For the Sweet love of the Gods.

REJOICE! For it has come to pass.

Battlestar Galactica has finally finished.

Now for most, this would be a very sad event and, trust me, I've shed a good few tears in the past 24 hours over it but in retrospect, this raging ball of awesomeness could not have ended in a better fashion. Going out with a bang? You'd better believe it!

I'm not going to go into detail over the HOUR AND A HALF of epicness (episodes are usually 40 minutes long, and cram packed full of action and this was the final ever episode; you do the math) partly because it'd take me the better part of a week to collate my thoughts on the whole thing and partly because it'd take the rest of the week to write the review. Between the penultimate and final episodes they released a behind-the-scenes special on the journey that the production team, the actors and the audience have all gone on together, and there was one thing the writer/creator/god of the show said in there that struck me.

He said that in twenty years time, if the show holds up (which it will, there is no argument), people will understand it better than we do now. Now, this sounds a bit silly really; how can someone who wasn't there at the time know more about the show than I can, having watched religiously from the beginning?

I shall tell you a tale of woe in order to answer this. As with all great finale's, BSG sacrificed a number of main characters whom we loved like our own families. One of these characters has been dying for the better part of the last 2 seasons, of cancer. We knew it was coming, we knew she was going to die and we knew it was this episode that it would happen in. What we didn't know is that, due to the relationship we had built up with the character and when the moment finally came in the closing minutes of the show, it felt like someone you and known personally and very well had died, not just a fictional creation.

This hit home very, very hard.

Sitting watching this moment unfold, I suddenly found my face become very hot and uncomfortable and, would you believe it, I started crying. And not crying like the weeping tears you get when something very sad happens. I mean all out streaming, burning rivers of the shit, roaring their salty way down my cheeks. When the credits rolled and the episode finished, all that was left was the silence of the empty room and the quiet humming of the laptop.

Ten minutes passed.

Then I understood what Ronald D. Moore had meant when he said we wouldn't understand the show as well as someone in the future would. Because most of us would just turn it off and look for something new. I found myself meditating on the whole episode, the whole series, the whole godsdamned show and, for ten glorious minutes, I felt that connection to a universe that didn't exist.

But it does exist. And it will live on forever as one of the classic, untouchable, incomparable moments in television history.

And that's all I have to say.