actually airing. Could I have messed up? Finally I found a copy of the Browns telecast announcement that Channel 3 sent out; it had things the way I had written them. The schedule had gone out almost two weeks ago (and, because of the deadline for our TV supplement, I had written about the show a week before the piece was published). And the Channel 3 announcement had a note that it had been updated on Thursday, just a few days before the game.

So when the station flipped the shows, it seemed to have done so very late in the process. (Update: Channel 3 now says that the decision to flip the programs was made about two weeks ago. The station also says the change was made at NBC's request, since the network apparently thought it would do better with "SNL" in the post-football slot. But the station did not do a very good job of getting word about the change out.)

Even though the error was the result of bad information, it took me about an hour to get back to sleep. As I said, I hate mistakes.

As for watching football in silence, with so many night games, I find myself watching the end of good games in bed with the sound off, so my wife can sleep. Although some of the excitement from a live football game stems from crowd noise and the sounds of the players, on TV I find it more intense to watch it without sound.

You don't miss much, since yardage, downs, penalties and other crucial data are explained in onscreen graphics. And anyone who has watched much football knows what the announcers will say in a given situation — or at least knows anything sensible the announcers will say. Then, if you take away the audio, you have to pay more attention to the image on the screen. That increased level of concentration adds to the excitement, I think. When you have the sound on, you're letting the TV do a lot of the work for you, so you don't have to pay as close attention — especially if you're watching with a bunch of friends eager to high-five every triumph. Without the sound, you have to be in the game every second.

While there was at least one experiment with commentary-free TV, I doubt we'll ever have soundless sports, unless we make it by ourselves. For one thing, it's an inconvenience for people who watch TV in groups. Or for people who, say, have to be in the kitchen while the TV is on — loud — in another room, so they can keep track of the action and rush back to watch a key replay. For another, if you don't have announcers, there's no one to do a lot of commercial business — promoting other shows on the network, or telling you who sponsored the trivia question.

Besides, it's hard to fall asleep in front of the set without the steady hum of announcing.

Semi-busy day ahead. Several church commitments, grocery shopping, that sort of thing. I hope to file some TV notes later in the day, after I have had a chance to WATCH some television. Yesterday was pretty much overtaken by chores, shopping and a seeing my younger son in his high school's production of "Dead Man Walking."  Yes, you read that right.

Even my checking on the Buckeyes involved listening on the car radio. The only TV I remember was a few minutes of that "Saturday Night Live" commercials collection, and that was right before bed.

One thing has been rattling around in my head since Friday, though. How many times are we going to have to hear "the Q" before it sounds natural?

For those of you in other parts of the country (and pro basketball non-fans), "the Q" is the new, officially approved nickname for the arena where the Cleveland Cavaliers play. It used to be known as the Gund, which didn't exactly sing either, but at least it was a name I was used to. "The Q" — derived from Quicken Loans Arena, the venue's new name — just sounds odd, as if the team was now under the command of John de Lancie.

It was clear during Friday's telecast that the new name is going to be shoved into our ears until we're used to it; the announcers seemed to be dropping it at every opportunity. I hope the fans come up with a nickname of their own — "The Loaner," "The 'Ick," "The Gund And We Don't Care What Anyone Else Says." After all, I still think of the team as the Cavs no matter how hard they try to make me say 'Cavaliers,' and snicker whenever their uniform colors are referred to as 'wine and gold.' (What, 'purple' is declasse? Gallo may become a corporate sponsor?)

But eventually the media repetition will probably make "The Q" sound comfortable — just in time for a new owner, and another name change.

Having just spent a lot of energy on comparisons between "Survivor's" Stephenie and the Boston Red Sox, I'm remembering a conversation I had with a co-worker in late September.

I was talking TV with someone, and this guy said, "Aren't you a big baseball fan? … How are you watching everything?"

The answer was, I tried really hard. I caught the regular TV series that I felt were worth catching, and I watched as much baseball as I could. It was a great time to be watching baseball, too, with exciting playoff races (said excitement once again undercutting Bob Costas's complaints about the wild-card system). And, since I have loyalties to both the Red Sox and the Indians, I had a lot of different ways to feel excited and anxious.

Then the regular season was over. Goodbye, Indians. Then the playoffs saw the swift departure of Boston. And not long after the Yankees, watchable because you can root so ardently against them, also cleared the field. So what was left to watch?

Now, under certain conditions, I can be fully engaged in a game or a playoff involving two teams I have no history with or strong feelings about. Sometimes a game just feels important. Or you know a sport is dramatic; I fell briefly in love with NHL hockey based on huge sudden-death overtime games. Or you can work out elaborate rationalizations for watching: The White Sox should get some love because they're from the same division as the Indians, or the Angels are cheerable because they beat the Yankees. Or — well, there must be some way to root for a National League team, I just can't think what it is.

But maybe I've hit one of my sports walls, because I have only seen bits of playoff games, and not even the best parts of those. (The controversial call in the second Angels-White Sox game is in my visual memory bank only because I saw a dozen or more replays on ESPN.) I may come out of my semi-doze for the World Series, especially if it looks like Chicago's chance to end its long curse. But right now, I'm more like, "Wake me for spring training."

Right now, on my TV set, Tony Pena is rounding the bases off a wet Jacobs Field, his arms raised high, and the Indians have beaten the Red Sox in the first game of their American League Division series.

Yes, I'm looking at a tape. From 1995.

On Oct. 3, we'll mark the 10th anniversary of the Indians' return to the post-season, the end of the not-since-1954 era and the beginning of a string of playoff appearances. I taped those games — and the LCS, and the World Series — because I was covering the games at the time. I filed the tapes because I thought there might be a reason for comparison down the road. Also because I have a hard time throwing things away.

Now I'm thinking about a column about how TV presented the Indians — and postseason baseball — on TV 10 years ago. (And it's official: I'm going to write something about TV Indians '95 for Sunday's paper.)

It's sure a different team; this was the era of  Vizquel and Thome, Lofton and Belle, Baerga and Alomar. But baseball changes, players move. In '95, Manny Ramirez was an Indian. Roger Clemens was in a Red Sox uniform.

You didn't have to watch much TV from the era to see a different game. The Indians' first playoff game was on NBC, called by Bob Costas and Bob Uecker. That team was back for the second game. The third went over to ABC under the convoluted network-baseball deal of the time, with Steve Zabriskie and Tommy Hutton in the booth. Compared to today, the graphics were spartan and simple. (No info-bar at the top of the screen.) And the game felt quieter than it did with Fox's approach, all crash and thunder. I'm now really jazzed about looking more closely at the tapes.

While I was the office this morning, I had the TV set on next to my desk — but not because I was screening a show, or keeping an eye on a news channel. I was catching the end of the PGA championship. A co-worker (as you will see below, I work in a sea of sports fans) want to see it. And I was going to turn it on anyway, to see if Phil Mickelson could hold on for the win — and if Tiger Woods was going to get to play a little longer.

Woods, after all, had recovered enough that just a little bit more of a slide from the leaders could have put him in the playoffs. And I became a devoted golf watcher because of Tiger. Yes, I appreciate other golfing greats. But the thing that keeps me coming back to golf is WWTD — What Will Tiger Do? And then, because of that, I got to enjoy the exciting finish, including Mickelson's big win.

One gap in my golf education is watching a tournament without benefit of the TV cameras. I'm hoping to make up for that on Saturday, since my wife and I have tickets for the NEC at Firestone. I know it will be very different from TV. I've walked around Firestone before, so I have a sense of the massiveness of a golf course — a massiveness I'm not convinced that TV successfully conveys. But I'll be curious any other possible differences.

The gap between live and TV sports was also clear to me again this past Saturday, when the bride and I went to the Indians-Devil Rays game at Jacobs Field. Great seats, close to the field on the third-base line. Not such a great game — Indians went behind early, and not even a long rain delay could get them energized enough to make a battle out of it.

Still, it was a nice way to spend an evening, even if part of it was spent standing under cover, wondering when the downpour would stop, deciding which expensive food to eat and watching bits of a Red Sox-White Sox game on the stadium monitors. (Talk about proof that nothing is free: Every time that telecast on WGN went to a commercial break, the monitors went to an Indians logo — so no one in the stadium would see the ads.)

It was still getting out, a chance to watch other people, and better than being stretched on a couch, channel-flipping until a rain delay ended.

Of course, being at the Indians game meant that I wasn't at home for most of the telecast of the Browns. Hey, it's an exhibition game. The NFL may want to inflate such games' importance by calling them "preseason," but there's no real significance to any matchup where the starters are on the bench before the tailgaters have emptied their first keg.

I did get home in time to see some of it, though, and was unimpressed by what I heard from the gang of announcers WOIO had spread throughout the stadium. (The visual side was better, although some closeups on replays were not as good as you would expect from a network telecast.)

A co-worker stopped me in the hall today to comment on the awfulness of it. Another co-worker even called me during the telecast to wonder if the WOIO gang really thought the game was all about them. The answer is yes, in part because the games figure to bring an abundance of viewers to WOIO — and the rating Saturday was more than respectable, especially for an EXHIBITION game on a Saturday night — and the station wants to persuade them to check its news and other programs.

But the station's self-absorption doesn't just apply to football. WOIO is a bastion of first-person, look-at-us, we're-so-cool presentation. It's like watching bloggers compose.

And yes, I know I'm writing that in a blog. Which should tell you that — unlike WOIO — I am at least capable of feeling embarrassment.

I'm waiting for the day when a television series comes out on DVD first, then makes its way to cable or broadcast. That day is closer than you might think.

Already television producers are well aware of the importance of DVD to their revenues; shows like "Family Guy" and "Chappelle's Show" have proven their worth via video sales more than by the audience their telecasts have attracted.

And, while "Lost" is seen as a demonstration that audiences will sit through a season-long unresolved storyline, some observers are pointing to DVD as fueling that appetite, too. If you can sit down and watch a whole season of "24" on DVD, then you know the plot digressions along the way are taking you somewhere.

Anecdotal evidence suggests people wait for serialized shows to arrive on DVD — or they record the whole season's episodes before watching one, so they can follow the whole arc. Even a show people know, like "Lost," has viewers going back over reruns and recordings of the first season in search of clues; the DVD release in September will just encourage more of that. The commercial-free aspect of DVD is also appealing, to audiences and producers, because it creates an uninterrupted narrative that can be more involving for the audience.

We're already seeing very narrow gaps between series telecast and their DVD release. I know of some cases, with documentaries and children's shows at least, of DVDs preceding the actual telecast. So why shouldn't some enterprising producer make an entire comedy or drama series for immediate release on DVD, then sell it to a network? Word of mouth about the DVD might even give a boost to the later broadcast.

At least, I've been thinking about that some lately. But that's not the only thing. Lots of mental ping-pong lately.

– I see that CNN has finally suspended Bob Novak. Not for his role in the Valerie Plame nightmare. For swearing on the air and walking off a show. Here's a link to a story about the incident: Naughty Novak. (Note: Contains a strong word Novak used.)

You can draw your own conclusions from that about what's acceptable at the network and what isn't. Smearing, OK. Swearing, not OK. It also indicates that Novak is buckling some under the ongoing pressure to come clean about his role in the Plame case. And considering the pressure he has put on other people, I don't feel sorry for him.

– The great singer Little Milton has died. His version of "Grits Ain't Groceries" has been one of those songs stuck in my head ever since I heard a band do a cover of it when I was in college. Maybe you know the key lyric: "If I don't love you baby, grits ain't groceries/Eggs ain't poultry/And Mona Lisa was a man." How could you not love a song with lines like that? I did, anyway.

– Looking at the baseball standings, I've been wishing once again that all leagues instituted a .500-or-better rule, which simply says that any team has to have at least a .500 record to make the playoffs. If, say, a division leader has a sub-.500 record, then it still could not go. Instead, another team in the same conference with an over-.500 record that is not otherwise playoff-eligible would be chosen; if there are no such teams, then the playoffs are restructured with the eligible teams.

I have a hard time accepting the idea that a team incapable of winning half its regular-season games is somehow allowed into the playoffs. And I'd be a lot more likely to watch a playoff game on TV if it wasn't a horrible mismatch.