I hate American Idol. Not for the reason that everyone thinks: that it is ruining American pop music as we know it, which is true, but more for the less obvious reasons like when discussed in the supermarket’s produce aisle I fail to contribute even as much as a half-assed conjecture or that on Tuesdays through Thursdays at 8/7c I have no friends to entertain me.  There is nothing more deflating than someone aridly explaining that you have become second rate to Randy Jackson and they will try to call you back during commercials.

With the attention span of a goldfish, I have been known to bypass the weekly showdowns and wait until the winner is announced to start following the careers of the latest foot soldier the machine spat out. As of late, my post-Idol enjoyment lay in watching the runner-ups capsize the winners in what has become what I call “the race for second place”. It’s true, it looks more gratifying to be a Jennifer Hudson or an Adam Lambert than to come out on top and become a David Cook. Who? Yes, exactly.

But how do you effectively balance that journey for runner-up status? How do you skillfully stay in the race, yet ineptly and accurately position yourself to hold that coveted second-rate slot? It almost seems like that would be more difficult than winning. Knowing when to precisely pull the chute strikes me as a far more challenging art form than charging full throttle to win the hearts of America. And for what? The last two winners, both David Cook and Kris Allen, have garnered no more attention than a bible thumping missionary on a street corner as opposed to their semi-finalists counterparts who have both enjoyed MTV success.

With America’s obsessive fascination of watching the lives of “normal people” in high definition transform into C-level celebrities, it appears that American Idol is no exception and the underdog has become king. The dark horse is the new viceroy. The fallout is the new hero.

Is it possible there is an unequivocal sense of compassion awarded to these semi-finalists that amasses into innumerable fan clubs and die-hard Twitter minions? Or are we simply just more intrigued by the notion of failure than that of success. In some twisted subconscious logic we don’t truly want the winner to prosper, but actually the losers to prove to us that they can turn silver into gold. Outshine the favorite. It is that same feeling we get from watching Flavor Flav, a man whose face only a mother could love, put on a crown and oversized Big Ben and have his stab at love with women more than 25 times his caliber; sympathy and intrigue.

Sad but true, I fall victim to the same runnings, but mainly with sports. Take the Super Bowl for example, I could care less who is the victor. I hate sports, but my methodology is choose the underdog and hope for upset. Try to upset the room. Root for the little guy. Root for someone more like me. The life and times of a modern day shit disturber.

Adam is complex, you see. He is not only our fallout, but is also in fact a modern-day shit disturber and he’s doing what everyone in America hoped for him to do. Finish as the underdog and slowly become a Hollywood sweetheart by defying the odds, daringly flaunting his sexuality, creating a story and defaming music awards. Kanye did it. 50 Cent did it. J. Lo did it when she left In Living Colour. And we love them even more for it.

We are regrettably entering our ninth season of American Idol and if these new contestants are smart, they and their fans will be scheming, concocting and devising ingenious blueprints on how to procure the silver medal in a game where that equates to first place.

Sway

Toronto, February 2010