Rob. Smiling. Happy dimples. Interview: "The things I saw...were unreal, and we won a game, and that's fine, but I'll never ever be able to forget the things that I saw, and I did it with my best friend." (Tee hee. "Did it." Sorry.) "And there can't be anything better than that." Kevin and Rob hug. Mmmmm. Brennan: "The experiences that I had, the places that I went, the people that I met, the relationships that I built both with Rob and with other contestants will continue on for the rest of my life."
A giddy-looking Margarita hugs Kevin. A happy Pat grins at Frank. Rob looks thrilled and stunned. Brennan is still wearing the Hating-Hat, because the Hating-Hat is eternal. We pull back from the World's Fair Unisphere, and all the contestants wave and yell and smile at the camera.
Executive producer? Jerry Bruckheimer. Also executive producer? Bertram van Munster. And a hell of a job everybody did, too.
You know, you can make an argument that reality TV is goofy, and you can make an argument that it's not art, but it certainly is entertainment, at least in this case. I was flat-out hooked for thirteen weeks, and the ending managed not to disappoint, which almost never happens. For one thing, a team won who didn't act like jerks, and aside from the fact that I sort of wish that they'd given the boys a little more personality given the outcome, I have no complaints. A super job by all concerned.
And as for all of you, it's been a pleasure passing thirteen weeks with you. Stay tuned, because as many of you know, MBTV pretty much obliterated the fourth wall with this show, and we are all over the inside scoopage, of which we will have plenty in the days to come. We'll be dishing the now-famous TARcon, chatting with the contestants, and giving you the skinny on everything from how it feels to be hugged by Loud Pushy Frank (hint: Oh. My. God) to which contestant repeatedly kissed the hand of your very own recapper (hint: matching outfits, little dog). Until then -- and until TAR2 -- behave yourselves, and remember this, if nothing else: Tip your cabbie. It will save you miles of heartache. Oh, and on that point? I have been authorized to tell you that Esquire gave their last cabbie -- that last fateful cabbie, the one who got them the million -- a hundred bucks.