The Traitors has everything: betrayal, excellent television, and a host wearing the formal dining room.
The Traitors is quickly becoming the best reality competition show on television, and I’m starting to think the rest of the industry should be concerned. It picked up another armful of Emmys this month, including Outstanding Reality Competition Program and a hosting award for Alan Cumming.
Apparently, the television professionals and I have reached an agreement. This rarely happens without somebody canceling something I like.
You can credit the strategy, the casting, the atmosphere. All perfectly reasonable answers. I personally believe a substantial portion of the show’s success comes from Alan Cumming ripping every curtain off every wall in Scotland and wearing them in an increasingly formal order.
Somewhere, a Scottish couple is eating dinner with the road in full view because Alan needed a jacket.
And he looks fantastic. That’s the irritating part. I could wrap myself in expensive drapery and look like a man being removed from a hotel.
If I wear a kilt, there is overwhelming back chatter about whether or not I’m wearing underwear.
Alan adds a brooch, tilts his head, and suddenly I’m wondering whether I’ve been dressing my entire life incorrectly. He shows that a comb-over hairdo CAN work.
Every entrance is an event. You’re trying to figure out who’s lying, who’s about to get banished, who has made a catastrophic social error over breakfast.
I’ve never seen people so excited about breakfast. Well… there was that one time at the Mandalay Bay when they brought out the crab legs on the buffet at 10 a.m. I may have shrieked joyously.
Then Alan appears, and I have other questions. Is that velvet? Is that a cape? Was there a window treatment consultation before this murder?
The man has managed to make betrayal feel underdressed.
The other reality hosts need to start responding. Jeff Probst has gotten a remarkable amount of mileage out of a blue shirt, but Alan is out here wearing ancestral property.
Jeff may need to start showing up at Tribal Council in a hula skirt and coconuts. Same serious questions. Same prolonged eye contact.
Just a faint clacking sound every time he asks somebody whether they trust their alliance.
Julie Chen may want to consider permanently adopting a Zingbot outfit. Commit to it. Deliver the eviction results through a giant robot head while ten people on a couch pretend this is a reasonable way to find out they’ve lost their summer.
“By a vote of seven to two, you have been evicted. Zing.”
Then she has to turn sideways to get through the studio door.
These are the adjustments required when your competition arrives dressed as a recently foreclosed castle.
What I love about the show is how confidently people can be wrong. Somebody sits at the round table and announces that they’ve figured everything out because another contestant blinked differently while discussing an egg.
Four people nod. Somebody cries. An innocent person gets sent home.
Finally, a competition that recognizes the investigative standards of a neighborhood Facebook group.
Naturally, watching from my couch, I believe I would be excellent at this. I can spot every mistake. I know who should keep quiet.
I know when somebody has talked themselves directly into a problem that did not exist before they opened their mouth.
Then I remember those big hooded cloaks.
I would not survive the wardrobe fitting.
Before we even got to the deception, I’d have my hand up asking whether the secret murder meeting could be done in a breathable polo. Is there a summer-weight option? Does this hood have to stay up the whole time?
I understand we’re concealing our identities, but I’m developing a personal weather system in here.
The other Traitors would be debating which player posed the greatest threat to their game. I’d be trying to quietly pull the collar away from my neck without looking like I was choking on a bath towel.
“Benzo, who do you think we should murder?”
“Whoever controls the thermostat.”
And then I’d have to go downstairs the next morning and act normal. Everybody else would be watching for signs of guilt. I’d be standing near an open window with a damp head, explaining that I’d slept beautifully.
“He looks nervous.”
I’m not nervous. I spent forty minutes plotting against you inside a duvet.
That would be my downfall. Somebody would notice me sweating at breakfast and deliver a passionate speech about how the pressure of my lies was becoming physically visible.
I’d try to explain fabric weight. They’d call that deflection. I’d blink too many times.
Before lunch, I’d stand at the round table, reveal my identity, and request a small fan for the ride to the airport.
Meanwhile, Alan would arrive to announce my departure wearing a magnificent ensemble last seen blocking sunlight in a sixteen-bedroom estate.
I’d watch every second of it.
From home. In shorts.
Yesterday’s Autopsy
Four wins, one loss. Apparently, the secret to successful handicapping is waking up unsure whether you ate a hummingbird.
The Cubs and Mets handled their business, Louisville delivered, and my late invitation to the Dodgers worked out beautifully.
Bertie wanted to discuss price and pitcher confirmation. I offered a detailed scouting report: “The Giants look like they’ve given up.” The Dodgers won by six.
Naturally, I’ll be insufferable about this now.
The Yankees were the only loss. Our strongest pitching lean became our sole complaint, with Arizona ending it on a two-run walk-off homer.
We assembled a perfectly respectable evening, and New York showed up with a leaf blower.
Still, we moved three steps closer to .500. Eighteen to go. The pillow remains beyond saving, but the record is showing signs of life.
The Giant Scoreboard
ALL SPORTS: 1,081–1,099–7
18 net wins away from .500.
TENNIS: 1–1
Today’s Picks
We’re back to baseball moneylines and taking points in football. Yesterday’s Dodgers exception worked. That does not mean every favorite has suddenly earned permission to ruin my afternoon by winning by one.
Rays ML vs. Red Sox — consensus around -150
I prefer Tampa Bay with Griffin Jax facing Patrick Sandoval. My first choice on the card, with a cutoff of -155. Just win. Nobody needs to audition for anything.
Jets +3.5 vs. Packers — around -115
Taking the home underdog with protection against a field-goal loss. As a Patriots fan, supporting the Jets feels like something I should have to confess at the round table.
I have accepted this personal failing through -115.
Brewers ML at Orioles — consensus around -210
I like Milwaukee with Jacob Misiorowski against Brandon Young, but this is the expensive seat at the table. -210 is my limit.
We’re paying for a win, not commissioning Alan a matching ottoman.
Jaguars +3 at Broncos
I got the full three, so Jacksonville is on the card. A field-goal loss pushes at +3 and loses at +2.5. That half-point has a job.
Four selections. We don’t need to invent confidence just to fill another chair.
There are already enough people on television doing that in a cloak.
This isn’t called Pick What I Pick.
It’s called Don’t Pick What I Pick.
Please wager accordingly.
