Two weeks ago, I did something I had never done before and never thought I’d do.

I watched the Country Music Association Awards, also known as the CMAs.

This may not sound like such a big deal to you, but for me, it was one of those life-changing moments that will surely serve as yet another vital reminder that we should never underestimate the transformative powers of award shows.

A little back story is probably in order: For much of my adult life, I was a snob about country music, preferring bluegrass and rockabilly to anything that was being played on the radio at any given moment.

Then, I begat a daughter who revealed me for the softie I’ve always been and who grew to love country music all on her own.

I listened to lots of country radio thereafter and discovered two things: mainstream country is pretty good, for the most part, and male country singers really like to sing songs about begetting daughters who reveal them for the softies they’ve always been.

But this column is not about defending mainstream country music or my nonexistent hipster cred or the wisdom of making three successive references in a column to daughters revealing you for the softie you have always been.

No, it’s about how entertaining the CMA telecast was.

Co-hosts Brad Paisley (age 39) and Carrie Underwood (age 28) were loose and funny. They were funny apart and they were funny together. They could go off-script without stiffening up and they could make the script sound like it was off-the-cuff.

Compare and contrast, if you would, the showing of Paisley and Underwood with that of James Franco (age 33) and Anne Hathaway (age 29) during February’s Academy Awards telecast.

I include the ages of these folks because Franco and Hathaway were part of the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences’ “youth movement,” a conspicuous and conspicuously unsuccessful attempt to attract a more youthful viewing audience.

When the Academy recently tapped Billy Crystal to replace an absconded Eddie Murphy as host of next year’s telecast, some commentators claimed the Academy was turning its collective back on our nation’s youth.

Billy Crystal, the alleged oldster, is 63. Eddie Murphy, the alleged youngster, is 50.

While the truth of the phrase “Life begins at 50” may have been proven in several well-conducted randomized controlled trials, I am not sure Murphy was the Pied Piper that some pundits cracked him up to be.

Neither man has had a true hit film in over a decade, and both have behaved recently as if they are semi-retired.

This emphasis on chronological ages is irrelevant and immaterial.

February’s Oscar telecast, for all its topically applied youthfulness, was the stodgiest in many a year.

Franco, despite his smooth, unlined face, was in full old-coot mode on stage and off, sulking when his jokes bombed and deflecting blame for months afterward.

I can’t believe that there is anyone, adolescent or elderly, who watched that telecast and doesn’t hail Crystal’s return to the dais.

Crystal may not be young, but he’s good. Everybody likes good, right?

At 63, Crystal’s good at hosting (among other things).

With no less than a pair of decades separating themselves from 60, Paisley and Underwood also are good at hosting (among other things).

Youth may or may not attract youth, but good attracts everybody.