Do It Yourself, Or Don't

Hubby and the SJG like to wax nostalgic about old television sets that lasted more than five years.  We sound like old farts, we know, but we can't help ourselves.  It's our version of "when we were your age, we walked a mile in the snow to school."  Our first TV was actually my first TV, a black and white Zenith that lasted 15 years, at least. Then we upgraded to a color TV -- you'll have to ask hubby which brand -- and that lasted at least 10 years.  Gone are the TV repairmen, those very serious Poindexter types, who'd show up at the door, lugging a big case of tubes, and spend hours buried behind the set, fixing it till it worked like new.  Today, TV repair's a dying art.  But that hasn't stopped hubby.  He's not willing to throw in the remote on the flat screen, even though I keep telling him, "Honey, it's possessed." Yesterday, he spent the day disassembling the thing.  Part of it rests on the kitchen table, the electronic brains, if you will, and the nice shiny cover tilts on the side, waiting for me to bump into it and make it shatter in pieces.  All day, hubby searched for capacitors online, convinced if he just replaces what looks like the motherboard, the TV will stop turning on and off.  "So, you'd rather potschke with the innards, then call an exorcist?" I asked.  His answer, simple and to the point, "Yes."  Can he fix it? Can he?  Stay tuned.