The Globetrotters reach the mat in sixth place. "This is one of the most dramatic finishes we've ever had," Phil observes, like he's been getting a live feed or something. Somewhat defensively, Flight Time says they were willing to do whatever it took to stay in the race. "Mika threw us the alley-oop, she was running point, and we slam-dunked it." I don't know what that means and I'm not good with sports metaphors, but let me try to construct one of my own: Mika was headed for the basket with seconds left on the clock, was about to make a shot that she was likely to miss anyway, and Big Easy stuck his foot out. Okay, I'm not saying it was illegal, or maybe even unethical, but it wasn't classy, either.
Mika shamefacedly meets Canaan down by the pool. Finally they get to the mat, and Phil tells them they're the last team to arrive. Normally I'd hope for a non-elimination leg that would force Mika to go back and do the slide to stay in it, but Canaan ruined even that for me. And then they get Philiminated anyway. Mika looks nervously over at Canaan and whispers, "Sorry." He shrugs, like he can't even talk to her now. Phil asks her how she feels. "Feel like I let Canaan down. And myself," she says, squinting through one eye at the sun. But as Canaan puts an arm around her, we hear his final thoughts o the matter: "I don't hold it against Mika. That could have been me up there. I could be the one just crippled by fear." Great, nowhe gets that. Because make no mistake, this was his failure as much as hers. There was a right way and a wrong way to handle this situation, and he overshot wrong by several exits. And now he gets the last word, having the nerve to act all beatific and serene now that the crisis is over: "There's freedom in forgiveness and there's freedom in, like, understanding that people aren't perfect and neither are you." Big of him, isn't it? I hope he's referring to the forgiveness he's hoping to get from Mika for being such a pushy, insensitive cocknozzle.
Oh, and guess what? They're still dating. Awesome.
M. Giant is a Minneapolis-based writer with a wife, a son, and a number of cats that seems to have settled at around two. Learn waaaay too much about him at Velcrometer, follow him on Twitter, or just e-mail him at M.Giant[at]gmail.com