Welcome to the Big Brother Juice, where we give each player a star rating based on how likely they are to win the game.

It already feels like we have a split house, and with the vote still not 100% locked down, that’s great news for us as viewers. But it makes figuring out who’s actually in the best position to win a whole lot tougher.

Angela ⭐⭐⭐ ½

We’re getting dangerously close to a vintage Angela crash out, but somehow she’s still keeping it together — for now. Intentional or not, she’s been having conversations and making moves that continue to benefit her game.

Ashley ⭐

Ashley went from looking completely lost to accidentally becoming one of the more interesting pieces on the board. Everybody wants to use her. But her being aware of this might actually be her death sentence.

Barrett ⭐⭐⭐

Barrett is quietly making friends with everybody and avoiding all the heat. But I worry that his closeness with Dee could do more harm than good down the road.

Chuk 0 stars

Chuk has done a good job of avoiding the spotlight despite his alliance being on a lot of people’s radar. He’s surviving, but he hasn’t really done anything to separate himself from the pack.

Dee ⭐⭐⭐

Dee is still one of the biggest power players in the house, but her circle is starting to become a little too obvious. She’s running things. But people are beginning to notice.

Devens ⭐⭐1/2

Devens is out here collecting information like he’s filling out a Pokédex. The only problem is everyone else is starting to collect information on him too. If the other side gets power, I think he and Dee might be in trouble.

Drew ⭐⭐⭐

Drew is basically the Wi-Fi router of the house — every conversation runs through him. But slowly, people are starting to connect the dots.

Haley 0 stars

Haley is the most universally disliked player in the house. Something crazy would have to happen if she won.

Jason ⯨

Jason is trying to play three weeks ahead of everybody else. The problem is he can’t stop telling everyone his plans, and it’s catching up to him.

Kamu ⯨

Kamu thinks he’s steering the ship, but he’s really just helping someone else drive it. Nice guy, solid social game, just a little too misted right now.

Latrice Zero stars

Latrice has people willing to go to bat for her, which is great. The bad news is everybody knows exactly who those people are, and everybody knows exactly who she’s coming after.

Lyric ⭐

Lyric’s kind of just... there, which honestly isn’t the worst place to be this early because nobody seems all that interested in taking her out. If she’s sitting next to Rome at the end, I think she loses. But against someone like Melody or Mallory? Who knows.

Mallory ⯨

Mallory somehow became one of the first people to clock Drew’s game, which deserves some credit. But now she has to do something about it.

Melody ⭐

Melody has some really solid reads. Unfortunately, Drew is her biggest blind spot. But I think she’s starting to solve the puzzle.

Rome ⭐⭐⭐

Rome has enough social capital to run this house if he’d stop getting distracted every five minutes. He’s got the tools — it just feels like he’s only using half of them.

Taylor zero stars

Taylor did a lot of good work socially early in the week, but as the days went on, it just felt like she stopped fighting. You watched Yash and Ashley campaign their butts off while Taylor was content laying in bed. If she goes home, she only has herself to blame.

Yash zero stars

Yash has done a really good job campaigning and selling himself as someone people can work with. Whether it saves him or not, he’s done just about everything you could ask from someone on the block. If he loses the Blockbuster, I think he’s almost certainly gone. But if he survives, it feels like he’s finally found a home on Rome’s side of the house—even if his path to winning is still a little murky.

“Big Brother” is one of those for me. It’s campy, goofy and has enough fart sounds to turn casual fans away. Beneath all that, though, is social strategy, which is what keeps the superfans engaged despite the corny moments.

Netflix’s “InsideUSA,” also lands in that same hard-to-recommend territory, not because it’s completely bad, but because it hasn’t worked out its growing pains. Produced by The Sidemen — YouTube megastar KSI’s collective of British creators — “InsideUSA” is the latest entry in YouTube-to-TV experiments. It’s the group’s first American installment after two UK seasons (which I haven’t seen), and it’s clear that KSI and his crew have ambition. But it lacks the teeth of competitive reality TV staples.

What makes shows like “Survivor” and “Big Brother” work is the psychological warfare: people needing to win. This show’s biggest problem is that its players don’t.

The influencers competing for a cash prize on “InsideUSA” won’t feel it if they lose. They’ll go home to sponsorships, brand deals and million-follower audiences. The lack of desperation drains the tension: No one here is “fighting for their life,” and the result is a game that often feels like a vacation in a jail cell with unlimited commissary options.

Still, I had low expectations going in, and I kind of liked it. There’s potential here.

Game explained

At its core, “InsideUSA” revolves around one central idea: a shared prize pot that starts large and steadily shrinks as players spend, fail challenges or give in to temptation. Each contestant competes for a portion of the $1 million prize, but, unlike “Big Brother” or “Survivor,” the pot isn’t fixed — it’s fluid.

Every decision becomes a test of self-control and social awareness: How much are you willing to sacrifice for comfort or survival? But because the players are influencers with comfortable lifestyles, they often treat the pot recklessly, tossing away thousands for momentary pleasure.

Chaos begins

Episode 1 opens with a bang — or rather, a phone call. Sketch (one of the show’s few bright spots in terms of casting) answers a ringing phone and instantly earns the power to eliminate someone. It’s a wild twist for a premiere, unpredictable and a little nonsensical. Sketch chooses to eliminate Fannita, a loud, funny, outspoken contestant who already made waves. It’s entertaining, but in hindsight, game-ruining.

At the start of Episode 2, Fannita gets the option to buy herself back into the game for $50,000 out of the prize pot and accepts. It’s the beginning of the end for Sketch. His one big move instantly backfires. The person he eliminated returns with a vengeance, rallying the other women and putting a massive target on his back. He actually handles the aftermath with surprising composure, but the damage is irreversible.

The tension simmers for several episodes until one of the show’s most frustrating twists drops out of nowhere: the “Expose the Influencer” temptation. It reveals to Ekin-Su and Aisha that Fannita bought her way back in — production interference at its worst. It doesn’t add strategy, just drama, reigniting chaos even after Sketch had been eliminated.

The good, the bad and the ridiculous

Sketch quickly becomes the beating heart of the show — messy, unpredictable, but always trying to play. His attempts to strategize (even when it blows up in his face) give “InsideUSA” some much-needed game energy.

Fannita emerges as the main character, charismatic, chaotic and occasionally villainous. She’s eliminated twice, buys herself back in once and becomes the closest thing this show has to a power player. Her clashes with Max and her overconfidence make her magnetic, until her downfall at the hands of Ekin-Su.

Ekin-Su quietly plays one of the best games of the season. She lays low early, then takes control once the bigger personalities implode. Her using the information that Fannita bought her way back in to eliminate her in Episode 7 was poetic, especially since Fannita was growing suspicious of her and Aisha.

Unfortunately, for every strong episode, there’s one that drags.

Even in its slower stretches, though, “InsideUSA” stumbles into moments of accidental comedy, none better than when Dwight Howard (yes, that Dwight Howard) finds out he’s being inducted into the NBA Hall of Fame. It’s a surreal image: a former All-Star center learning he’s reached basketball immortality while surrounded by influencers arguing over who spent too much on snacks. The juxtaposition is hysterical — you’ve got someone achieving a real-world milestone while the rest of the cast buys $500 Pringles.

The final stretch (and the final facepalm)

The prize pot has dwindled to just more than $300,000 by the finale — though the math doesn’t always add up. The final two contestants, Aisha and Zach, make for the least exciting outcome possible.

The last challenge, a lever-pulling duel, is tense and symbolic, but Zach completely throws the game away for Aisha, literally telling her which lever to pull. After everything, he just folds. You spend a week eating rice and beans, only to hand over the win? Brutal.

What makes it worse is that Zach had played one of the cleanest financial games all season. He barely spent a dime while others burned through cash upgrading meals and paying to live comfortably, like the money wasn’t real. He made it to the end through discipline and restraint, and then, when it mattered most, he just gave up.

It’s a baffling way to go out for a guy who managed the pot better than anyone.

Final thoughts: potential buried under privilege

My biggest gripe remains the lack of genuine hunger. These contestants don’t need the money, and it shows. They throw away tens of thousands for snacks, coffee and luxury items. They play like it’s all a bit of fun because, for them, it is. Give me a cast fighting for rent, not sponsorship deals, and suddenly this show could rival the heavyweights.

Until then, “InsideUSA” feels like a social experiment without the sociology: fun in bursts, but often just influencers spending someone else’s money.

It didn’t matter how many people told me how much life would change and how overwhelming that first moment would be — nothing prepared me for the euphoria and love I felt the second I saw him.

Daniel is our firstborn, and he’s also my parents’ first grandson, so every tiny milestone carries a little extra weight. In the hospital, Renee and I were mesmerized by his first burp, sneeze and even his first poop. Once we got home, though, I couldn’t wait to share one of my favorite childhood traditions: watching an episode of “Survivor” with my family.

He won’t remember the episode — or season 49, for that matter — but maybe one day he’ll get as excited about these shows as his pop. And now, no matter what, season 49 will always be the season that premiered the year Daniel was born.

Reality TV has always been my timeline. I use “Survivor” and “Big Brother” as reference points for different chapters of my life, which is why Taran Armstrong’s book “Behind the Mirror: Inside the World of Big Brother” hit me in such a personal way. Like me, he uses the show as an escape, a compass and sometimes a force that spills into real life.

Armstrong, one of the most recognizable voices from “Rob Has a Podcast” — a long-running reality TV media network known for its deep-dive analysis of shows like “Big Brother” and “Survivor” — has spent nearly a decade breaking down the strategy and social dynamics of “Big Brother” through live-feed updates and long-form interviews. In “Behind the Mirror,” Armstrong turns that expertise inward, exploring not just how the show works but why it has become such a powerful cultural lens for fans like him — and like me.

The book blends personal memoir with media analysis, showing how a so-called “guilty pleasure” can anchor memories and reflect the best and worst of human behavior.

Armstrong doesn’t hold back when examining the lowlights of the show or the elements that have made it one of the hardest series to recommend to newcomers. But the way he weaves his own life into these moments turns the book into a page-turner, one that encourages fans to reflect on where they were during those same turning points.

Throughout “Behind the Mirror,” Armstrong offers reference points from his own life during defining moments in “Big Brother” lore. He recalls desperately hunting for updates before social media made them instantly accessible during seasons like “Big Brother 6,” and he shares how “Big Brother 9” nearly pushed him out of the fandom entirely, until a comment from his mom pulled him back in.

That comment made me think about an experience I had with my own mom during “Big Brother 14,” one of my favorite seasons. That year featured four returning players — including two of my all-time favorites — and a new cast that had me glued to every update. My mom and I were so invested that we pirated the East Coast broadcasts so we could watch the episodes three hours early.

During one week of the season, one of my favorite returnees was all but guaranteed to be evicted, and I was dreading it. But just before we started our early viewing session, my mom looked at me and said, “I heard on Facebook Dan did something crazy.” That line still echoes in my head whenever I think about one of the most iconic moments in Big Brother history: “Dan’s Funeral.”

Armstrong beautifully details this moment and dozens more throughout the book. It’s as much a “Big Brother” and reality-TV history lesson as anything else. He traces the show’s origins outside the United States, explores early international versions and explains why their formats didn’t resonate with American audiences — a mismatch that eventually pushed production company Endemol to reinvent the show and alter its trajectory forever.

What results is an anthology of moments from the past 25 years that have rarely been documented with this level of care. And as one of the most prominent voices in the “Big Brother” community, Armstrong feels like the right person to assemble it.

If nothing else, the book offers fans a rich deep dive through a collection of historic events that have had us glued to live feeds and episodes every summer for more than two decades. It also provides a clear baseline on how the game’s metastrategies have evolved, making it a worthwhile read for anyone who has ever dreamed of playing “Big Brother” themselves.

Of course, if you’re like me, you’ll find yourself relating to Armstrong as he shares personal highs, lows and everything in between during various seasons. You’ll reflect on where you were in your own life, and it will stir memories from those summers — some you may have even forgotten, and others you have yet to create.

The premier sports entertainment federation Test Run Pro Wrestling, best known for its dominant run from 2005-2013 where it combined sport and spectacle through creative stipulations and tournaments, announced earlier this week it will be closing its doors for good after more than a decade of dormancy.

“After a long discussion with our roster and others involved with this storied promotion, we’ve decided now is the best time to walk away,” Test Run Pro Wrestling owner Joey Styles said. “We’d like to thank the talent who stepped between the ropes and risked their lives. We’d also be nowhere without our ring crew, finance team and most importantly, our fan.”

TRPW debuted several barbaric match types, including the freefall match, where the only way to win was to drop your opponent from ungodly heights. The promotion also birthed its signature event, the “Player Bowl” — a tournament to crown the best grappler in the world.

After 2013, the creativity faded. The last full card came in 2015. Since then, TRPW hasn’t held a marquee event.

So why the unceremonious end? And why haven’t you heard about this before?

Because I made most of this up. Kind of.

Test Run Pro Wrestling was real. But the wrestlers weren’t. They were action figures. And this week, I had to shut the company down for good.

As much as I love my cats, their habit of randomly peeing on things — especially things loaded with childhood memories — isn’t my favorite trait.

Unfortunately, that’s how the members of the TRPW roster met their demise — boxed up in storage, only to fall victim to a 19-pound feline who apparently wanted to rocket to the top of the card. What a heel.

I didn’t have much of a reaction at first. It wasn’t until my fiancée offered to try to save them — by running them through the dishwasher — that I started to think about what TRPW and I had been through.

I looked at the box of scattered wrestlers — arms missing, legs missing, heads loose, titles stripped — casualties of the roughest bouts my bedroom floor had ever seen.

That’s when I started to realize those match cards, those stipulations, those long title reigns weren’t just for fun. They were the foundation for just about everything that I’ve done creatively.

My mom would walk in after school and find me pairing wrestlers for the next main event. I’d update her on the latest storyline in TRPW and she’d always say the same thing: “You have such a great imagination.”

I wasn’t great at math. History wasn’t my thing. I’m an OK writer. But I knew I could create. I could build worlds. I could turn weaknesses into strengths by leaning into imagination.

There aren’t many places in adult life where you’re encouraged to do that. I’ve been lucky to land in a profession that lets me exercise those creative muscles more than most. But nothing felt quite like piecing together a 32-wrestler tournament and deciding who would be crowned “the best in the world.”

Somewhere along the way, life gets serious. The rings get packed up. The match cards stop being written. And you don’t even remember the last show you booked.

But that muscle is still there.

Maybe it’s picking up an old toy. Maybe it’s replaying a game you once stayed up all night to beat. Maybe it’s just letting your mind wander long enough to build something for no other reason than you can.

I don’t know if it will make you better at your day job. But it might make you smile. And sometimes, that’s enough to run one more show.

In competitive reality shows, first impressions are often half the battle. Contestants have to quickly decide who they can trust and who they can’t, forming bonds that could keep them safe for weeks.

The importance of perception is perhaps most prevalent in the show “The Traitors,” a murder-mystery reality competition on Peacock, where contestants (faithfuls) attempt to identify secret “traitors” in their group who “murder” players each night.

But viewers are guilty of judging contestants, too — whether that be who they are as people, the type of game they play or how wildly wrong they are about who’s actually doing the murdering.

Season 4 delivered some of the most polarizing contestants the show has seen so far. But the player who stood out the most was Rob Rausch, who was eventually crowned the winner.

Rausch became just the second traitor to win the U.S. version of the franchise, joining Cirie Fields of “Survivor” fame. Fields won Season 1 in 2022, setting the blueprint for how traitors could manipulate their way to the end.

For years, it seemed impossible that anyone could top the masterclass Fields put on inside the castle.

That was until a nonchalant good ol’ boy from Alabama arrived in Switzerland and had the entire cast seeing through rose-colored glasses, cruising to one of the most entertaining reality competition finales I’ve seen in years.

By the time he and fellow “Love Island”-er Maura Higgins disembarked from a helicopter during the season’s final mission, Rausch pretty much already had the $220,800 check cashed.

Five contestants remained: Johnny Weir, Tara Lipinski, Eric Nam, Rausch and Higgins — three faithfuls and two traitors.

Earlier in the season, Rausch orchestrated the banishment of fellow traitors Candace Dillard and Lisa Rinna. When the game forced him to recruit another traitor with eight players remaining, he chose Nam.

It was a move many viewers criticized at the time. Nam wasn’t a cutthroat player, nor was he particularly close to Rausch.

But once Nam donned the cloak, Rausch’s vision became clear.

Nam grew nervous under the pressure of deception. That allowed Rausch to quietly control the murders while suspicion slowly began shifting toward Nam as his demeanor changed.

During the final mission, Higgins told Rausch she suspected Nam was a traitor. Rausch responded by saying he wanted to eliminate the well-known duo of Weir and Lipinski first.

She reluctantly agreed — but on one condition: Once they were gone, Nam had to be next.

Without trying to sound overly excited, Rausch quickly agreed.

Higgins had no idea she had just handed Rausch the check.

If a traitor makes it to the end of the game, he takes the entire prize for himself — leaving any faithfuls who reach the end with nothing but embarrassment.

Everything went according to plan. Weir was eliminated at the final roundtable, and Lipinski became the first casualty during the show’s “Fire of Truth.”

We were left with just Nam, Higgins and Rausch.

It was a nail-biter to watch. Not only did Nam have no idea Rausch was about to deny him more than $100,000, but Higgins didn’t realize she had already lost the game as the final faithful remaining.

Nam’s pouch hit the fire first.

Green. End the game.

The music producer was ready to end the lies and win alongside the man who had recruited him just days earlier.

Higgins went next. Her flames burned red. Vote again.

It didn’t matter to Nam. He was confident his brother in the turret was taking him all the way to the end.

Then Rausch’s pouch hit the fire.

Red.

Nam’s jaw dropped. The moment the flames failed to change color, he knew he had been betrayed.

Rausch calmly explained why Nam could be the traitor, with Higgins nodding along. It was a masterclass in manipulation, because while the plan appeared to be Higgins’ idea, it had been in Rausch’s best interest all along.

Nam’s final plea was simple: “Maybe look at the people you’ve trusted the most in this game.”

Rausch barely reacted. With his usual nonchalant demeanor — almost as if to say “get a load of this guy” — he brushed it off.

Nam was banished, losing more than $100,000 in the process. But the finale wasn’t over yet.

With only Higgins and Rausch left, the final step was revealing whether each was a faithful or a traitor.

Higgins went first. Before revealing her role, she joked, saying, “I’m so sorry ...,” pretending she might actually be a traitor just to get a reaction out of Rausch.

If only she knew.

Perhaps the best part of the finale was Rausch’s reaction — genuine shock mixed with nervous energy as he briefly entertained the possibility that Higgins might actually be a traitor. He was playing the game until the very end.

Then it was Rausch’s turn.

Calmly — just as he had all season — he looked at Higgins and told her he was, and always had been, a traitor.

Higgins covered her mouth with both hands in disbelief, asking if he was joking before blurting out that he now had no chance of “getting a girlfriend.”

However, once the initial shock wore off, Higgins was complimentary of Rausch’s game. He even bought her an expensive handbag after the show wrapped.

That kind of gamesmanship made this season of “The Traitors” feel refreshing.

Bitter juries and emotional players have dominated competitive reality TV for more than a decade. Watching someone as unapologetically cutthroat and strategic as Rausch was a reminder of why these shows can be so compelling.

Coming from “Love Island,” Rausch wasn’t someone I expected to be a dominant strategic player. But he wound up being one of the most impressive reality competition players I’ve seen in a long time. I’d be interested to see how he would fare on a show like “Survivor” or “Big Brother.” My guess is he’d excel.

Before the credits rolled, he summed up his approach to the endgame perfectly.

“Would you give $100,000 to someone you met three weeks ago?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t.”

That ability to separate emotion from the goal is something every great strategist has mastered.

So the next time you judge someone based on first impressions, maybe give it a second look.

Then again, Rausch did have a massive snake tattoo on his back — so maybe the writing was on the wall all along.

You have your typical Cinderella stories: underdogs making it further than they had any business to.

You have your bluebloods: they’ve been here year in and year out; you love them, or you hate them.

Then you have everyone else, which is what makes the annual hardwood battle royale so interesting. With so many teams in the mix, you’re bound to become familiar with a whole new cast every season.

I covered Idaho hoops for a little over two years. Outside of that — and a handful of Lewis-Clark State games as a youngster — I don’t think I’ve ever intentionally consumed regular-season college basketball.

I still fill out a bracket after Selection Sunday — I have since I was 11 — and I don’t think I’m in the minority.

This is because most people don’t follow college hoops like a sports season — they watch it like a scripted television show that returns every March.

And just like any good show, it’s something you binge — and March Madness might be the best binge watch you’ll find.

The first day of the tournament is always the best — 16 games, from sunup to sundown. Each one is packed with a unique storyline. And if you don’t like how one “episode” is going, you can flip to a different one.

As the tournament goes on and teams advance, you start to feel connected to them — to the players, the coaches and the characters. You start to root for them. Maybe one of those teams knocked out a group you were pulling for earlier, so now you’re waiting for their comeuppance.

Either way, you stay glued to the TV, talking to everyone about whether they saw last night’s slate of “episodes.”

Once the championship wraps up, you find yourself thinking, “That was a pretty good season of college basketball.”

But you’re not sure if you mean the sport that was played on the hardwood, or the entertainment you just watched — something that felt like it belonged at the Academy Awards.

That’s why March Madness is one of the best things on television every year.

It won’t win any awards for storytelling or entertainment value. But on opening day, it’s everywhere — offices, classrooms, you name it.

Everyone fills out a bracket. The odds of getting a perfect one are basically impossible, but people still want to be part of it — even if they haven’t watched a second of college basketball all year.

And it makes you wonder — why doesn’t entertainment try to replicate this more often?

Sure, some forms of media use tournament-style storytelling — anime does it well. But there’s no mainstream show built around something like this.

Are you telling me a show following a football or basketball tournament between all 50 states wouldn’t draw interest?

I’d watch it.

My friends and I roasted each other one time.

Well, that’s not necessarily true: We flamed each other every chance we got. But after a group viewing of the Justin Bieber roast in 2015, we thought it’d be a good idea to imitate the debauchery we had just watched for the last 90 minutes.

We went outside, and the jokes started off light — things we gave each other a hard time about regularly — but as the insults intensified and started getting personal, we ended up in perhaps the biggest fight we ever had.

We made up eventually, but we learned a couple of valuable lessons that day: You should leave that kind of thing to the professionals, and the people who willingly partake in that practice are definitely a little dead behind the eyes.

The “art form” (if you can call it that) took a bit of a hiatus from the public following the end of the Comedy Central Roasts in 2019.

However, just like anything with even a hint of nostalgia in the 2020s, the uncomfortable lambasting of a public figure was revived with “The Roast of Tom Brady” on Netflix in 2024.

The three-hour extravaganza was a hit, generating a record-setting 1.67 billion minutes watched — the most ever for a Netflix special.

Naturally, the streaming service wanted to capitalize on that success with yet another roast, announcing “The Roast of Kevin Hart” at its annual Netflix Is a Joke festival at the Kia Forum on May 10 in Los Angeles.

We don’t have the exact viewing numbers to compare, but we can still ask: Was Hart’s takedown as entertaining as Brady’s? Did it inject the same amount of life into a genre that has received plenty of flak, policing and scrutiny over the years?

What people find funny is completely subjective, but I watched the Brady roast in its entirety. With the Hart roast, I probably skipped through close to an hour of material because it was either genuinely unfunny or too cringey to sit through.

Just for comparison’s sake, Brady’s roast included several athletes, some of whom were highlights of the night. Former Washington State University and NFL quarterback Drew Bledsoe and legendary wide receiver Randy Moss, for example, came away looking like a million bucks. But when tennis superstars Venus and Serena Williams appeared at Hart’s roast, it was painfully obvious they were reading off the teleprompter.

Notorious Golden State Warriors power forward Draymond Green was a fun punching bag for the rest of the celebrities on stage — and for a problematic figure, he took his punches on the chin. However, the moment Green acknowledged the jokes were written for him, not by him, his set immediately came with an asterisk beside it.

It’s no secret there are writers behind the scenes crafting jokes for presenters to tell. But as the audience, we’re supposed to suspend disbelief and pretend these insults are coming naturally.

That’s why athletes like Bledsoe came away looking so good during Brady’s roast. When he’s ripping into Brady for taking his job with complete conviction and landing devastating blows, it feels real. He’s not standing there reminding the audience someone wrote these jokes three weeks earlier.

Speaking of the writers, “Saturday Night Live” cast member Michael Che publicly took issue with the writing team for Hart’s roast, posting a photo of the group on Instagram and criticizing the decision to have a majority-white writers’ room crafting jokes for a roast “celebrating the career of the most successful Black comic in the last 10 years.”

Che wasn’t the only person who questioned the apparent lack of consideration for Black voices in comedy, or the overt racism littered throughout the roast.

It’s important to note that Hart most likely had final approval over not only every joke told that night, but also the people writing them. So if there was a desire for a more diverse writers’ room, Hart had every opportunity to speak up about it. But if you watched the roast — or know anything about Hart’s career — that doesn’t seem like a hill he’d be willing to die on, or one he even thought much about in the first place.

Tony Hinchcliffe, host of the live podcast “Kill Tony” and notorious for his set at the Brady roast, and fellow stand-up comedian/podcaster Shane Gillis were repeatedly called out as stereotypical “alt-right comedians” from the Joe Rogansphere. That label fits Hinchcliffe more than Gillis. Hinchcliffe spent most of the night responding to accusations of racism with over-the-top reactions, while Gillis feels far more aligned with the people mocking him than the crowd he’s associated with. Even surface-level research shows he’s not the MAGA caricature some tried portraying him as that night.

That became clear when Chelsea Handler took the stage. Known today more for her social-commentary-heavy Netflix documentaries than stand-up, Handler spent most of her set targeting Gillis and Hinchcliffe. The problem was, Gillis had already undercut her before she walked out, introducing her as a Zionist and mentioning she had dinner on Jeffrey Epstein’s island in 2010.

In sports terms, she was already down 40-0 before halftime. It’s hard to take social lectures seriously from someone linked to Epstein. On top of that, Handler criticized Gillis and Hinchcliffe for attending the Riyadh Comedy Festival in Saudi Arabia in October, despite both publicly saying they turned down huge offers to attend.

That set up Hinchcliffe for what was arguably the set of the night, absolutely lambasting Handler in a performance that felt fueled by genuine hatred. Still, watching the two go at it felt like watching high school bullies fight in the lunchroom — there wasn’t really a winner.

So was this roast as entertaining as the GOAT edition? Well, no. But it was definitely more controversial.

I don’t necessarily know if that means roasts are outdated, if society has gotten “soft” or if it’s simply harder now for different groups of people to coexist in a comedic atmosphere and agree on what’s considered “OK” and what isn’t.

At the end of the day, every person who stepped up to the podium that night should’ve approached it with one goal: Be funny.

As viewers, it’s important to remember that everyone on that stage signed up for this kind of lambasting and understood what they were walking into.

And just because you’d be offended in that situation — or feel the need to defend a group being joked about — doesn’t disqualify the people on stage from trying to make the audience laugh.

That’s why you leave these kinds of events to the professionals who are a little dead behind the eyes.

Lots of things will change in my life, but I’ll never miss a “Survivor” episode.

I’ve managed to make it work, even if it’s been a little more difficult lately. The “Survivor 50” finale, though, really tested my consistency.

It’s been impossible to watch episodes live this year, with the birth of my son, but I’ve had no problem firing them up about 15 minutes after the West Coast airing on Paramount+.

A three-hour finale, though? My usual strategy just wasn’t happening. I was going to have to wait until the next day and stay off social media to avoid spoilers.

Just kidding. I signed up for a free YouTube TV trial so I could record it and stay up to date. Like I said, I don’t miss “Survivor” episodes. But I wound up going through all that effort for an ending that felt inevitable for weeks.

Aubrey Bracco won “Survivor 50” by a vote of 8-3-0 against Jonathan Young and Joe Hunter, ending one of the most-anticipated seasons in franchise history with more of a crawl than a sprint.

It didn’t start that way, though. “Survivor 50” had its highs, lows and lulls, delivering plenty of memorable moments along the way. But with so much hype and promise, did the landmark season actually deliver?

Let’s talk about it.

THE GOOD

One of the best parts of Season 50 was that it truly felt celebratory.

The best example of that was the premiere — another three-hour episode, and one I didn’t mind at all because, for my money, it may have been one of the best premiere episodes “Survivor” has ever produced.

The opening 10 minutes were essentially a hype package, revisiting marquee moments from the franchise as the cast boarded the plane to Fiji for the biggest season in the show’s history.

It was so well-produced and emotional that I’ve gone back and watched it multiple times, and it still gives me goosebumps. The first time I watched it, I started tearing up a little bit.

Superfans of any show are usually quick to criticize production. But the “Survivor” production team deserves a ton of credit for this episode.

And it wasn’t just the opening package, either. Whenever conflict tied back to previous seasons, the show used callbacks and archived footage that made longtime fans feel rewarded.

There were plenty of repeat characters playing this season, some competing for a third, fourth or even fifth time. When it became their swan song, Jeff Probst spent significant time reflecting on what “Survivor” meant to them and why they kept coming back.

The only two players who didn’t receive this type of exit were two of the biggest characters of the season: Ozzy Lusth and Cirie Fields, both competing for a fifth time.

That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Their exits still felt fitting for their “Survivor” stories. Lusth’s downfall came across like a Shakespearean tragedy, refusing to play an idol despite having a dream that foreshadowed his elimination.

Lusth’s blindside ended up quietly shaping almost everything that ultimately paved the way for Bracco’s victory.

Fields, meanwhile, was the most dominant player left in the game at the time of her elimination, ultimately being voted out 4-2 at the Final Six.

Many fans consider Fields the greatest “Survivor” player to never win, and this may have been her strongest performance yet. She consistently knew where the votes were going, dictated the direction of the game and somehow managed to make nearly everyone feel like her closest ally.

She was just a nickel short once again.

Still, her exit felt just as satisfying as the legends who left before her. Probst even gave her the ultimate honor, allowing her to say his iconic catchphrase, “The tribe has spoken,” as she left the game.

Rick Devens also brought the exact energy fans wanted from his return, constantly surviving through misinformation, idols and reckless gameplay. His peak moment came during the “Mr. Beast tribal council,” where he successfully doubled the prize pool to $2 million before eventually being eliminated at the Final Seven.

I also really enjoyed having Benjamin “Coach” Wade back on my television for the first time in more than a decade.

During an early tribe supplies challenge, Lusth suggested the first player to knock down a key should automatically win — only for Coach to immediately betray him and steal the victory himself.

It was classic Coach: constantly preaching loyalty and integrity, then abandoning both when it benefited him.

His eventual elimination alongside Chrissy Hofbeck in the season’s double-elimination twist felt poetic, with Coach completely convinced he controlled the game right up until his torch was snuffed.

Young may have had the biggest glow-up of any returning player. Instead of relying on his physicality like he did the last time he played, he emerged as one of the season’s defining strategic voices, constantly targeting bigger threats and aggressively pushing moves forward.

Even after being blindsided several times throughout the season, Young repeatedly regained his footing and still managed to push through the moves he wanted to happen.

Sure, there’s probably an argument that he never really had a chance to win a jury vote unless he sat next to the perfect Final Three combination. But even with that perception hanging over him, there’s no denying he played an exceptional game.

At the very least, his game felt far more active than the one that ultimately won the season.

I think Rizo Velovic and Tiffany Ervin also exceeded expectations this season.

Velovic’s game was impressive because he constantly prioritized his own winning chances over loyalty. Despite being aligned with “Survivor” legends like Fields and Lusth, he was still willing to cut both of them once the opportunity presented itself.

He also somehow managed to openly possess an idol for most of the season without anyone successfully forcing him to play it, allowing him to coast all the way to the Final Five with protection in his pocket.

Ervin also quietly put together one of the better second-chance performances of the season.

During “Survivor” Season 46, Ervin was viewed as someone with athletic potential who never fully delivered in competitions. This season, though, she completely flipped the script, winning three immunity challenges against one of the strongest casts the show has assembled.

Those performances turned her into a massive threat by the Final Five, where her game came to an end after she lost immunity to Young by a single puzzle piece in one of the most entertaining challenges in “Survivor” history.

THE BAD

There were plenty of things that made “Survivor 50” feel like a true celebration of a show that has now been on the air for 25 years.

But the negatives are hard to ignore, and most of them stem from the same people who made the season feel so special in the first place.

The season’s title card may have read “In the Hands of the Fans,” and viewers may have voted for some of these twists and turns, but the production team still had its fingerprints all over the season, constantly throwing ideas at the wall to see what would stick.

That became one of the biggest recurring problems throughout “Survivor 50.” Many of the season’s twists were designed around the best possible outcome rather than if they consistently worked as game mechanics.

Take the Mr. Beast coin flip, for example. When Devens flipped the coin and successfully doubled the prize pool to $2 million, it felt like a genuinely monumental television moment.

But if the coin lands the other way and Devens gets immediately eliminated, we’re probably talking about that twist as one of the worst production decisions in the show’s history.

Unfortunately, many of the season’s twists landed on the “torch” side of the coin.

And no twist represented that more than the “Billie Eilish Boomerang Idol,” an idol that bounced between tribes and returned to previous owners after a blindside.

Once the tribes merged, information spread so quickly that the “boomerang” mechanism became almost completely irrelevant. Instead of creating paranoia, the twist mostly resulted in players being handed idols without having to search for them.

The “Blood Moon” twist also badly hurt Genevieve Mushaluk’s game after a random tribe draw effectively left her dead on arrival against a locked alliance.

It was one of the clearest examples of a player being “twist-screwed” in modern “Survivor” history. Between the disastrous tribe draw and the absurd reality that she found two idols during the season without ever actually possessing either one of them, Mushaluk constantly felt like a victim of bad luck and game mechanics.

The “Survivor 50” obsession with absurd twists was perhaps most obvious during Christian Hubicki’s elimination.

After failing at a journey, Hubicki was punished by having to cast a vote against himself.

That crosses the line from production creating chaos for the sake of good television to directly interfering with the outcome of the game.

My final gripe with the season comes where we started, which, ironically, is the finale.

The “Survivor 50” finale was live for the first time in five years, and you could immediately tell the production team was a little rusty.

Right before the firemaking challenge, Probst accidentally spoiled the result live on television by joking about Velovic losing before the audience had even seen the challenge itself.

Somehow, it got even worse after the commercial break. When the show returned, Probst awkwardly acknowledged the mistake before saying, “That’s live television! Now let’s watch Rizo get his butt kicked in fire.”

It was an all-time bad reality TV moment during what had already become an exhausting finale to sit through.

As I mentioned, “Survivor 50” had started to slow to a crawl despite all of the hype surrounding it.

Not only was it one of the most heavily spoiled seasons in recent memory, but the editing also made the outcome increasingly obvious as it progressed.

The edit really started doing some heavy lifting once Hubicki was eliminated. It felt like every episode reminded viewers that Bracco “should’ve won” her original season, highlighted her under-the-radar gameplay and reinforced that she had already reached the endgame multiple times before.

That in itself isn’t necessarily a bad thing. That was the game Bracco played. The problem is the edit often tried to frame certain strategic moves as if they were her creation when, in reality, she frequently felt more like a supporting piece than the primary force.

If we’re being honest, it never really felt like Hunter or Young stood much of a chance against the narrative Bracco carried into the finale.

That points to a much larger issue within modern “Survivor” — and reality television as a whole.

Active gameplay, strategic acumen and consistently driving moves forward no longer feel like traits rewarded at the end of the game. Narrative, perception and personal story increasingly matter more than who actually dictated the direction of the season.

There’s a term for that style of gameplay: a “floater,” someone who shifts between alliances whenever it benefits their position in the game. It’s a completely legitimate strategy and has been producing winners for years. But I’d be lying if I said it makes for compelling television.

There was still plenty to like about “Survivor 50,” but the weaker aspects of the season were ultimately strong enough to drag down my overall opinion of it.

If Season 51 follows the same philosophy, I honestly don’t have very high hopes for how it’ll turn out.

But I’ll still tune in every week, because I don’t miss “Survivor” episodes.

I’d pick up the occasional sports title in my youth, and I scored a Fortnite win during its peak in 2017, then never played again.

That’s not to say I don’t see the appeal. It’s just that, for me, games are only interesting when I can create my own lore and universe within their built-in limitations.

For example, I’d start a Madden franchise, trade away all the real players for draft picks and build a team around computer-generated rookies — inventing backstories for them in the process.

No type of game I’ve ever played requires your mind or creativity to shape the experience more than an online reality game, or ORG.

After competing in my first ORG in more than a year, I was reminded just how strategically demanding these games can be — and how invested you become. But before I explain why, what exactly is an ORG?

How can you play “Survivor” online?

ORGs pit people against each other in reality-show formats like “Big Brother” or “Survivor” — just played online.

They come in all forms, from text group chats to live video calls, and are played on everything from X and Discord to Facebook and Zoom.

But ORGs don’t just stick to the parameters of the shows they’re imitating. Hosts introduce their own twists and formats, making each season feel like a unique game.

You don’t have to look much further than the almost-daily challenges these in-universe Jeff Probsts and Julie Chens cook up to see that creativity on display.

I’ve played for my metaphorical life in simple games like Snake and puzzles. I’ve also competed in more active challenges, such as one where whoever recorded the most steps in a day earned immunity from elimination.

The competitions, though, are only part of the appeal. One of the coolest things about ORGs is the in-game connections, rivalries and storylines that build up over time.

The community is tight-knit, so there’s a good chance you’ll eventually find yourself playing against someone you’ve crossed paths with before.

Going for broke

I like to think that if I were ever cast on one of these shows in real life, I’d go for broke.

That’s the mindset I brought to Weirdvivor: Faroe Islands.

It was a “Survivor”-style game, and by the time we reached the Final 10, I felt like I was in the driver’s seat.

I had been spreading misinformation between two warring factions, both of which believed I was working with them. Sitting squarely in the middle, I had my pick of who was going home.

At the conclusion of the Final 10 vote, I was so confident in my position I was already mapping out the next eight rounds and plotting my path to victory.

However, the more I talked to people, the more it became clear I didn’t have as much sway as I thought.

As the day dragged on and Tribal Council got closer, the target never switched to my preferred destination, despite my best efforts.

Instead, the vote was headed toward someone who, in my eyes, was an outsider and hardly the biggest threat left at the Final Nine.

Feeling somewhat indifferent, I had the group chat open on one screen to watch the votes come in while I worked on the other. I was ready to get it over with and start plotting my next move.

First vote: Kim.

No surprise.

Second vote: Kim.

How do I get them to flip next round?

Third vote: Me.

Dang. I know I didn’t talk to her much, but throwing a vote on me is crazy.

Fourth vote: Me.

Wait, what?

Fifth vote: Me.

Are you serious?

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Sixth vote: Me.

No way.

“And the 10th person voted out of Weirdvivor: Faroe Islands and the second member of the jury: Me.”

Baffled. Bamboozled. Broke.

I got blindsided, and I felt it.

I’ve watched it happen time and time again on the shows I enjoy, and I can see why contestants have emotional reactions when it happens to them.

Losing life-changing money in the blink of an eye as a contestant on a show obviously is more significant than a group of strangers plotting your downfall for the love of the game, so I avoided the tears. Still, there was a feeling in the pit of my stomach that’s hard to explain — like I’d been punched.

I had just gone through a multiday campaign where I felt like I had complete control and was planning every remaining round to give myself the best chance at winning the game — only for it all to come crashing down when I least expected it.

Not even that Fortnite win in 2017 — which came with zero kills, by the way — gave me such an intense wave of emotions.

Unlike Fortnite, though, I’m still chasing that elusive first ORG victory. Maybe once I add one to the trophy case, I can retire for good.