There needs to be a comprehensive essay written on the subject of bloc judging in ice dance.
Mostly it is a good thing.
Keeps the sport from destroying itself.
Let me tell you a story. About a Persian cat named Xenia. She had babies. She could judge skating. So could those kitties.
Mamma Xenia once clonked a baby on the ear for mewling approvingly at a pair of ice dancers who skated astonishingly like Rahmano and Kokko, the renegade Finnish dancers. Cat didn't recover for three days. Never did it again. Mamma kept things in line.
Xenia once stalked up to a TV screen and hissed, snarled, and growled at Torvill and Dean. Too wild. Too unseemly. Too un-cat-like. They ought to know how to behave. Full five minutes. All the way to the kiss-and-cry. Stalked off. She'd had enough.
Once Xenia and her babies got so sick of the bad judging, "that lets people like this onto the screen" (and you can understand cat language if you try), that she shoveled her kids (and some grandkids) into a big old carrying bag and had them all taken to a major competition. I promise. Hopped, out, went up to the judges, and got themselves instated as "assistant judges." Yeah. Right. Do you really think those judges got their hands on the judging sheets for one second without being popped by furry little paws from out of nowhere? These cats ran the show that day. It was great.
Ran skaters off the ice. Literally. Hissed at others and made them go change. Wouldn't take any food but what was brought with them. Fussed all day long. Had a great time. And at the end of the day, the standings were "remarkable." "Best judging I've ever seen." "Can these cats come back?"
Closest thing I've ever seen is a bloc of Soviet-style judges. Go, guys. Americans just don't understand.