Well friends, after what can only be described as an incomparably glorious nine-episode run at the estimable UGO.com, The Ultimate Fighter reviews return to Total MMA. To their spiritual home, you might say. Which is now also their literal home. There is at last . . . accord. There is also . . . Junie? Maybe? Let us watch some show. And see.

The show opens with a recap of some recent action by Dramatic Voice Guy, and it is pretty unremarkable on the whole, just like you’d think, but he refers to Vinny’s fight from a number of weeks ago as a win via “world class jujitsu move,” which is a(n) hilarious term to these ears of mine, though I cannot say why with any precision. I think it is just because it puts me in mind of Joe Rogan and man oh man, there is a guy who is funny. After a fashion.

Highlights of Krysztof’s win over Kingsbury are shown and largely derided . . . BY JUNIE! There he is! Wait, no, now he’s gone. Damn it. But in his stead we’ve got John Polakowski. And he is straight up hugging dudes like he was the cuddliest of Care Bears or just a snuggle time pal of whatever description. Polakowski is of the opinion that nobody really takes the time to give a proper hug any more, they just go through the motions with some hands slapping haphazardly betwixt shoulder blades and the like. John, though, seeks to restore the hug to what he sees as it’s former glory, and that is change you can believe in. It occurs to me, though, that Polakowski might well be idealizing the hugging past. Is he himself caught in the embrace . . . of nostalgia? I am made suspicious of such easy sentiments by the writings of the great A. J. Liebling, who argued against a knee-jerk nostalgia (for hugging, let’s say) by insisting that “the world isn’t going backward, if you can just stay young enough to remember what it was really like when you were really young.” Which is exactly the kind of sentence I will have to start coming up with on the regular if I am to realize my dream of having these reviews run in the New Yorker (which is a weekly! this could work!).

Let it be said as a final word on Polakowski’s hugs, though, that there are some damn fine hugs on display in the hug montage. You cannot take that away from him, and who, I ask you, would dare try. The audacity of the very thought is upsetting. “FIRE THE CANNONS” reads the artwork Polakowski has commissioned from Philippe, and it is becoming ever clearer that this guy is completely alright.

George Roop, Polakowski’s opponent, is from a rough background, in and out of trouble. He has turned his life around as a pro fighter, he says, and suggests that he is proving wrong all those that “hated on” him, those who said he wouldn’t be able to make enough money as a pro fighter. “Enough” I guess is tricky, isn’t it, and in a sense quite subjective, but I would guess that objectively there is no way this guy is making “enough” money as a pro fighter. Which is not to hate: we wish him the best. Or we would, were he not up against Polakowski, who is wearing a hat from the age of sail and pirating out “Fire the cannons!” as he prepares his cereal. And, holymotherfuckingshit, somebody took all the marshmallows out of his Lucky Charms. Rendering them worthless. That is the coldest act. He is legitimately upset, and refuses to hug anyone he suspects.

“It was a fucking slap in the face, man, opening . . . .”

John can’t even finish. It’s just too much.

Oh no, Roop has injured his hand! It has swollen up substantially, and he is icing it constantly. You know what I find just as important as icing? Compression. I overlooked compression far too long, and now I wish to enlighten on this topic, share with the world what I learned through sprains that lasted way too long. Please remember this.

You know who is still not down with getting hugged? Frank Mir. Mir really doesn’t come out of this season looking good at all. Nogueira, on the other hand, is over at the house again, hanging out with John, and clowning around with Roop in an enormously appealing way.

The tale of the tape suggests that these are two pretty dang tall 155 pound fighters. Well, John’s 5′11″ isn’t outrageous, but Roop’s 6′1″, that’s getting there, isn’t it? He looks fit at that weight, though, so what do I know.

The match begins with a prearranged pre-fight hug. I love it! Much as John had expected, Roop comes out throwing a lot of kicks, and George isn’t having any trouble with them. John is landing his jab a little, and Roop shoots in and takes it to the ground in response. Roop is inside John’s guard, and we’ve been told that John isn’t much on the ground. Roop passes, and has side control up against the cage. He really doesn’t do much by way of keeping his weight down, however, and John regains guard. Before you know it, though, we’ve got Roop taking the back and working towards the choke. John turns into guard, and shows wht he’s got from the top. It’s . . . not that much. Roop is winning this fight from the bottom, as Mir suggests.

Both corners tell their fighters they’ve won the first round, but John doesn’t seem to believe his coaches. With good reason, I’d venture. Early in round two though, John starts to connect with what have to be described as hideously ass ugly punches, but they are landing all over dude’s face, so what can you really say? John’s corner is yelling for him to pressure and go for the KO, and it definitely seems possible. At the very least, John is clearly winning this round. But Roop takes John down without any difficultly at all, and you wonder why he didn’t try that earlier in the round. Perhaps because getting punched in the face had him not thinking so tactically? In any case, he works away inside John’s guard, laying in the shots, before taking the back and securing the body triangle with ninety seconds left in the round. Body triangles: actually totally awful (to receive, I mean). This is a tough round to score! “Protect your neck, protect your neck,” Nogueira shouts, very much in the mode of the RZA (who also likes martial arts — they should hang? maybe at my place? we’d get a movie?).

I like how Nogueira calls his fighter “Buddy” in the corner.

Oh hey, we’ve got a decision! I expected a third round, really. I’ve got round one Roop, round two John, but I can see a case for Roop in round two. Yep, it goes to Roop. I would have liked to see a third round, and I feel that John came much closer to finishing the fight in round two than did Roop, but it’s not the worst decision you’re going to see, I guess.

Nogueira to John: “Everybody that turns on the TV and watches that fight, they gonna like you man, for sure.”

Back at the house, we get a Junie freakout, as he blows his top while (nominally) chilling in the hot tub. Some eggs were tossed, a pork chop may or may not have struck him in the face (”I got hit in the face with a pork chop, I was just sittin’ here”), but I’m really not feeling Junie’s divisive bitterness and anger here. It doesn’t speak to me. It just doesn’t seem to be . . . I don’t know, “at home” in Obama’s America, unlike Polakowski’s message: “The reason that we’re doing shots for peace is that we want peace.” Polakowski is the future. Junie is the past.

Next week! Semi-finals! Eliot vs. Ryan! George vs. Phillipe! Why wouldn’t they! Why wouldn’t WE!