And so it was, on this, the final week of competition, that war hero and volcano-crotch-owner J.R. Martinez took home the modestly-sized Mirrorball trophy, the Stanley Cup of all reality show ballroom dance competitions. Good for him, and good for Karina, who finally got to stop fiddling with her streamer dress and enjoy the sweet, metallic taste of victory! Let's look back at the two hours that got them there.
In the first hour, we got quite a shock. This whole time, it was pretty much assumed that the battle for the title was between Ricki and J.R., but there was self-confidence queen Ricki, relegated to third place! Color us all a vivid shade of surprised, especially after the pair relived their superlative “Psycho” tango. J.R. and Rob barely managed a smile after this unsettling news, which made me think that although Rob has professed to craving victory in the past, he would have absolutely no idea what to do if he, by some divine act, actually did win it all.
We relived several other shocks, which in retrospect were actually not all that shocking, like the elimination of favored blondes Kristin, Chynna and, of course, Carson. All of the contestants got to return to the dance floor one more time, reminding us that Metta World Peace should have stuck around a little longer, the botched "Mission: Impossible" dance from Chynna actually was pretty cool, and, most of all, that Lacey’s dad Buddy Schwimmer can really shake it! And that "Vogue" number from Carson? I don’t know if it will go viral like Your Host Tom predicted, but it was pure indulgence to see Carson finally get his dance with a Chmerkovskiy brother. See, little twinkly ones? Dreams really do come true!
Speaking of dreams coming true, we finally got to see a little behind-the-microphone judge silliness, though the fun was woefully truncated. I could have watched two full hours of Carrie Ann smiting Len with her score paddles and Len contemplating the difficulty of Your Host Tom’s job. How hard could it be? Well, the entire season, Your Host Tom's on-again, off-again relationship with the script has revealed a veiled contempt for either the writers, the content, or the whole darned shebang. And blahblahblah, it was super amusing to watch.
So after Ricki and her nose-nuzzle partner Derek were sent away with the bronze, only J.R. and Rob remained. J.R. and Karina had redone their Week Two newsboy jive to a great response, and did equally well with their instant samba. Rob and Cheryl also turned in a nice version of their Week Three “Fly Me to the Moon” waltz, and samba-ed solidy, too. What to do?! 10s all around seemed like a fair solution. By this point in the competition, the judges really could have held up any old thing and it would have been okay. "A 13!" "A cat face I drew on the back of one of my paddles!" Ugh. Where’s the Maker’s Mark Tom keeps around for the commercial breaks? Let’s end this thing.
And so, it was J.R. and Karina with the win. Try to contain your shock. It was big of Rob to admit he already felt like a winner, and he probably meant it wholeheartedly. War-hero-soap-vet almost always trumps black-sheep-son-of-socialite-family, especially a war-hero-soap-vet-who-can-dance. Rob's still got the market cornered on insanely bright shirts, though.
So there it is, your 13th sparkly season of "Dancing with the Stars!" Did you love seeing all the contestants together again for one big, awkward dance-fest? Will you miss your weekly dose of Brunoisms, or Brooke Burke Shar-VAY’s adorable attempts at sounding like a real human? Is your heart spitting out rainbow streamers at the fact J.R. and Karina actually won? Come on, like it could have ended any other way!
That’s all, folks, until the Mirrorball turns again…
Join the conversation...