KEY POINTS:
It's funny how easily we presume other people share our thoughts and opinions. I've never really been one for NZ Idol, so imagine my surprise when I arrived at the St James on Sunday to discover the hordes eagerly awaiting the grand final.
Three-abreast queues wrapped around the block in both directions, excited fans jostling their sparkly banners and tinsel-clad signs. If I hadn't known better, I would have thought it was some sort of bizarre arts and craft expo.
As I skulked to my seat in the most remote corner I could find, I couldn't help but feel a little guilty I was there at all. Me, who had never deigned to watch an episode, in a room full of the most die-hard, dedicated fans I've ever encountered.
The ear-piercingly loud screams of over-excited 13-year-olds were scary. Honestly, the tickets should have come with health warnings. And that was before Dominic Bowden got on stage and encouraged the already frenzied crowd to scream some more. Tosser.
As the clocks ticked closer to the live broadcast, the interminably slimy Bowden offered the audience some key insights into the "magic" of television.
First, he instructed, never stop smiling. "You can never show enough teeth," he told the giddy crowd. Second, always cheer. "If the room goes quiet, we're in big trouble."
The audience then watched as Bowden pre-recorded four takes of his "live" intro, before issuing the audience with his final set of instructions - how to greet the judges. In true pantomime fashion, we were told to cheer madly for good guys Frankie and Megan, and boo audibly for big bad Stables.
Admittedly, Stables is an overgrown monkey. But really, he's not half as bad as Megan. Sitting in her box seat, wearing a blue Grecian-style frock, her fake flaxen hair braided around her head, she waved down at the plebs - sorry, I mean fans - below, like she was the Queen of Sheba. Newsflash, people: the woman was in TrueBliss!
As the night progressed I was introduced to the former top 10, I saw the best of the judges' snarky comments and I even got to see "the world's first heavy metal Harry Potter" in the flesh. (I'm guessing that guy didn't have any friends to begin with so it didn't matter that he just committed social suicide.)
I even got to see old Clarky try to get down with kids, plugging our nation's great singing talent. After which, she promptly returned upstairs to her box seat, looking more bored than a new recruit at an Occupational Safety and Health lecture.
But the highlight of the night had to be Indira's bootylicious Beyonce impersonation, singing Crazy in Love. Not so much because it was good - the girl has serious pitch problems - but because of the crowd's reaction. You could have brought out Miss Knowles herself and they wouldn't have cared. They went nuts. Hysterical. Utterly, utterly mad. And at that point it looked like it was all over.
Nice guys finish last and there was no way, it seemed, Matt could compete with that.
While Indira jumped up and down, excitedly telling the country why they should vote for her, Matt refused to sell himself. He humbly thanked his fans and supporters and asked that those who liked him to perhaps text in a vote. But what you at home didn't see, were the off-screen antics.
Whenever Matt graced the stage, he was waving, smiling and making contact with his fans. On the other hand, Indira preferred chatting to Mr Bowden than paying attention to the mass of screaming kids below her.
Which is how I came to care, New Zealand, about our nation's next Idol. I may not have watched the previous five months of laborious auditions, sing-offs and back stories, but when it came to the final crunch, I was there on the edge of my seat, as eager as any of them. And the sense of relief and joy I felt when Bowden read out Matt's name was genuine. Because for once, the nice guy didn't finish last.
