Sunday Night Television Used To Be the Worst

Growing up in the 80s and early 90s, Sunday nights were the low point of the weekend, at least for me. Friday nights had that electric buzz of freedom and Saturday mornings were a cartoon fueled sugar rush. Sunday nights felt like a slow descent into the school week. And the television lineup did not help.

My mom would disagree, of course. For her, Sunday night was sacred viewing. First came 60 Minutes, then Murder, She Wrote on CBS. She settled into her recliner with a cup of tea, fully invested in whatever ticking stopwatch segment was airing, then shifted seamlessly into watching Angela Lansbury solve crimes in quaint New England towns. She loved it. I endured it.

I sat on the carpet with my arms crossed, dreading Monday morning and trying to find something, anything, to distract me. But 60 Minutes was either painfully boring or downright terrifying. One week it was inflation or foreign policy, and the next it was killer bees or the AIDS epidemic. For a kid with an overactive imagination, those segments stuck with me in all the wrong ways. I lay awake wondering if a swarm of bees was going to descend on our neighborhood or if touching a doorknob could somehow make me sick.

After that came Murder, She Wrote. I appreciated the cozy mystery vibe later in life, but back then it felt like homework disguised as entertainment. I did not care who poisoned the pie at the bake off. I just wanted something fun.

The other networks did not offer much relief. ABC and NBC trotted out their Movie of the Week, usually some made for TV drama starring actors I did not recognize. And even when they aired a real blockbuster, it was chopped up with so many commercials that the pacing was ruined and the ending often ran past my bedtime. I would be halfway through Raiders of the Lost Ark when Mom said, “Alright, time for bed,” and I had to imagine how it ended.

Then, somewhere around 1990, things started to shift.

Fox arrived like a breath of fresh air. In Living Color was unlike anything I had ever seen, bold, hilarious, and just a little edgy. Married With Children was irreverent and loud, and Roc brought something grounded and real. Suddenly, Sunday nights had a pulse.

ABC joined in too. America’s Funniest Home Videos and America’s Funniest People gave us something lighthearted to laugh at, and then came Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman. As a comic book kid, that show was a revelation. Dean Cain and Teri Hatcher brought Superman and Lois Lane to life in a way that felt fresh and exciting. It was not perfect, but it was mine. And it made Sunday nights bearable.

Those shows did not just fill time. They gave me something to look forward to. They softened the blow of Monday morning and made the weekend feel like it had one last spark before fading out.

These days, Sunday nights are a whole different story. Thanks to streaming, my wife and I curl up on the couch and pick whatever we want, old favorites, new releases, comfort watches. No commercials. No bedtime cutoffs. Just us, the remote, and a sense of control over the evening.

Funny how the night I used to dread has become the one I cherish most.