Do you live in Sacramento County? You do? Good. Now, quick! Who's your county supervisor?

No fair looking at the district maps on the county Web site. Just answer the question.

Stumped, huh? Well you've got company. On Friday, I conducted a highly unscientific survey of 15 people who I figured pay more attention to local politics than most. (OK, all right, they all worked at the newspaper; I said it was unscientific.) Only two could name their supervisor with certainty.

I suspect there's a reason many people don't pay much attention to county government. It just doesn't seem relevant to the way we live in the region. There are five supervisors for a county of almost 1,000 square miles. Most of the county's residents also live in one of its seven incorporated cities (for extra credit, name the seven cities) or in unincorporated areas that look like city neighborhoods. So the notion of a county, which calls to mind bucolic landscapes and summertime fairs, seems far removed from daily life.

I've been thinking lately about Sacramento County's supervisors and the government they are elected to supervise. Few of those thoughts are flattering and some of them are downright unproductive. (Public floggings have gone out of fashion, I gather.)

But one thought has stuck with me for a while now: What use are counties – particularly largely urbanized ones like Sacramento County – in the modern world?

As far as I can tell, few other people are considering such a question, which is surprising given the proposals that keep springing up for big changes in government elsewhere.

There's a statewide movement for a constitutional convention. In Sacramento City Hall, Mayor Kevin Johnson is pushing for a referendum to change the city's form of government. But no one is pushing the idea of changing Sacramento County's government, or asking what use the county is. And that's surprising, because at the moment Sacramento County makes both the state and the city look like models of effective government.

Why is Sacramento County such a mess? Sure, the supervisors are to blame, particularly for the county's slow response to its $168 million (and counting) budget deficit.

But the more I've thought about it, the more I think there is a larger issue behind the county's mess. Sacramento County and many other counties in California and around the nation are relics, artifacts of outdated notions of society and government.

Not to put too fine a point on it, Sacramento County is best regarded as a mud bank left by the receding tide of history. (I'm pretty sure I stole that metaphor from somewhere, but I can't find a citation for my plagiarism. Readers are invited to enlighten me on that point, as on so many others.)

In this case, the metaphor is literally true. If you look at a map of the county, you will see it contains a long, narrow appendage snaking south along the Sacramento River. According to the helpful experts at the State Library's California History room, the county's boundaries today are essentially the same as they were in 1850, except for minor changes caused by the river's changes of course over the ensuing decades.

If you were drawing up county boundaries today, you wouldn't wind up with a map that looks like the current one. And if you were designing a government for Sacramento County today, it surely wouldn't mimic the current setup.

So what would it look like? Nobody seems to be thinking about that at the moment. And I surely don't expect you to.

But you might want to figure out who your supervisor is. Three supervisor seats will be on the ballot in 2010. It's not too early to figure out if you live in on of those districts.