An Open Letter to Colonel Saul Tigh

Dear Colonel Tigh,
Saul, we’ve known each other a long time at this point, you and I. I’ve been watch­ing you intently for three and a half years as you’ve wres­tled with the Ambrosia-drinkin’ and put-a-gun-to-your-head demons in your mind and you’ve failed more often than I know you’ve wanted to, but I’ll come right out and say it, Saul — you’ve always been my favorite on “Bat­tlestar Galac­tica”. Oth­ers may think that Adama is king or Star­buck is the coolest or Lee is too pretty for words and he gets all the lucky breaks, but for me it’s you, Saul. It’s your craggy ways, your hard livin’, hard drinkin’, always ready for a fight lifestyle, your eye patch, your abil­ity to sum up every sit­u­a­tion by curs­ing. For frak’s sake, you killed your own wife for col­lab­o­rat­ing with the enemy! You loved her and you poi­soned her and held her while she died! Yes, you did cry after­ward rather than drink and curse, but you killed some­one you loved! Do you think Roslin would, could ever do that? No. It’s one of the things that I love about you that just makes you, you.

After that first Cylon war years ago you were drift­ing, floun­der­ing here and there, drink­ing, get­ting into fights, until that one bar where you met Bill Adama and the two of you pledged to each other that no mat­ter what hap­pened the two of you were going to get back into the fleet. And you did. That took guts and guts you have, my brother.

You were crafted by war, Saul, and war needed you. When the Galac­tica had been hit by nuclear mis­siles dur­ing the ini­tial vol­leys of the Cylon War II, you had the hulls sealed off and then the air­locks opened to put out a fire that was threat­en­ing to take out the entire ship. In the process you shot many liv­ing peo­ple into space, but you saved the ship. You killed your crew­men but you did it for the greater good and it was a shin­ing moment in your dented and scarred career. Who else would have had the stones to do that? Few men, I tell you.

And when the war came again you found your place. You hated Cylons with a white-hot Tilium-burning pas­sion and that hate has got­ten you this far, but now you’ve come to a HUGE cross­road, my friend — you’ve dis­cov­ered, along with three other peo­ple on board the Galac­tica, that you’re Cylons. You’re part of the fabled Final Five which makes you spe­cial, very spe­cial. Sud­denly your life has tremen­dous mean­ing — you’re now more than just a man, you’re a sym­bol to some, a god to oth­ers. You’ve been killing Cylons for fifty years, from the first rebel­lion to the holo­caust of the human race to New Caprica, and now you find out you’re a Cylon? You your­self are one of the enemy? Well, that’s almost too much for an ordi­nary man to bear.

But damnit Saul, you’re no ordi­nary man! You’re Saul Tigh, the most rip-snortin’, butt-kickin’ Colonel, XO and one-time dic­ta­tor in the entire human race! Man up, son! Get your­self together!

Oh sure, it was soul cleans­ing when you told Adama that you were a Cylon. But what did you think he was going to do, kill you? Would that have made every­thing bet­ter? That would be too good, too easy for you. He handed you over to his son who almost killed you, but Bill never could kill his best friend. You think The Old Man could really have done that to some­one he loves almost as much as his own son? Never. I even had in my mind the way I thought you would go on the show but as the mid­point of sea­son four showed us it won’t hap­pen. Here it is though for you –

Adama knows you’re a Cylon. He’s in a rage, hold­ing you up against the bulk­head and has a gun to your chest.

ADAMA : You want abso­lu­tion, Saul?! What the frak did you think I was going to do? Kill you so you wouldn’t have to?

TIGH : No Bill. I couldn’t let you do that. It wouldn’t be right.

And then you shoot your­self in the head and as your body falls to the floor of the air­lock Bill bursts into tears as his best friend dies in his arms and he weeps over you because he knows that part of his soul is now gone and can never come back no mat­ter how many model ships or mir­rors he destroys.

It would have been an amaz­ing way for you to go and it would have sucker punched me in the stom­ach to watch you die. But you’re not dead yet, Saul. You have to keep going. The race isn’t over yet, brother. You said it your­self : you’re Saul Tigh, XO of the Bat­tlestar Galac­tica, and what­ever you were then, that’s the way you’re going to be until the day you die. That’s quite a mantra to live by Saul, given what’s hap­pened to you.

Toughen up, Saul. The worst may be yet to come. Good luck and gods’ speed, friend.