Fall might be my favorite time of the year. Our company flag football league starts up. Baseball finds its way into the playoffs. And I get to explore the earth tones and heavier fabrics of my extensively LL Bean-ized closet.
But nothing energizes me more than the return of The Biggest Loser.
Yes, America’s best example of exploiting the obese and occasionally motivated members of society by promising them a better life and a chance at some cash if they’ll only appear on a reality show, be shamelessly ridiculed by a she-male trainer, and appear topless during their weekly weigh-in. And it’s all the better if you’re eating ice cream while watching.
This year the gimmick is families, taking last year’s “couples” feature a step forward. Go home, friends — Jillian and Bob will only work with blood relatives in 2008.
It’s early yet, so it’s hard to tell who will captivate me this year. Last year it was the lovable hopeless oaf Paul, who likely will die in a pool of tears and barbeque chicken within the next five years. I miss Paul.
I’d love to introduce you to all the teams, but I unfortunately forgot about the show’s premiere until receiving a text message from Pax a half-hour into the first episode asking me how awesome it was. Damn it.
Two great things appeared in the first episode: A tool that estimated the competitors’ “biological age” — the age the conditions of their organs suggested they were, based on overuse. (Incidentally, I hooked myself up to the machine. My penis: 4,057 years old.)
The 26-year old cabby from Somerville, who Pax is no doubt rooting for, was like 47 biologically, which wasn’t a surprise to anyone who saw the 350 lb. tub of lard try to walk without sweating. Anyway, the tool seemed to be a wakeup call for many contestants: They have seen their weight time and again, so that’s not a shock. But seeing that you’ve aged your insides 20 years because you can’t put down the Cheetos? That’s motivation.
Second was the fact that they have the man who has to be considered their most disgusting out-of-shape mongoloid in their history. The requisite old man on the show, the 5’10, 380 lb. Jerry, is in such bad shape that they will only allow him to work out for 30 minutes a day, for fear that Jillian will, you know, off his ass. While this is undoubtedly awesome, it’s also lame — his daughter Colleen was at a huge advantage in the competition, which required the pairs to walk in grueling heat up a hill to find various benefits (including immunity, obvi.).
Needless to say, the most likeable and least asshole-y team got voted off last week, which seems to always happen in reality TV. And while it’s early to project these things, let’s get to the two weekly items.
OVER/UNDER ON INSTANCES OF CRYING
As you know, the best part of Tuesday Tubby Tearfest, and the cause of this weekly posting, is the immeasurable crying that takes place on the show. I set the over/under, and you wage a guess as to how much sobbing, crying, or flat-out blubbering will take place this week.
Because it’s early and the contestants are still 1) really freaking fat, 2) unused to the idea of losing tons of weight, and 3) emotionally volatile, I expect the number to be high. I’m setting the over/under at 14.5 — I’ll take the over, but the fact that there has yet to be an emotional investment in the other teams makes me hesitant.
WHO GOES HOME
This is nearly impossible to tell. I think the drama of the yellow team and Old Man SitOnTheSidelines keeps them around. The Boston cabbies will prove resourceful. The orange team seemed to have outsized personalities, always a plus in reality TV. So I’ll throw my money on the purple team, Amy and Shellay. Why? Her name is Shel-lay. What a fucking stupid name.