Holding Up

So I don't watch a lot of TV. I have a TV, but don't have cable, so the only thing I get is the smattering of local channels, plus an odd assortment of "fringe" channels shall we say.
So last night I turn this thing on. My remote control is partially broken, so only certain buttons work.
As I was trying to get to one channel, one of the buttons stuck and I was taken to a mid-20's channel that was showing reruns of Charlie's Angels.
Wow, I have to say, this show REALLY DOES NOT STAND UP OVER TIME. Your shocked I know.
I am old enough to remember this show during it's original run, and I have say, I thought Boseley was God. I worshipped at his church, wanted to be him, wanted to smell like him. Three woman, working for him, armed, dangerous. I was too young to think about acting, script, storyline, reality, reason, or anything else.
At the time, I think it was Sabrina that really was the center of my total fixation. I mean Farah was Farah, and still is, Farah. Just say it, Farah, Farah, Farah. But there was something about Sabrina, at least I think that was her character name, that hooked me.
My sister, three years older, but not much wiser, was physically trying to be her own Angel, buying red pants, berets and wearing all the facial products she could get her hands on. My brother, six years older, was too cool for any of us, and was in the middle of his 10-year , teenage isolation period, so I had and still have no idea his views about this poignant and world-changin show.
But this time around, watching this rerun, I was stunned. In one action sequence, two of the three Angels are chasing "the bad guy" through a park, and when it comes time to tackle the guy, in comes the MALE stunt double. This guy was "subbing" for Cherly Ladd, a sub herself, and he was built like a middle linebacker for the Raiders.
One minute Cheryl in her red hot pants, the next minute someone who looked like my dad is tackling the bad guy. Then, in an instant, there is Cheryl again. No grass stains, hair in place, etc.
I was thinking, "Gee, how did they fool me with this when I was eight?"
Oh, and the script. I was nearly in tears. Then, the bad guy, in a final and apocalyptic fit, tries to act menacing as he blacks out or passes out or something along those lines. I was hysterical with laughter. Hysterical at this guy's acted pain. And it was this hysteria that snaped me out of my haze, forcing me to realize I was actually watching a rerun of Charlie's Angels. Good God, what is next? Magnum P.I? The Fall Guy? Hardcastle and McCormick?
In short, be careful people. Those shows of our glory years come with a price. If you want your memories deflated, just search out those lost channels and prepare for the worst.