I’ve been watching NBC’s Trumpfest, The Apprentice, since it began four seasons ago. At first I watched because it was a Burnett production, and my wife and I were enjoying Survivor. So, we figured since Mark Burnett was the wunderkind of unReality TV, it would be worth a watch. Now in its fifth season, my wife has stopped watching, but I still catch it on Tivo.

I’m not a particular fan of Donald Trump, conspicuous consumption, materialism, the almighty dollar, cut-throat business dealings, white-collar back-stabbing, greed, jealousy, petty rivalries, or getting fired. Its not entirely schadenfreude—the joy of watching others experience pain—it’s more like the fascination of seeing justice served when incompetent workers get axed mixed with cheers for the scrappy underdog I want to win. Whatever the source of my fascination, I’m surprised my date with Donald has lasted into the fifth season. But it’s not about Donald. Not for me. I couldn’t care less how financially successful he is: his opulent lifestyle alternately bores and sickens me. And I just don’t “get” the awe these Trump-ites hold for him. No, it’s not Trump. I watch each episode with horror thinking, How can the head of any corporation possibly think these knuckle-draggers have what it takes to run a food pantry, much less a major enterprise? Each week is another slow, sweaty train-wreck, and I can’t look away.

I think, of all the seasons so far, the only one where I really cared about the finale and who won, was last year, when the scary-smart, charming, Southern Baptist, Randal Pinkett, was chosen to be the apprentice. I had been pulling for him the entire season, seeing in him a young man with great emotional intelligence matched with good practical intelligence as well. That he was charming, handsome, affable, and a natural leader with clear integrity were all pluses. I thought …