This was a particularly difficult week to suffer what TV has become.

It was impossible to escape the sounds and sights of weather warners standing in deadly conditions — pelted by rain, surging seawater and debris-launching, tree-bending, house-splitting winds — to urge viewers to seek shelter from this life-imperiling calamity.

“The live camera is not enough. Go stand in front of it.”

Then there were MLB’s playoffs. The Mets-Phillies series opened with the Phils’ Kyle Schwarber hitting a first-inning, leadoff home run.

Fox followed with a graphic that was no doubt entered into a database, approved for viewing then posted for national viewing by a cluster of inbred dolts: this was Schwarber’s “first home run of [this] postseason.”

Given that it was Schwarber’s first at-bat of the postseason — Philly had a first-round bye — TV still hasn’t learned that the best way to avoid looking ridiculous is before you prepare to look ridiculous.

But networks, like national politics, possess a mystical ability to place irresponsible people in responsible places.

ESPN again tried to reinvent the flat tire by eliminating runs, hits and errors graphics from its half-inning cuts to commercials. TBS posted three round yellow dots, one for each out, as if we needed that third yellow dot to realize three outs are all you get (at least for now).

“How many outs are there?” “I’m not sure, but at least two.”

Fox graphics included revelations such as the batter who was “0-for-6, no HRs.”

But by now it’s clear that Rob Manfred’s primary mission as commissioner is to milk every last nickel someone will throw MLB’s way by orders of team owners and the MLBPA, who share the benefits. You? As my uncle would say, “You get borscht.”

Thus it should be duly noted and fully credited that Manfred has succeeded in attaching, in large conspicuous letters, the word “STRAUSS” to every batting helmet, meaning “STRAUSS” dominates the TV view of every pitch of this postseason — a deal to run through the 2027 regular and postseason.

Strauss is neither the maker of batting helmets nor 19th Century Viennese Waltzes. It’s a German apparel and accessories company. Beyond stitching it has nothing to do with baseball.

Anyway, if you can look beyond the excitement of what the Yanks and Mets have achieved — the Mets having barely qualified for a wild card — you’ll see that playing good, logical baseball has become non-requisite for success.

Consider that Manfred’s extra-innings, fantasy-as-real-runner determines 10 percent of regular-season games. Yet, in the postseason you play it out, like good old baseball.

That tells us that MLB’s regular-season, extra-innings rule is just a hollow gimmick with no regard for the legitimacy of the results that determine who qualifies for the playoffs.

But come the postseason, MLB tries to return the credibility to its games that Manfred’s automatic runner eliminated.

Pitching, of course, has become a sick joke all its own. Not only were the fewest complete games in MLB history, 28 — that many? — thrown this season, as late as 1968 and 1969, Bob Gibson threw 28 complete games in each year. That was before both Tommy John surgery and Tommy John.

So now whatever accelerated pace-of-play has been established is mitigated by four- and five-inning starters, and bullpen shopping trips to find just the right one to lose the game to the other manager who is also eager to lose by relief pitcher excess. Crap-shooting misidentified as strategy.

And it ain’t just Aaron Boone who has his bullpen “all lined up” and ready to march. Sunday’s Tigers 3, Guardians 0 included nine pitchers; that night’s Padres 10, Dodgers 2 also had nine. Doesn’t make any difference, three runs or 12.

Yanks 3-2 over the Royals, Wednesday, 11 pitchers. Dodgers 8-0 over the Padres followed — 15 pitchers!

This postseason has included a senseless oddity of its own: infielders throwing wild and far too late to first after failing to field a ground ball, thus giving away second in a game where only sluggers are now expected to jog doubles into singles.

Postseason TV commentary has mostly been what we’d expect: transparently overly excited, hype-larded and exaggerated thrills to lure an audience already watching.

Fox’s Adam Amin seems smitten by Gus Johnson’s and Kevin Harlan’s not-so-secret to success. He screams and hollers over live pictures that far surpass the on-field achievement. But his TV bosses also figure that we want to be treated as dopes.

The surprise has been venerable Bob Costas, long a truth-seeking, truth-telling favorite. Costas, in his measured voice, has several times asked us to believe what he says rather than what we saw, thus already knew.

After seemingly scolding Giancarlo Stanton for his career habit of failing to run to first, the next game Costas seemed to go out of his way to defend Stanton, explaining that his inability to run is due to leg injuries.

But Stanton’s most severe leg injuries were self-inflicted due to his disdain for running to first. Both times Stanton tried to reach second after jogging, both times injuring himself sliding when he should have arrived standing! Both times he was injured because he dogged it.

Finally, like Roger Goodell’s NFL, the lesser-perceived TV attractions are “punished” with the best starting times. Thus Tigers-Indians had three warm afternoon starts.

And nothing says postseason big league baseball quite like a large red, Strauss logo reflecting off all the batting helmets in natural October sunlight! Now go stand in a hurricane.

Robert “Save the Receipts” Saleh doesn’t receive the historical credit he earned.

Has there been an NFL head coach — not a winning season among his four — who has allowed his troops to be better rehearsed as post-play group dancers and fancy handshake artists than Saleh’s Jets?

Yes, Brian Daboll’s Giants are now giving rank, win-or-lose group immodesty a shot, too.

Let’s not overlook Woody Johnson, the Jets’ owner who allowed an off-to-prison con artist and bogus radio and TV ad campaigns, in concert with Roger Goodell’s bogus “good investment” claim, to peddle his PSLs.

The Jets’ PSL contract contains my favorite fine-print clauses. It reads that no matter who represented the Jets in selling you this PSL, and no matter what claims and promises they made to close the deal, it’s to be ignored in favor of what appears in this contract.

Big money, bad faith. The Goodell Era!

Mets starter Sean Manaea would make a sensational player for MLB’s postseason pre-games to profile.

He’s intelligent, anti-Alonso clean, pleasant, engaging, thoughtful, respectful of himself, his family and The Game and has become a superior pitcher.

But who is there to recognize, let alone champion, that? Big Jerk David Ortiz? Lying, dishonorable, drug-reliant Alex Rodriguez?

If only Manaea did a me-dance after every strike, he’d be to MLB what Snoop Dogg has become to NBC.