Arrivederci, Tony

So we all wondered what would happen to Tony Soprano. Would we go into witness protection? Would he die in a blaze of glory? Would he take out Phil, and become head of southern New York too?

Nah. Tony did what he always did. He used luck, more luck, and a little brains to work things out in his favor.

The ending? I'm ok with it. You can't really wrap up all those disparate stories in an hour. We get a glimpse of Tony's life from now on -- looking up every time the door opens, noticing strangers, wondering why those two fellows decided to pop into the diner at just that time. And worrying about his family. This is Tony's life. And it might end in a few seconds, next week, next year, or he could wind up like Uncle Junior, alone and confused and so decidely old.

Hitchcock used to say that a bomb going off in a scene was pointless, but watching two characters sit at a table, idly chatting away over lunch, while we the audience have seen a sneaky character put a shopping bag under that same table, that's suspense. Excruciating suspense. The Sopranos finale gave us a taste of that. As Journey bellowed "Don't Stop Believing," we waited. My heart pounded. I ran all kinds of scenarios; why was Meadow being delayed? Who was that guy at the counter? Who were those black guys?

We'll never know.

Bravo.