Up at Ulong, Bobby Jon senses that James -- with two bags -- is struggling, so he takes one of them, now carrying three. Ulong slows down, and James ultimately opts out entirely. Tom smells blood. Bobby Jon is carrying 80 pounds of weight. So the way this worked out, Ulong carried their packs 4-2-1, and Koror carried theirs 3-2-2. Wonder what the effect of that was, if anything. Probst comments that it only gets harder as the water gets deeper. Koror has now closed it to the point where they're probably only separated by about a third of the course from Ulong. Koror is sneaking up on Ulong, unmistakably. Koror makes its move, putting on a burst of power. Bobby Jon runs -- yeah, in the water, with 80 pounds of weight on his back. He may be a damn psycho (as when he ooga-moogas at himself), but he's a strong, committed guy, that's for sure. Basically, Ulong is just out of steam at this point, and Koror has just enough left, and sure enough, before long, they come up behind Ulong and a delighted Ian leaps at Ibrehem and slaps his shoulders. Ulong is going back to tribal council. Again. What's fascinating about this is that it does seem obvious that Ulong has younger, physically stronger people overall, and it's not like they're losing mental challenges. They're losing physically, in stuff like this, and in stuff like the crate haul from last week. It's starting to almost seem like physical challenges ultimately come down to Bobby Jon and Tom, with contributions from Ian/Gregg and Ibrehem/Jeff. ["Man strength. There may be something to it!" -- Wing Chun]
Anyway, all of Koror hugs Tom, because how can you not? Tom is awesome. And I don't just say that in the sense that he is the hottest thing evah! to my maturing tastes. In fact, in explaining my great love of Tom, I will call upon an old expression often used by one of my college friends, which I will get to in a moment. But first, you must know that thanks to my Music Stylist, I had the pleasure last night of seeing The Frames at the 400 Bar in Minneapolis -- a show that delivered unto my soul such a sublime ass-kicking that it will take me at least three weeks to recover. At any rate, my Music Stylist is kind of the band's Creed-Haired mascot, and thus introduced me to Glen Hansard, the band's non-Creed-Haired singer/genius, who is, as it happens, (1) hilarious; (2) bawdy; (3) brilliant; and (4) Irish. Said I to my Music Stylist: "I have no defense against that demographic." An expression I stole, many years ago, from a friend. So as to Tom, the silver-haired monsterously poweful New York firefighter? I can only say: I have no defense against that demographic. (Oh, and not that I would tell you how to live, but seriously, seriously, if you never take my word for anything else, ever, as long as you live? Buy this. And this, too, but if you want to know why I have no defense against that demographic, buy the first one.