bironic

Happy birthday, roga! Turns out I don't know enough about American Idol to do a proper SGAI fusion for you today, but if I did, I know it would have Rodney as Simon, terror of the music business, hated and adored by the public, oft quoted in the press for his colorful verbal eviscerations that reduce hopeful contestants to tears; and when one pissed-off auditioner, who may or may not be Kavanagh but is definitely not headed for Hollywood, asks McKay what the [censored] he knows about music anyway, McKay says without missing a beat, "Oh, you mean other than being a classically trained concert pianist, the most respected judge of vocal talent in both the Canadian and American recording industries" (to which Zelenka snorts) "and having a brain so remarkable it makes Stockholm want to invent a Nobel Prize in Music to honor it?"

And next to him on the judges' panel is Cadman, snapping her gum and alternately grinning when the performers are good and slinging insults as effectively as McKay when they suck, beloved by TV audiences because she can reduce McKay to red-faced sputters whenever she feels like it.

The third judge used to be Jack O'Neill—you never knew what was going to come out of his mouth next—but Zelenka came in when O'Neill left. Zelenka used to be the gaffer—it would explain the hair, anyway—but some producer or other recognized his hidden talent, and now he brings technical expertise to rival McKay's along with a knack for flipping between sweet and devastating critique, even though he tends to deliver comments under his breath and sometimes in Czech.

Joining them in McKay's final season (he's leaving to run his own "X Factor" spinoff—and no, thank you, Sheppard, he did not name it in honor of the X Games, nor in homage to the X Prize or the X-Men 'verse, except maybe a little—but anyway, it was a runaway hit in Canada) is Sam Carter, who offers a welcome note of sanity. Carter's great at supporting the contestants who need either constructive criticism or gentle discouragement, but while she knows how to handle McKay just like the rest of the team, Woolsey and the other network execs at SGC and IOA are getting anxious about how much they're going to have to keep censoring McKay's comments about her boobs.

Anyway, we all know Sheppard would be Ryan Seacrest—the hair, the cute factor (like the X factor, but with more testosterone), the banter and off-air hangouts with McKay, and closing every episode with a wink, a grin and a "Sheppard out." ("You do realize you're shoving yourself out of the closet in front of thirty million viewers every week?" McKay says.) It works out pretty well: Sheppard glares at McKay when McKay gets stars in his eyes over Katie Brown in season three and Jennifer Keller in season five, even going so far as to cause tabloid scandals when she wins that year and then gets caught with McKay over a candlelit dinner at the steakhouse not too far from the recording studio; and McKay glares at Sheppard when Sheppard goes all soft over Chaya Sar and Teer ("Teer what?" McKay asked witheringly during her audition. "Just Teer." "Oh, so like Cher, except even more moronic. It's almost a shame you can actually sing, since it means we'll be seeing more of you.") and even Larrin, whom Cadman is convinced is going to take Sheppard backstage some night and tie him to an immovable object and have her way with him. And if McKay teases Sheppard for the way Todd rakes his eyes over him and purrs his name in the rumbling baritone that carried him this far in the competition, well, Sheppard only has to mention the name Lucius to shut him up. (Lord knows why they kept letting the guy continue round after round when he couldn't sing a note without Auto-Tune, but at least they came to their senses a few weeks from the end and chucked him out.)

The judges don't like to talk about the accident that claimed former winner Elizabeth just when her career was blossoming, or the controversies in earlier seasons about Aidan's rumored drug use and Ladon's purported ties to the mafia. They're here to find people who can be stars, and along the way, they've somehow formed a family among themselves—a whining, griping, petty, fiercely loyal family who exchange friendly insults while drinking the mugs of coffee Miko brings them before Lorne calls for places and Chuck switches on the main camera.

Sheppard keeps holding out for a contestant who likes Johnny Cash as much as he does, but he's pretty damn fond of each season's finalists regardless; it's hurt him every week for eight years when someone gets eliminated, and McKay suspects, although Sheppard's not saying, that he still keeps in touch with them all. His favorites, though, are without question the two finalists for this season. Teyla, single mom of a beautiful kid, immigrant from Tanzania and embodiment of the American dream, with exquisite poise, bone structure made for music videos and magazine covers, and a high, pure voice that won the admiration of the judges and the public from the first moments she sang a Celtic-inspired original composition at her audition. And Ronon, six feet four inches of solid Hawaiian heartthrob, crooning his way into America's hearts with his soft tenor and his warm eyes and his guitar, crazy in love with his girlfriend Melena and their first baby on the way—Ronon, who caused a sensation when he traded his dreadlocks for a cowboy hat halfway through the season but who barely suffered a blip in that week's vote.

And I imagine Teyla and Ronon standing on stage in the season finale, sweaty and glowing after the string of performances with their former competitors and bands like the Who and the Wraith, the four judges torn between them, the audience restless with anticipation, Sheppard biting his lip as he stands beside them with fingers tight around the microphone, and they take each other's hands and stand in the spotlight, waiting for the final results.





...If anyone wants to write that story or something like it or point me to an SGA/AI fic that's been done, please, by all means do!