The visit that shone for what was not there
This Monday, in a narrative twist worthy of a low-budget soap opera, the program Ventaneando received the finalists of “La Granja VIP”. However, the true protagonist of the chapter was not the one who spoke, but rather the one who was conspicuous by his absence. To the surprise of absolutely no one who follows the soap opera, Alfredo Adame and Eleazar Gómez, the first and second place in the reality show respectively, decided (or kindly suggested to them) that they had a better plan than allowing themselves to be questioned by the evening panel. Reason? Social networks, that infallible court of truth, affirm that everything is due to the fact that the hosts of the program shamelessly supported “la Bea” and looked with disdain at the members of the “team Muro”. Wow, what a shock: a gossip show taking sides.
The disappearance of “the Golden boy” and “the Eternal” (nicknames that, let’s be honest, sound more like cleaning products than television stars) did not go unnoticed. Especially because, oh coincidence, the two great finalists did have time and willingness to appear on “Venga la Alegría” , sharing the microphone with their former colleagues such as Kim Shantal and César Doroteo. It seems that “joy” is a more conducive environment for winners than “windowing.”
The mystery that everyone solved on Twitter
During the interview, the “team Cacaraqueo” (what a more appropriate name for a meeting of former reality TV participants) settled on the Ventaneando sofas. It was Kim Shantal who, with the subtlety of an elephant in a china shop, dropped the bomb: she suggested that several attended out of contractual obligation, not out of nostalgia or affection. “What I knew, Lupe, was that many of the people who were there were just there for a piece of paper, that they had neither the desire nor the intention,” he declared. A phrase that, without naming them, painted a perfect portrait of what everyone imagined: Adame and Gómez signing their attendance with the same emotion with which they sign a check to the treasury.
The most deliciously ironic thing was that, in the entire talk, no one, absolutely no one, made reference to Adame’s triumph or Eleazar’s runner-up finish. It was like having a meeting about the World Cup and not mentioning the team that won the cup. This epic omission, of course, was the perfect trigger for the followers of the reality show, armed with their keyboards and their indignation, to assault the program’s networks to ask (with digital screams) about the whereabouts of the “team Muro”.
The public plays detective (and judge)
And this is where the show moved from the screen to Twitter. Users, turned into armchair researchers, were quick to point the finger of blame. The popular verdict pointed to the owner of the program, Pati Chapoy—who, for added drama, was also not present on the broadcast—as the mastermind behind the exclusion. The theory is that Chapoy, having previously shown his “animosity” (an elegant euphemism for “he doesn’t swallow it”) for Adame’s personality, would have vetoed his participation. Adding to the conspiracy was the little support that critic Linet Puente gave to Eleazar during the competition, contrasting with the unanimous and fervent support that the entire driving team professed to “Bea”. In short: favoritism, that cardinal sin of television, would have done its thing.
The reactions were a gem of social satire. “Where are the real winners?” someone asked, as if they were the lost relics of a temple. “Pati always speaks without foundations and his sheep only follow his orders,” proclaimed another, demonstrating admirable zoological and work knowledge. “We want to see the winners and not the losers,” demanded a third, reducing human complexity to a simple reality dichotomy. The crowning comment was perhaps: “Ridiculous Pati, if no one watches your program, even less so now”, an observation that combines criticism with a relentless rating analysis. The general conclusion was unanimous: the program could not bear that its favorite did not win, and its response was to pretend that the winners did not exist. A strategy as mature as covering the sun with a finger.
In the end, this episode made it clearer than ever that in show business, sometimes history is not written by those who win, but by those who control the microphone… or decide to turn it off. A lesson in television narrative where the omission spoke louder than any statement.
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