It's too bad that Shawn Johnson won Dancing With The Stars. Not that I have anything against her. She's a wholesome teenager, an olympic athlete and, not incidentally, a good dancer. That’s the problem. Shawn is a winner and Dancing With the Stars is not for winners. It’s not for losers, either. It’s for people, usually of a certain age, who just want to stay in the game. Those who, having made one or several comebacks, are now between re-inventing themselves and being rediscovered. For them, being on Dancing With The Stars is necessary. It’s their best - and often their last - chance to go from being famous for something to famous for being famous. In other words, to be a celebrity. The seeming inexhaustible supply of these unfortunates is why the show is in its eighth season. It's certainly not from any burning desire to see Emmit Smith do the Rumba. Until now, the only people who could imagine that were other NFL players who landed on their heads.
Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing pathetic about this show. It’s not Charity Ballroom or ¾ Time’s Neediest Cases. Half of each team is a professional dancer and he or she is seriously good. The actor, singer or sports figure they dance with is also pretty good. None of the amateurs embarrass themselves – unless they lose. Then it’s a short trip to doing infomercials for geriatric beds with a rolling, laxative motion. For Shawn Johnson, this show may be nothing more than another trophy on her shelf. For most of the women who compete, it's a lot more. For them, it’s like being divorced. The good part of being divorced. They get in the best shape of their lives, put on the type of clothes they haven’t worn in years and do something very romantic with a young, handsome man. The only difference is that they’re doing it on TV and being judged.
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