When I was a sophomore in high school, I had the distinguished privilege of watching “Prison Break,” one of the greatest shows to ever cross public airwaves.
    
Briefly, “Prison Break” is about a man named Michael Scofield who tries to break his brother Lincoln Burrows out of a high-security penitentiary because he is framed for murder and is to receive the death penalty. Scofield, a true creative genius, was one of the engineers who designed the prison, and therefore has special knowledge of the facility. He purposefully fails a bank robbery so he can be incarcerated and free Burrows before he can be put to death.
    
For better or worse, much can be said about the series as a whole. However, critics and fans are pretty much unanimous in anointing season one as one of the better seasons in television history.
   
 I remember rushing home from soccer games, wrestling practice or whatever else I had going on, grabbing a shower and timing a McDonald’s run perfectly so that I could get home with the food piping hot just in time for the show to air Monday nights at 9 p.m.
    
The family was commanded to never disturb me during “Prison Break.” I would pull a big blanket over myself and lie alone in our dark TV room to watch Scofield and Co. planning their way out, avoiding crooked security guards, making deals with gang leaders among the inmates, etc.
    
I was completely entrenched in the show, while at the same time being very conscious that I was watching something spectacular.
    
The writers had a very special knack for making some of the greatest cliffhangers ever. The cinematic quality of the show made it even better.
    
My stomach turned every single time the graphic/music would flash across the screen, queuing a commercial break.
   
 I jumped off the couch, pulling my hair whenever the same graphic would flash across the screen at the top of the hour.
    
He’s going to get caught! The guards are going to find the toilet unhooked in his cell and figure out that’s how he’s been getting around the walls!
    
I would meet my friends at lunch the next day and talk about the show, all of us barking out our prediction for the next episode, or more commonly, trying to discern what actually happened.
   
 I woke up, went to school, ran at practice, did my homework and tingled with suspense every day as I waited for the next Monday to arrive.
    
It was like a drug for me. Summers without “Prison Break” were like rehab. When fall premieres rolled around, it was a relapse.
    
Yes, I’ll admit subsequent seasons were not as good as the first. However, I still thought it was better than almost anything else on television at the time. It was smart and involved, with solid acting from many of the supporting characters.
   
 I kept up with it through its final season during my freshman year at UT, forcing my roommate off his own TV as I would literally sprint back to Hess Hall from my Monday-night lecture in Alumni Memorial Building.
    
Last summer, I noticed the entire “Prison Break” series was streaming on Netflix. I didn’t have much of a job, so of course I started watching it.
    
But it wasn’t the same.
   
 I knocked out five 40-minute episodes in the first day.
    
No more did the commercial graphic/music have that same gut-wrenching effect on me. There was no need to sprint to the bathroom to make sure I didn’t miss anything.
   
 If I wanted more, I had plenty of it. If I didn’t, I was willing to wait until a more convenient time.
   
 And there lies the greatest and worst thing about Netflix, Hulu and the online television streaming sensation.
    
What was originally a five-year process of watching a TV series in its entirety can now be condensed into two weeks.
    
While it’s wonderful that it’s on-demand and fits my schedule, maybe the greatest part about “Prison Break” was that it belonged to me as much as I belonged to it. That anticipation, that shared experience at the lunch table, that was all half the fun.
    
TV may not fit into our self-serving, have-it-now, gluttonous society, but it is a true art to be able to convince a viewer to clear his schedule and watch your show over the infinite other things he could be doing Mondays nights. But our children probably won’t ever have that experience.
    
While most may see it as a nuisance, I still consider the experience of a good few seasons of television as a pleasure.
    
Even if it’s not exactly on my schedule.


— Clay Seal is a senior in journalism and electronic media. He can be reached at cseal4@utk.edu.