BJP: Ken's Arrested Development

Ken Stafford, the New York City cop who ventured out to Thailand with the hope of representing the heroes who held the world's greatest city together on the bleakest day in its history, became the ninth person voted out of Survivor:Thailand and the second member of the jury. It's not so bad, since by losing he won a coveted seat next to increasingly babealicious Erin -- boy, she sure cleans up real nice. It's going to be pretty hard to trash a guy who, for the most part, honorably represented his profession, and who put the "strong" and the "silent" into the term: "strong, silent type." Real silent ... like this    .   .   .   .   silent. Did you hear that?

PRE-SHOW ODDS

Ken

6-1

• Type: Keystone Kop
• Fitness: Personal training regimen, and daily NYPD grind where he routinely ducks stray bullets, knives, pit bulls, and fists keeps him sharp and on his toes
• Style: You have the right to remain silent ... while Ken's talking!
• X-Factor: He must get over the fact that his jurisdiction doesn't extend to Thailand, it doesn't even extend to New Jersey
• Projected Status: Contender
• Final Status: Voted out #9, second member of jury

POST-SHOW PROBSTOVICH

But if you think I should go easy on him, when I only get to be Jeff Probst in tiny, fifteen minute increments, before I get flushed out onto the shoulder of the San Diego Freeway, then you don't know this column that well. Here at Probstovich Central, we have delusions of grandeur that we actually have something funny or insightful to say about the contestants after our "imaginary" chat with them, but Ken brings all of our issues into the light. (Come on, work with us people.) Ken, as big and powerful as he was, played one of the most "under the radar" games we've ever seen on Survivor. Like Erin previously, he left the game without us really getting to know him. And without getting acquainted in any significant way, he didn't provide us with a lot of material to work with.

I couldn't dwell on that. Since the proverbial meter was running, I hustled down to the Tribal Council dock at the bottom of the staircase, and called him over.

"Hey Kenneth, got a second? Of course you do. I have a few more questions."

"Sure, Jeff, but make it quick. I hear there's a big fat cheeseburger waiting for me back at Loser's Lodge," Ken said.

"So you came out here to play for the million dollars. I understand you had hoped to donate some of that money to the relief fund for the families of the police and fire men who were lost on 9/11. Very honorable goal," I said. "So what was your strategy?"

"I had the right to remain silent, because anything I said could and would be used against me," Ken replied.

I figured that since we learned so little about Ken during his stint on Koh Tarutao, a better approach would be to find out what he knew about his fellow tribe members. Being a cop, it is his nature to pay attention to his surroundings and to be able to read people.

"OK," I said. "So, now that you're out of the game I just wanted to get your insight into some of the people you spent time with. I'll throw out a name, you give me the policeman's profile. Cool?"

"Alright," Ken responded.

"Jed?"

"Lazy. No. Not lazy. Freakin' lazy."

"Stephanie?"

"Stubborn. Pig-headed. And now, now she's sick," Ken said.

"Shii Ann?" I said.

"Everyone said she was going to switch sides, and I defended her. Bad call on my part," Ken said.

"Robb?" I said.

"You have some set of balls coming at me with that right now. I was the only one who was straight with him," Ken said. "And he ate the bananas."

"Sorry."

"Erin?" I asked.

"Gorgeous. No. Freakin' gorgeous. Did you see her sitting on the jury tonight? "

"Yeah, it was a pretty nice look," I said. "Moving on ... Jake?"

"Fatha figure. Great storyteller, even if some of them were a little, I dunno, far-fetched." Ken said, winking.

"Penny?"

"I know her M.O. I know exactly what she was like in high school. But that's Penny, so whatchya gonna do?"

"Brian?"

"Immature."

"Ted?" I said.

"I don't go around pissing where I sleep. The cave smelled like under the boardwalk at Coney Island," Ken replied.

"Clay?"

"Kicked my ass. The guys back at precinct are gonna razz me about that one."

"Helen?"

"Enough with the recipes already. You have sit out there listening about food when you're eating slimy squids. It's crazy."

"Jan?"

"Honestly, a little batty. Sweet lady, completely off her rocker."

"Magilla?" I said.

"Who?" Ken asked.

"The monkey. The freakin' monkey."

"I tell you, Jeff, after that monkey stole the bananas I was about ready to put out an APB on his simian ass." Ken said. "On the other hand, I mistook Clay for the monkey more than a couple of times. The monkey's a little bigger."

"So how would you sum up your adventure out here," I asked.

"A freakin' life-changing experience, Jeff. I left one jungle and came to another one. To be honest, I'm not looking to going back to work," Ken thought about something for a second and then said, "But then again, you won't believe how many chicks you get when you have the uniform on."

I patted him on the shoulder and said, "You're probably assuming that when I snuffed your flame out back at Tribal that it meant you were out of the game. You know that you can't make any assumptions in this game. But if you assumed that you were out, this time you were right. Ken, once again, it's time for you to go."

And like that, my fifteen Probstovich minutes were over, and I was teleported home until next week. Who will be voted out next, just so I can rag on them before they leave for good?

UP NEXT: Tea for Three on Jury Duty

Copyright © 2002 Lawrence Green