It's time to come out of my closet of shame: I'm hooked on American Gladiators.
I know. I'm a parent of two, a college professor and a responsible taxpayer. I floss daily, for Pete's sake. I should know better. But there's just something about the whole cheesefest that is American Gladiators that hits my crappy TV sweet spot. It also hits Slate.com's Troy Patterson's sweet spot -- but for different reasons.
Part of the appeal is that my husband (then live-in boyfriend) and I watched it in college. It was a ritual, in fact, and a pseudo-date night that we rearranged our schedules in order to make. When you have no money, you make do with what you have.
Now, it's back. Thanks to the strike, most of the shows the spouse and I watch after the kids sack out are in reruns. After wrestling with the kids and jobs and life, we're both ready for something brainless.
Which Gladiators is. Contestants pit themselves against both the Gladiators and various obstacle courses. The show crackles with energy, despite the hosts, Hulk Hogan and Laila Ali's inane banter, which we just fast-forward through to get to the competitions. Unlike wrestling, the matches aren't fixed and there are no storylines. Also, unlike wresting, it isn't stupid.
But what finally rehooked me was competitor Monica. When Monday's episode started unreeling her heartwarming bio footage, I turned to my husband and said that she would smack the crap out of the competition. Why? Monica is a mom of twins. Moms of multiples are tough broads who laugh in the face of measly athletic challenges. If they can hold on to their sanity long enough to get them into school, moms of multiples can do almost anything they put their minds to.
Now I have to watch the rest of the season to see if Monica can keep on winning. I'm betting that she can.
